Raven fell facedown onto the bed, his entire body burning with unsatisfied lust.
He punched a pillow, his stomach roiling in a complex muddle of fury, frustration, and desire. He was as hard as a rock but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. He deserved the discomfort, this aching, throbbing need.
Christ, what a mistake. This was going to complicate everything. Heloise wasn’t one of his panting, easy conquests who’d take what he’d given and walk away with a contented smile. She wasn’t a sophisticated flirt he could pay off with a diamond choker and the empty promise of a rematch.
He rubbed his palm over his face and caught her scent; sweet and spicy and so bloody delicious that he wanted to howl. He was shaking with the need to go back into her room and finish what they’d started. God, he’d been so close to losing control. The sight of her, the taste. Better than he’d ever imagined.
He exhaled slowly. At least he hadn’t taken his own pleasure. She was still, technically, a virgin. And he hadn’t kissed her this time. Not on the mouth, at any rate.
He bit back a groan and pressed his face into the pillow as he recalled the feel of her body around his fingers: warm, tight, slick. She made him mad. That was the only explanation. Heloise Hampden had been merrily rearranging his wits for years, oblivious to the trail of havoc and destruction she left in her wake.
He couldn’t risk touching her again. His vaunted control was hanging by a thread. From now on he was going to stay as far away from her as humanly possible.
Heloise lay on her bed and stared sightlessly up at the canopy.
Embarrassment at the liberties she’d allowed Raven mingled with amazement at the pleasure he’d given her. No wonder the Ancient Romans made constant references to the sexual act. If the last ten minutes were anything to go by, it was a miracle they’d done anything else at all. Who on earth wanted to go and build an aqueduct or construct a coliseum when they could be doing that all day? Her entire body felt awakened, tingling, but her skin heated as she remembered her own lusty response to Raven’s skillful manipulation.
He’d let her get close, but no closer, as if he’d drawn some invisible emotional barrier in his mind that could not be crossed. Heloise bit her lip. Part of her resented how easily he’d controlled her. He’d wanted her to understand that it was just bodies, physical pleasure without involving any emotion other than raw lust.
She took a deep breath. Her mother, ever the Frenchwoman, had taken great pains when Heloise had turned sixteen to explain to her the intricacies of physical love, so she knew Raven had restrained himself from completing the act. He must have known she wouldn’t have resisted if he’d wanted to take her fully. He could have taken advantage, but had not. In his own, warped, typically convoluted way, he’d been honorable.
And he hadn’t been entirely unaffected himself, no matter how cool he’d tried to be. She’d felt his physical response, that rigid length of him against her stomach. There had been a certain equality in that. At least she affected him as much as he affected her.
Heloise closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. How on earth was she going to face him tomorrow?