Camilla fidgeted, wanting to see him.

Then his hands were moving again, slowly pushing her thighs apart, exposing her aching flesh. She stilled. She’d forgotten that she’d taken her underwear off, wanting to sleep with nothing between her skin and soft lace.

He cursed, and she wasn’t sure he’d meant to. The harsh word igniting her desire even more.

Then he waited, as if testing to see if she would balk. A woman of her station was taught to demur, to deny her passions. To feel shame when she shouldn’t.

The blindfold made her bold.

She slowly widened her legs. Cool air kissed her most sensitive area, her heart pounding as she waited to see what he would do next.

He groaned, as if he could no longer hold himself back, the sound a tortured growl of pure need.

Then his mouth closed over her sex. The first swirl of his tongue was delicate, chaste almost. The second was criminal. His stroke more powerful, demanding. A lazy lick that turned decidedly wicked.

Camilla arched up from the bed, moaning as his tongue parted the folds of her, swirling and then stroking deeper.

“Fuck,” he said, pausing for a moment to kiss the inside of her thigh. “You taste incredible.”

His mouth was on her again, his teeth grazing the bundle of nerves.

A slight nip, a jerk of her body, then he lapped up her desire. It was pleasure with an edge of pain, and nothing had ever felt so good. Her body throbbed as he suckled her flesh, spreading her legs wider so he could feast like a king. He teased her by kissing along her inner thighs, grazing over her sex to the other leg, his breath hot against her arousal.

He certainly liked drawing out each move until she almost cursed.

He blew across her clit, then pressed another chaste kiss to it. Teasing. Maddening. Her flesh growing so slick and engorged it almost hurt.

“Please.” She fisted the sheets, trying to remember why moaning was a bad idea.

“So proper and polite,” he purred against her, his tongue touching her lightly.

She bucked as his mouth closed on her again, his tongue curling slightly inside her.

He did not seem to share her worry about noise. His groan was more animal than human when his tongue touched her again.

Then he kissed her again there, his tongue sliding over the most glorious place she’d ever felt, alternating between flicking and lathing. She arched up from the bed again, panting.

He kept up that wondrously sinful lathing, but her body needed more. She wanted him deeper. Inside her. Pounding in time to that growing, throbbing, aching sensation.

“Oh, my…”

He penetrated her with his tongue, driving deep inside her, and she swallowed a cry of pleasure. His tongue was glorious, thrusting, stroking. Heat bolted up her spine.

The Lord of Syn was making love to her with his wicked mouth. Camilla’s legs opened wider, needing him to press closer, the fire lashing along her body as he owned her with his sinful kiss.

“Oh, my God.”

Another growl.

“I assure you He has nothing to do with this.”

Synton’s hands hardened their hold on her hips, keeping her in place. As if she would move away now. She’d stay prone for all eternity as long as he kept doing that with his unholy, lovely mouth.

She still couldn’t see him, but the image filled her mind—Synton kneeling between her legs, hands buried in her lacy nightgown, head bent to her as if he were an acolyte to her body.

Her hips bucked upward, needing more.

Synton tended to her with renewed vigor, his warm tongue gliding over and inside her with such perfection that Camilla didn’t care if God or the devil himself was involved. This man could drag her down to hell and she’d gladly burn for eternity.

She wanted him to go deeper, to never stop.

He replaced his tongue with his fingers, sliding them across her folds.

It felt so good, Camilla had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out. She thrashed as that delicious feeling continued to crest into a wave of pleasure, gripping the sheets so tightly she feared they’d shred.

Synton gently hoisted her legs over his shoulders, pinning her to the bed with one large hand as he feasted.

“Come for me, Camilla.”

It was a command.

“Come all over my tongue. Now.”

And she loved it.

Each glorious stroke had that bundle of nerves growing tighter, hotter, coiled and ready to send fire through her veins as her release found her.

Camilla rocked her hips forward, fingers threading into his hair, tugging his face closer, earning a growl of approval that vibrated so deeply, she went tumbling over the edge, her body taking flight as pleasure rippled through her in one hot wave after the last. She’d orgasmed before, but this was unlike anything else. This made her want to stay in this bedchamber forever.

He didn’t let up, his fingers and tongue continuing to ride her through the sensation until another orgasm barreled through her. She cried out as the next orgasm sent her straight out of her body, floating somewhere far away.

Synton’s ministrations slowed to languid strokes, not stopping until the final wave broke, leaving Camilla feeling boneless and spent. She collapsed back, breathing heavily.

“That…” Was a religious experience. If he was the Lord of Syn, she’d happily become the worst sinner there was.

He kissed her inner thigh one last time, then gently set her trembling legs down.

She felt the heat of him leave. His jacket rustled, the air stirred. Then all was quiet.

He couldn’t have…

Camilla sat up, ripped off the blindfold, and blinked. The room was empty. She stared around her, emotions whirling from one extreme to the next.

There was no way he’d done that and then left. Without a word.

“Synton,” she hissed, furious.

And unless she’d been in some suspended stupor from his talented mouth, he’d moved faster than anyone should be able to.

Still, he didn’t return.

The immeasurable ass had in fact given her an orgasm to end all orgasms, then left.

She stared at the door, body still trembling from the aftershocks, wondering how Synton could go from such burning passion to cold indifference that swiftly.

If he was playing a game with her, he would regret it.

Camilla decided right then that instead of showing him how angry she was, she, too, could play. She’d adopt his mask of indifference. Let him be humbled too.

She tossed herself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, rethinking the whole encounter. It took far longer to get her annoyance under control than she cared to admit. But once she did, she puzzled his behavior out more clearly.

The blindfold.

The mention of only tonight.

The abrupt departure.

In some way, she was certain, he’d bared himself more than she had.

There was something he desperately didn’t want her to see, which only made her more curious to unravel the mystery of his past. Forbidden things always intrigued her.

And Lord Synton, mercurial moods, gruffness and all, was very tempting indeed.

THE PAINT, CANVAS, and brushes are all here in the studio,” Envy said by way of greeting, keeping his back purposefully to the artist he’d summoned at first light.

He’d left the Edwardses’ early that morning, also sending a message of apology for missing the celebratory betrothal breakfast.

“I expect you’ll work swiftly, Miss Antonius.”

He turned then, surprised that Camilla did not betray any of her feelings upon entry. It wasn’t like her to be so… quiet.

Envy had been certain she’d be furious that he’d left without so much as a goodbye. Or predictably lovestruck.

She was neither.

Her attention simply swept around the room, passing over him like he was one more canvas to catalogue. She gave no indication that Envy had been on his knees, nestled between her thighs, a few short hours before.