She couldn't help the shiver of anticipation even with his crude way of putting it. She wished she could have denied him an answer, but she trembled with the strain of holding hungry words back from her lips. Yes, she wanted him. No, it didn't matter that he was her slave. Was it normal? She had no idea. It was a point of etiquette that had been left out in her years, one she'd never had a need to confront before him.
Georgiana couldn't help the gasp of surprise that escaped her nor the strangled groan for the sharp buck of his hips. She refused to back down, even choosing to cling to him tighter for his bruising touch. There was certainly nothing gentle about it, no love-making. Perhaps that made it easier to justify. She didn't steal from an innocent, helpless man. She wasn't throwing her passionless betrothed a bone. There was no plan, no careful consideration, just the thrill of spontaneity and freedom.
"Yes," she whispered repeatedly between panting breaths, her head lowered to his shoulder in a weak effort to get some traction against him. Her fingers dug into his back, her grip tightening in rhythm with each buck of his hips, each jostle against the door. Her clawing grew merciless as he sped up, her hips rocking in time with his as she caught on. Her lips rained a trail of quick kisses along his shoulder and up his throat, growing bolder the more skin she covered. The kisses grew fewer on her way back down, and soon they were shallow love-bites leaving a delicious trail of flushed skin that she gazed upon with a hazy admiration. Thus far she'd tried to keep fairly quiet, but her care of who heard grew weaker and weaker until it was nonexistent and she was babbling her whispered praises and taunts at his ear and shaking with the effort to keep herself together. "I want more. I want everything. I'm at your mercy. Is that what you want? Is that what pleases you?"