Hating the need that welled up in his gut and the satisfaction at getting an audible reaction from her, Brooks pressed further against her, hands already working at the buttons of her bodice. If he was going to hell, she was coming down with him and he may as well enjoy it. The self-loathing would settle in later and he would try to talk himself out of it, try to rationalize what he'd done, but he couldn't think through it now.

The feeling of her nails down his back had him hissing out a breath against Morrigan's skin, a mixture of pain and pleasure and satisfaction all rolled into the building arousal he just couldn't fight. There had always been an inescapable magnetism here that he'd tried to dispel but never had any luck.

With the bodice out of the way and discarded on the floor, Brooks bunched up her skirts in his hands, pulling them out of the way, palms finding purchase on her thighs, bloomers still frustratingly in the way. He paused, pulling back just a little to look her in the eye. It was a small moment of rational thought, but he felt it necessary to make sure they were ready for the mutual downfall.