His Spoilt Lady by Vanessa Brooks Page A

loosening them and sliding them down from under her
hips.
    Heat curled
through the centre of her womanhood, unsettling Linnett so that she
snapped her legs shut. John parted her with a firm and knowing
hand, exploring her, arousing her with gentle, questing fingers,
until she was slick and wet with her desire, lost in fathomless
delight. John pushed up her shift, his kisses trailing down her
body. He held her as she writhed against him and then held her legs
firmly apart as he lowered his head between her thighs. His tongue
probed the hot pulsing heart of her passion, finding and teasing
the small nub of her desire. His searching tongue tantalised her
senses, sending her spiralling into a vortex of ecstasy such as she
could never have imagined. Her back arched, as wave after wave of
delicious pulsing pleasure washed over her. Linnett cried out his
name and John marvelled at her sweet surrender. His throat
constricted with emotion as he watched her yield herself to passion
for the very first time.
    Afterwards, as
she lay bathed in a gleam of perspiration, her white shift screwed
up around her waist, legs thrown apart, head flung to one side, he
kissed her neck, murmuring his love for her. Her gorgeous hair, a
pool of gleaming honey with soft, silken, tendrils trailed over the
creamy mounds of her breasts, nipples taut, exposed in the frothy
opening of her shift. John ached with the need to mate her; she was
irresistible, ravishing. He stood up and peeled off his clothes,
turning to face her so that she saw that his manhood pulsed with a
life of its own.
    “Yes, look at
me, wife,” he commanded. Linnett opened her eyes and gazed at him.
Never having seen a man naked, she was fascinated and her eyes went
straight to that livid pulsing hardness that testified to his
desire for her. How proud it stood beneath his belly, how dark and
huge. Were all men made so? she wondered. Her eyes travelled down
John’s long powerful legs covered in dark curling hair, his flat
hard stomach, his wide and well-muscled chest, covered with the
same dark curling hair, his broad shoulders and strong arms.
Linnett’s gaze finally travelled to his face, a dark lean face.
    Disconcertingly, he watched her with those hooded inscrutable grey
eyes, his stare unwavering. John moved purposefully towards the
bed. Shyly, nervously, Linnett moved over to accommodate him. He
gathered her into his arms, kissing and caressing her. He began to
build her passions once again, his deft fingers soon working their
magic. She was quivering, wet and open with desire. John moved
above her, and this time she parted her legs willingly, welcoming
him as he guided himself to her waiting cleft.
    With vigorous
force, he drove into her yielding softness. Linnett raised her
hips, meeting thrust for thrust, wanting him, needing him.
    “Now,” he
whispered hoarsely, “now... you are mine.”
    Then he plunged
himself deep into her, his strokes carrying them both to heights of
ecstasy unimagined by Linnett’s virginal mind. She writhed beneath
his pounding body, clinging to him, her anchor in a sea of
turbulent pleasure, her very consciousness fragmented; she cried
out as she hovered deliciously on a crest of indescribable joy, his
voice joined with hers as he soared, suspended in the molten heat
of his own climax.
    Afterwards,
raising himself up on his elbows, John placed his hands either side
of her face and pushed the damp hair back from her flushed cheeks.
Studying her, he was delighted to have found that she possessed
such a great capacity for love. “Your eyes have changed colour,
they are a smoky green... just like the ocean depths. Do you know
sweeting… that you are made to be loved?”
    Linnett nuzzled
his neck. “Is it... always this way between men and women?” she
asked him shyly.
    “No, not
always.” he replied. “I knew it would be this way with us the first
time when . . . ”
    “I remember,”
she shuddered, pulling a face as she thought of the