his chest, slid beneath linen to feel the hard contours of his shoulders. Her fingers skimmed the ridge of a scar, a thin, hard line that ran from shoulder blade to bicep.
It reminded her of what he was. Of what she was. But the pulse beating in his throat called her. She nipped with her teeth, then feathered hot kisses against the hollow between his collarbones. The beat of his blood pulsed hard and fast against her lips.
More
.
Pulling herself away, she looked at him. He sprawled in the chair, legs outstretched, lapels crushed from her hands. He watched her with hooded eyes, a half smile hovering on his lips. He was gorgeous. Golden and lean and so, so male.
The intensity of his gaze drew her in. She couldn’t look away. God, she wanted him. Wanted with a breathlessness that sent her head spinning. So she gathered her skirts with a rustle of velvet. She set her knees on either side of his hips so that the core of her pressed against his arousal. He was hard and hot beneath his clothing, and she could feel the weight of him against that most intimate place. She ached there, ready and wanting to simply be touched.
When he opened the flap of his fall front trousers, she raised herself so that she was poised just above him. She sank down slowly, her body accommodating his heat and strength. She had forgotten what it meant to be joined with a man, to have him fill her. It was a simple matter to accept him, a thrill as he thrust into her.
Then they were joined. He did not withdraw, but simply filled her as deeply as possible. His muscles strained as he paused—but no. That was control, not strain. He held himself still. Hands gripped her hips. Then,
yes
. A long stroke as his hands guided her hips up, then down. Petticoats swished and pooled around them as they moved once more.
He pushed them out of the way and his eyes flashed down to the stockings riding high on her thighs. His gaze went dark and she heard that quick intake of breath she was beginning to recognize. Rough hands slid up her thigh to linger on the place where silk stockings met skin. Fingers dipped beneath silk, a quick stroke that matched the rhythm of her movements on him.
Her eyes drifted closed. His fingers held magic as they drifted higher, skimming thigh, hip, then that juncture where everything met. All sensation, all heat, all desire spiraled to a single place. Suddenly her thighs did not work. She could not raise or lower herself. Only her inner muscles clutched around him.
“Angelstone.” The word became a sigh as his hand pressed against that small center of her being. She had not been touched there since—but she could not think. Her mind fuzzed as her body bowed back. She rose high on those clever fingers and let their devastating skill overwhelm her.
Her fingers searched for purchase, found solid shoulders to anchor her. She opened her eyes to find him watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. She did not wonder if he desired her. She did not need to. The deliberate focus of his gaze, the movement of his chest, his thrust inside her. They were truth.
Her body tightened unbearably as he continued to pleasure her until she pushed over the edge of reason. A thousand thoughts crystallized, then broke apart. Regret and release spiraled together and she let her head fall back.
Then his hands were sliding up her body to cup her cheeks. He drew her down and ravaged her mouth. His finesse turned to hunger. Satisfaction was a dark edge on his moan. But her mind was a step behind, lost in morality and fidelity and widowhood.
Her bodice seemed to simply slip beneath her breasts under his swift hands. A quick tongue flicked at her nipples, one, then the other. Any thought of morality and fidelity dissipated.
Please, just let me forget.
Her head fell back again as she fisted her hands in all that thick, gorgeous, golden hair. His tongue slid between her breasts, up, drawing a line to her lips.
“Lilias.” The ridged calluses of his thumbs brushed
It reminded her of what he was. Of what she was. But the pulse beating in his throat called her. She nipped with her teeth, then feathered hot kisses against the hollow between his collarbones. The beat of his blood pulsed hard and fast against her lips.
More
.
Pulling herself away, she looked at him. He sprawled in the chair, legs outstretched, lapels crushed from her hands. He watched her with hooded eyes, a half smile hovering on his lips. He was gorgeous. Golden and lean and so, so male.
The intensity of his gaze drew her in. She couldn’t look away. God, she wanted him. Wanted with a breathlessness that sent her head spinning. So she gathered her skirts with a rustle of velvet. She set her knees on either side of his hips so that the core of her pressed against his arousal. He was hard and hot beneath his clothing, and she could feel the weight of him against that most intimate place. She ached there, ready and wanting to simply be touched.
When he opened the flap of his fall front trousers, she raised herself so that she was poised just above him. She sank down slowly, her body accommodating his heat and strength. She had forgotten what it meant to be joined with a man, to have him fill her. It was a simple matter to accept him, a thrill as he thrust into her.
Then they were joined. He did not withdraw, but simply filled her as deeply as possible. His muscles strained as he paused—but no. That was control, not strain. He held himself still. Hands gripped her hips. Then,
yes
. A long stroke as his hands guided her hips up, then down. Petticoats swished and pooled around them as they moved once more.
He pushed them out of the way and his eyes flashed down to the stockings riding high on her thighs. His gaze went dark and she heard that quick intake of breath she was beginning to recognize. Rough hands slid up her thigh to linger on the place where silk stockings met skin. Fingers dipped beneath silk, a quick stroke that matched the rhythm of her movements on him.
Her eyes drifted closed. His fingers held magic as they drifted higher, skimming thigh, hip, then that juncture where everything met. All sensation, all heat, all desire spiraled to a single place. Suddenly her thighs did not work. She could not raise or lower herself. Only her inner muscles clutched around him.
“Angelstone.” The word became a sigh as his hand pressed against that small center of her being. She had not been touched there since—but she could not think. Her mind fuzzed as her body bowed back. She rose high on those clever fingers and let their devastating skill overwhelm her.
Her fingers searched for purchase, found solid shoulders to anchor her. She opened her eyes to find him watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. She did not wonder if he desired her. She did not need to. The deliberate focus of his gaze, the movement of his chest, his thrust inside her. They were truth.
Her body tightened unbearably as he continued to pleasure her until she pushed over the edge of reason. A thousand thoughts crystallized, then broke apart. Regret and release spiraled together and she let her head fall back.
Then his hands were sliding up her body to cup her cheeks. He drew her down and ravaged her mouth. His finesse turned to hunger. Satisfaction was a dark edge on his moan. But her mind was a step behind, lost in morality and fidelity and widowhood.
Her bodice seemed to simply slip beneath her breasts under his swift hands. A quick tongue flicked at her nipples, one, then the other. Any thought of morality and fidelity dissipated.
Please, just let me forget.
Her head fell back again as she fisted her hands in all that thick, gorgeous, golden hair. His tongue slid between her breasts, up, drawing a line to her lips.
“Lilias.” The ridged calluses of his thumbs brushed
Similar Books
