his shirt from his
pants. When it was out, she spread the shirt’s front apart and took in the width of his powerful
chest.
“You are a very powerful man, milord,” she said, sliding her arms around his lean waist.
“I am what you will make me, milady,” he said gently.
Mystery smiled and laid her cheek on that broad expanse of hairy chest. Beneath her ear, she
was reassured by the steady, comforting beat of his heart. She held him to her—unwilling to ever
let him go—and when he encircled her within the span of his muscular arms, she was at peace for
the first time since childhood.
“Where shall we live?” she asked.
He nestled her against him and put his chin atop her head. “Pameny or Michinoh,” he
answered. “Whichever would suit you. I have a small lodge on Erie Lake near Sandusky in the
Michinoh Territory. It’s small but we could add on.”
“I’ve always wanted a place by a large lake.”
“Then that’s where we’ll live,” he told her. He put a crooked finger under her chin and lifted
her face. “Whatever will make you happy.”
57
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
His lips came down on hers in a soft, gentle blending of flesh that had her bare toes tingling.
The kiss was searing and when he nibbled at her bottom lip—commanding her to open to him—
he slipped his tongue between her lips so smoothly, so authoritatively, she felt it all the way to
her womb. He took possession of her mouth and staked claim to it, going deep and tasting her,
swirling over her teeth and along the roof of her mouth until she was grinding herself against
him. She heard the low chuckle deep in his throat a moment before his lips released hers and he
smiled down at her.
“Tonight I will make you mine,” he said.
His arms swept her up and he carried her to the blanket spread before a roaring fire. Going
to one knee, he eased her to the floor then knelt there beside her.
“I want to touch you all over,” she said.
He shrugged out of his shirt and lay down, flinging his arms wide. “Do with me what you
will,” he said once again.
She came to her knees and bent over him, reaching for the black belt at his waist. Removing
it, she tossed it aside and made quick work of the buttons at his fly. She began to ease the pants
down his hips but when his cock sprang free—jutting and demanding with a tiny pearl drop
clinging to the broad head—she stopped, giving him an arched brow in question.
“Oops,” he said, grin wide and infectiousness.
“Oops indeed,” she countered, and continued dragging the pants down his long legs.
“You could give him a tongue lashing for being so presumptuous, you know,” he told her.
Mystery pursed her lips as she tugged the pants from his feet and lay them aside. “You are a
bad man, Glyn Kullen.”
“I’m a hard man, Mystery Butler,” he corrected, and his shaft pulsed upward.
“That too,” she agreed.
He was completely naked—lying there like a living sacrifice—and she could not look away
from the sheer male beauty of him. From the thick, dark hair to the tips of his straight toes, from
the wide breadth of his powerful shoulders to the hard expanse of his thighs—he was all man and
he was hers.
She stared at the shimmering drop that clung to the slit of his shaft.
Odell had thought such things as she was doing were sinful and would have no part in it.
Though he had seemed to enjoy taking her during his once-weekly lapse into lust, he had made no
real effort to ensure she had enjoyed the act and certainly would never have countenanced
experimentation on her part. The poor man would have been shocked to his foundation and most
likely worn a hair shirt for the remainder of his days had she knelt over him and taken his cock
into her mouth.
As she did the Reaper’s.
“Ah, wench,” she heard Glyn whisper and he buried his hand in her hair, threading his
fingers through the black silk strands.
His juice was warm upon her tongue and his
pants. When it was out, she spread the shirt’s front apart and took in the width of his powerful
chest.
“You are a very powerful man, milord,” she said, sliding her arms around his lean waist.
“I am what you will make me, milady,” he said gently.
Mystery smiled and laid her cheek on that broad expanse of hairy chest. Beneath her ear, she
was reassured by the steady, comforting beat of his heart. She held him to her—unwilling to ever
let him go—and when he encircled her within the span of his muscular arms, she was at peace for
the first time since childhood.
“Where shall we live?” she asked.
He nestled her against him and put his chin atop her head. “Pameny or Michinoh,” he
answered. “Whichever would suit you. I have a small lodge on Erie Lake near Sandusky in the
Michinoh Territory. It’s small but we could add on.”
“I’ve always wanted a place by a large lake.”
“Then that’s where we’ll live,” he told her. He put a crooked finger under her chin and lifted
her face. “Whatever will make you happy.”
57
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
His lips came down on hers in a soft, gentle blending of flesh that had her bare toes tingling.
The kiss was searing and when he nibbled at her bottom lip—commanding her to open to him—
he slipped his tongue between her lips so smoothly, so authoritatively, she felt it all the way to
her womb. He took possession of her mouth and staked claim to it, going deep and tasting her,
swirling over her teeth and along the roof of her mouth until she was grinding herself against
him. She heard the low chuckle deep in his throat a moment before his lips released hers and he
smiled down at her.
“Tonight I will make you mine,” he said.
His arms swept her up and he carried her to the blanket spread before a roaring fire. Going
to one knee, he eased her to the floor then knelt there beside her.
“I want to touch you all over,” she said.
He shrugged out of his shirt and lay down, flinging his arms wide. “Do with me what you
will,” he said once again.
She came to her knees and bent over him, reaching for the black belt at his waist. Removing
it, she tossed it aside and made quick work of the buttons at his fly. She began to ease the pants
down his hips but when his cock sprang free—jutting and demanding with a tiny pearl drop
clinging to the broad head—she stopped, giving him an arched brow in question.
“Oops,” he said, grin wide and infectiousness.
“Oops indeed,” she countered, and continued dragging the pants down his long legs.
“You could give him a tongue lashing for being so presumptuous, you know,” he told her.
Mystery pursed her lips as she tugged the pants from his feet and lay them aside. “You are a
bad man, Glyn Kullen.”
“I’m a hard man, Mystery Butler,” he corrected, and his shaft pulsed upward.
“That too,” she agreed.
He was completely naked—lying there like a living sacrifice—and she could not look away
from the sheer male beauty of him. From the thick, dark hair to the tips of his straight toes, from
the wide breadth of his powerful shoulders to the hard expanse of his thighs—he was all man and
he was hers.
She stared at the shimmering drop that clung to the slit of his shaft.
Odell had thought such things as she was doing were sinful and would have no part in it.
Though he had seemed to enjoy taking her during his once-weekly lapse into lust, he had made no
real effort to ensure she had enjoyed the act and certainly would never have countenanced
experimentation on her part. The poor man would have been shocked to his foundation and most
likely worn a hair shirt for the remainder of his days had she knelt over him and taken his cock
into her mouth.
As she did the Reaper’s.
“Ah, wench,” she heard Glyn whisper and he buried his hand in her hair, threading his
fingers through the black silk strands.
His juice was warm upon her tongue and his
Similar Books
