against the silken skin of her inner thigh. “I think I am obligated to make it worth your wait, my lady.”
Her answer was a shudder as his practiced fingers gently parted the folds of her sex and he pressed his mouth to the most strategic spot to inflame female arousal. Madeline moaned, her hands flying into his hair as he teased with the tip of his tongue and at the same time slid one finger into the heated satin of her vaginal passage.
“Luke.”
It was gratifying to hear his name said in that throaty tone, unlike her usual cool contralto.
It took very little time to coax her into a satisfyingly vocal climax, her soft cries echoing through the darkened bedchamber, her slender body quivering against the ministrations of his mouth. With a triumphant grin he rose, positioning himself between her open thighs, the tip of his rigid cock testing the receptive give of her female entrance. “Let me know when you are recovered enough for this.” He pushed in a fraction, sucking in a breath at the exquisite warmth and tightness of her body. “Would it be ungentlemanly of me to hope it’s soon?”
There was no question of it: she’d denied herself too long, tried to put aside secret desire for the practicality of everyday life. Languid in the aftermath of exultant sensation, Madeline rubbed the muscular shoulders of the man poised over her and whispered, “I’m ready whenever you are, my lord, and it seems to me you are very”—she reached down and stroked his erection lightly—“ready.”
The inward hiss of his breath at her touch was telling, as was the hot-blooded look in the storm-gray depths of his eyes. Luke leaned down, took her mouth in a tempestuous kiss, and surged forward to full penetration.
She gasped at the forceful invasion, and he instantly went still. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” It was true. The last thing she was feeling was pain. He impaled her so thoroughly she was stretched, filled, possessed, but it was deliciously pleasurable. Almost as delicious as Luke himself, his nude body hard and lean under her questing fingertips, his skin just touched with a sheen of perspiration, the amber silk of his hair brushing his shoulders. Those sculpted, handsome features so many— too many, she thought with illogical jealousy—women admired were taut now as he peered down at her. “You’re sure?”
“You just feel . . . enormous.” Her smile was deliber ately enticing and she lifted her hips, taking him a crucial fraction deeper.
“Now, that’s something a man hates to hear.” His laugh was a small burst of breath.
She didn’t have enough experience to know the variations of male endowment, but she thought he was probably larger than most. Certainly he was bigger than Colin, though he was also inches taller and wider in the shoulders. . . . Not that it mattered; her husband had given her pleasure in bed even on her wedding night, when she’d been nervous and awkward. . . .
No, she wasn’t going to think about what she’d lost now . This night was for her—the selfishness assuaged by the growing conviction over the past few years that she was not interested, in a personal sense, in making a second dynastic marriage just so she could belong to another man. Colin had been wonderful. She had been lucky. Luke Daudet could fill the void in her life and he wouldn’t demand more from her.
It was very different from her marriage, but, in short, a perfect arrangement.
Wasn’t it?
With playful enticement she grazed her nails across his firm buttocks. “Hmm . . . Altea, if you wouldn’t mind ...” She wiggled just a little.
He made a low sound deep in his throat and began to move. Slowly at first, with control, his warm breath fanning her cheek, his eyes half closed in concentrated pleasure. It was sleek, it was glorious, and the friction of sex into sex so decadent Madeline couldn’t suppress small pants of enjoyment that were probably unladylike in extreme.
She didn’t
Her answer was a shudder as his practiced fingers gently parted the folds of her sex and he pressed his mouth to the most strategic spot to inflame female arousal. Madeline moaned, her hands flying into his hair as he teased with the tip of his tongue and at the same time slid one finger into the heated satin of her vaginal passage.
“Luke.”
It was gratifying to hear his name said in that throaty tone, unlike her usual cool contralto.
It took very little time to coax her into a satisfyingly vocal climax, her soft cries echoing through the darkened bedchamber, her slender body quivering against the ministrations of his mouth. With a triumphant grin he rose, positioning himself between her open thighs, the tip of his rigid cock testing the receptive give of her female entrance. “Let me know when you are recovered enough for this.” He pushed in a fraction, sucking in a breath at the exquisite warmth and tightness of her body. “Would it be ungentlemanly of me to hope it’s soon?”
There was no question of it: she’d denied herself too long, tried to put aside secret desire for the practicality of everyday life. Languid in the aftermath of exultant sensation, Madeline rubbed the muscular shoulders of the man poised over her and whispered, “I’m ready whenever you are, my lord, and it seems to me you are very”—she reached down and stroked his erection lightly—“ready.”
The inward hiss of his breath at her touch was telling, as was the hot-blooded look in the storm-gray depths of his eyes. Luke leaned down, took her mouth in a tempestuous kiss, and surged forward to full penetration.
She gasped at the forceful invasion, and he instantly went still. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” It was true. The last thing she was feeling was pain. He impaled her so thoroughly she was stretched, filled, possessed, but it was deliciously pleasurable. Almost as delicious as Luke himself, his nude body hard and lean under her questing fingertips, his skin just touched with a sheen of perspiration, the amber silk of his hair brushing his shoulders. Those sculpted, handsome features so many— too many, she thought with illogical jealousy—women admired were taut now as he peered down at her. “You’re sure?”
“You just feel . . . enormous.” Her smile was deliber ately enticing and she lifted her hips, taking him a crucial fraction deeper.
“Now, that’s something a man hates to hear.” His laugh was a small burst of breath.
She didn’t have enough experience to know the variations of male endowment, but she thought he was probably larger than most. Certainly he was bigger than Colin, though he was also inches taller and wider in the shoulders. . . . Not that it mattered; her husband had given her pleasure in bed even on her wedding night, when she’d been nervous and awkward. . . .
No, she wasn’t going to think about what she’d lost now . This night was for her—the selfishness assuaged by the growing conviction over the past few years that she was not interested, in a personal sense, in making a second dynastic marriage just so she could belong to another man. Colin had been wonderful. She had been lucky. Luke Daudet could fill the void in her life and he wouldn’t demand more from her.
It was very different from her marriage, but, in short, a perfect arrangement.
Wasn’t it?
With playful enticement she grazed her nails across his firm buttocks. “Hmm . . . Altea, if you wouldn’t mind ...” She wiggled just a little.
He made a low sound deep in his throat and began to move. Slowly at first, with control, his warm breath fanning her cheek, his eyes half closed in concentrated pleasure. It was sleek, it was glorious, and the friction of sex into sex so decadent Madeline couldn’t suppress small pants of enjoyment that were probably unladylike in extreme.
She didn’t
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