care.
Pleasure gripped her body, holding it prisoner. Each inward glide was exhilarating, each withdrawal made her inner muscles clench in protest, and the brush of his hair against her hands where they clutched his shoulders added another layer of sensation.
Her already aroused body surrendered first, the or gasmic tide a drowning flood. Her thighs tightened around his lean hips and every muscle went rigid in the pulsing splendor of the moment. Luke responded with a low, telling groan as his tall body stiffened, and at the very last moment he withdrew, the hot, liquid rush of his ejaculation spilling across her thigh as he shuddered in her arms.
Breathless, entwined, his face buried in her outspread hair and his weight balanced just enough on his fore arms so he didn’t crush her, neither of them spoke for several long moments, until he lifted his head and gifted her with his mesmerizing smile. One eyebrow lifted in a lazy arch. “I hope that was worth waiting for.”
“Don’t look so arrogant, Altea,” she retorted, but her laugh was breathless and her fingertips drifted down his spine.
“I’m always arrogant.” He kissed the side of her neck, his lips lingering. “I thought you knew.”
“I might have noticed.” She arched back to give him better access to the point where her pulse still fluttered.
“Don’t women like confident men?”
“It depends on the level of the confidence and how it is expressed.”
“I see.” He nibbled his way up to her mouth, murmur ing against her lips, “What if I told you I am confident I can keep you up all night?”
It could be true. He was still hard, the long length of his cock rigid between them, as if he hadn’t just spent himself. Madeline kissed him, a long, leisurely meet ing of their mouths and tongues, the play more delicate and teasing now that the first burst of passion was past. “Uhm . . . I’d say you would have to prove that to me.”
“It would be my pleasure to do so.” He lifted the edge of the sheet and wiped the residue of his seed from her skin.
“And mine.” She drifted her fingers through the silk of his hair.
“I’ll do my best, my darling Madge.”
She gave him a light, exasperated slap on the shoul der, though the disapproval was feigned. When he spoke that way, with the heavy intonation in his voice, her en tire body tingled. “No one calls me that but you.”
There was no sign of repentance in his grin, and his silver eyes glimmered. “Good. Madge belongs to me alone, then.”
Had he not begun to take her again, in subtle, slow strokes of withdrawal and invasion, she might have pon dered that possessive statement more, but the beguiling rhythm disordered all cognizant thought, and later—hours later, as he promised—when she drifted asleep in his arms in exhausted contentment, she dreamed of ro mantic, sunlit glades and crystalline seas, and soft, warm summer breezes.
Luke dressed quietly, sitting down on an embroidered chair to pull on his boots, his gaze fastened on the woman in the disordered chaos of the bed. Madeline slept on her side, her face peaceful, the glory of her lux uriant hair cascading over her slender, bared shoulders. Her maid, he knew, as he stood to button his shirt and tuck it into his breeches, would know someone had been with her mistress, but the least he could do was spare Madeline the embarrassment of having him still in her bed in the morning.
She was enchanting.
Sensual, artlessly responsive, intelligent enough to challenge him as an equal, but secure enough to not feel the need.
Her intellect not in question, he still wondered if she was experienced enough with public censure to realize what came next. Had she truly thought about the reper cussions of this night? When the whispers started . . . how would she feel then? She had a son to consider also.
Regret was a commodity he usually disdained, but not everyone felt that way. A beautiful young widow with dozens of potential suitors
Pleasure gripped her body, holding it prisoner. Each inward glide was exhilarating, each withdrawal made her inner muscles clench in protest, and the brush of his hair against her hands where they clutched his shoulders added another layer of sensation.
Her already aroused body surrendered first, the or gasmic tide a drowning flood. Her thighs tightened around his lean hips and every muscle went rigid in the pulsing splendor of the moment. Luke responded with a low, telling groan as his tall body stiffened, and at the very last moment he withdrew, the hot, liquid rush of his ejaculation spilling across her thigh as he shuddered in her arms.
Breathless, entwined, his face buried in her outspread hair and his weight balanced just enough on his fore arms so he didn’t crush her, neither of them spoke for several long moments, until he lifted his head and gifted her with his mesmerizing smile. One eyebrow lifted in a lazy arch. “I hope that was worth waiting for.”
“Don’t look so arrogant, Altea,” she retorted, but her laugh was breathless and her fingertips drifted down his spine.
“I’m always arrogant.” He kissed the side of her neck, his lips lingering. “I thought you knew.”
“I might have noticed.” She arched back to give him better access to the point where her pulse still fluttered.
“Don’t women like confident men?”
“It depends on the level of the confidence and how it is expressed.”
“I see.” He nibbled his way up to her mouth, murmur ing against her lips, “What if I told you I am confident I can keep you up all night?”
It could be true. He was still hard, the long length of his cock rigid between them, as if he hadn’t just spent himself. Madeline kissed him, a long, leisurely meet ing of their mouths and tongues, the play more delicate and teasing now that the first burst of passion was past. “Uhm . . . I’d say you would have to prove that to me.”
“It would be my pleasure to do so.” He lifted the edge of the sheet and wiped the residue of his seed from her skin.
“And mine.” She drifted her fingers through the silk of his hair.
“I’ll do my best, my darling Madge.”
She gave him a light, exasperated slap on the shoul der, though the disapproval was feigned. When he spoke that way, with the heavy intonation in his voice, her en tire body tingled. “No one calls me that but you.”
There was no sign of repentance in his grin, and his silver eyes glimmered. “Good. Madge belongs to me alone, then.”
Had he not begun to take her again, in subtle, slow strokes of withdrawal and invasion, she might have pon dered that possessive statement more, but the beguiling rhythm disordered all cognizant thought, and later—hours later, as he promised—when she drifted asleep in his arms in exhausted contentment, she dreamed of ro mantic, sunlit glades and crystalline seas, and soft, warm summer breezes.
Luke dressed quietly, sitting down on an embroidered chair to pull on his boots, his gaze fastened on the woman in the disordered chaos of the bed. Madeline slept on her side, her face peaceful, the glory of her lux uriant hair cascading over her slender, bared shoulders. Her maid, he knew, as he stood to button his shirt and tuck it into his breeches, would know someone had been with her mistress, but the least he could do was spare Madeline the embarrassment of having him still in her bed in the morning.
She was enchanting.
Sensual, artlessly responsive, intelligent enough to challenge him as an equal, but secure enough to not feel the need.
Her intellect not in question, he still wondered if she was experienced enough with public censure to realize what came next. Had she truly thought about the reper cussions of this night? When the whispers started . . . how would she feel then? She had a son to consider also.
Regret was a commodity he usually disdained, but not everyone felt that way. A beautiful young widow with dozens of potential suitors
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