and swollen from the last time he’d brought her to climax. Leo dipped his tongue into her and
she bucked, thighs locking about his shoulders.
Sweet and salty at the same time. Peaches and balsamic vinegar. Dessert in Rome on a hot summer day. Leo licked and sucked,
fixing his mouth over her pulsing clitoris.
Viola’s hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer, trying to pull him away. He couldn’t tell which, and didn’t care. She
was panting, twisting, legs trembling as they gripped him. Her hands suddenly clenched, nearly ripping his hair from his head,
and she gave a high, keening cry that ended in his name.
Leo ran his tongue up her cleft, flicked it over her clitoris, and let his teeth slide lightly over the tender peak. Viola
shook and pushed at his shoulder with her foot.
Hands resting on her thighs, Leo sat back and simply allowed himself to enjoy the trembling aftershocks of her climax and
the knowledge that the next time she came, his cock would be buried inside her.
CHAPTER 12
A fat, lazy bee droned among the hollyhock and pinks, the spring’s bounty too much for even its greedy forging. Viola twitched
her skirts aside to avoid its pollen-drunk flight.
She hadn’t been stung since she was a girl, but she remembered it clearly enough not to want to repeat the experience. No
more than she wanted to repeat the dizzying thrill of infatuation… but her own feelings, her own memories, were harder to
avoid than the bee.
Penthesilea grumbled behind her, breaking into a full-throated bark as a butterfly had the temerity to flutter across her
path. Viola shook her head and quickened her pace. She’d caught a glimpse of water from her window that morning as she’d dressed.
A pond? A stream? She hadn’t been able to tell, but the promise of shade, cool water, and a peaceful spot to think was irresistible.
She’d woken in her own bed, the memory of Lord Leonidas carrying her there hazy, mixed up as it was with that of climax after
climax. It had been a night filledwith teasing, with sweet, erotic torture. And when she’d complained that hands and mouths were not enough, he’d simply smiled
and brought her to orgasm again.
The path of crushed oyster shell turned to dirt as it meandered into an artful copse of trees. Nuthatch and robins darted
through the dappled light. A squirrel dashed up a tree, scolding as it went. Pen sneezed derisively, ignoring it in favor
of crashing through the foliage beside the path.
Birds erupted in all directions. Pen woofled, chasing after them, far too slow to catch one but happy to try all the same.
She had been pronounced to be, in general, healthy and likely to recover in full.
The local hunt master clearly hadn’t been delighted to minister to Viola’s mongrel, but he’d done so all the same. Undeniably
only as a favor to Leo. He’d left with promises of dire consequences if Pen were to interfere with his hounds and general
predictions of doom attached to her adoption of such a beast. That Leo had gone with him had been a relief.
The ground rose slowly until the path became a rough set of stairs. Stone steps emerged as she rounded the hill. A stone wall,
damp with moss and lichen, rose along one side. A few more steps and then an outer wall began, and then she was climbing into
the ruins of a small, square tower.
It was enchanting. A garden folly of epic proportions. She hurried upward, winding past several narrow windows before reaching
the top.
A vista of rolling hills, green with grass and dappled with trees, greeted her over the uneven, broken balustrade.The small rise where the tower was built was littered with broken stones. They tumbled down until they met a wide stream that
wound through the open field and lapped at the tower’s base. Pen was circling and sniffing among them, rooting in the tall
grass.
Viola sat down upon the uppermost edge of stone and stared out toward the ha-ha. Her head ached. Likewise
she bucked, thighs locking about his shoulders.
Sweet and salty at the same time. Peaches and balsamic vinegar. Dessert in Rome on a hot summer day. Leo licked and sucked,
fixing his mouth over her pulsing clitoris.
Viola’s hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer, trying to pull him away. He couldn’t tell which, and didn’t care. She
was panting, twisting, legs trembling as they gripped him. Her hands suddenly clenched, nearly ripping his hair from his head,
and she gave a high, keening cry that ended in his name.
Leo ran his tongue up her cleft, flicked it over her clitoris, and let his teeth slide lightly over the tender peak. Viola
shook and pushed at his shoulder with her foot.
Hands resting on her thighs, Leo sat back and simply allowed himself to enjoy the trembling aftershocks of her climax and
the knowledge that the next time she came, his cock would be buried inside her.
CHAPTER 12
A fat, lazy bee droned among the hollyhock and pinks, the spring’s bounty too much for even its greedy forging. Viola twitched
her skirts aside to avoid its pollen-drunk flight.
She hadn’t been stung since she was a girl, but she remembered it clearly enough not to want to repeat the experience. No
more than she wanted to repeat the dizzying thrill of infatuation… but her own feelings, her own memories, were harder to
avoid than the bee.
Penthesilea grumbled behind her, breaking into a full-throated bark as a butterfly had the temerity to flutter across her
path. Viola shook her head and quickened her pace. She’d caught a glimpse of water from her window that morning as she’d dressed.
A pond? A stream? She hadn’t been able to tell, but the promise of shade, cool water, and a peaceful spot to think was irresistible.
She’d woken in her own bed, the memory of Lord Leonidas carrying her there hazy, mixed up as it was with that of climax after
climax. It had been a night filledwith teasing, with sweet, erotic torture. And when she’d complained that hands and mouths were not enough, he’d simply smiled
and brought her to orgasm again.
The path of crushed oyster shell turned to dirt as it meandered into an artful copse of trees. Nuthatch and robins darted
through the dappled light. A squirrel dashed up a tree, scolding as it went. Pen sneezed derisively, ignoring it in favor
of crashing through the foliage beside the path.
Birds erupted in all directions. Pen woofled, chasing after them, far too slow to catch one but happy to try all the same.
She had been pronounced to be, in general, healthy and likely to recover in full.
The local hunt master clearly hadn’t been delighted to minister to Viola’s mongrel, but he’d done so all the same. Undeniably
only as a favor to Leo. He’d left with promises of dire consequences if Pen were to interfere with his hounds and general
predictions of doom attached to her adoption of such a beast. That Leo had gone with him had been a relief.
The ground rose slowly until the path became a rough set of stairs. Stone steps emerged as she rounded the hill. A stone wall,
damp with moss and lichen, rose along one side. A few more steps and then an outer wall began, and then she was climbing into
the ruins of a small, square tower.
It was enchanting. A garden folly of epic proportions. She hurried upward, winding past several narrow windows before reaching
the top.
A vista of rolling hills, green with grass and dappled with trees, greeted her over the uneven, broken balustrade.The small rise where the tower was built was littered with broken stones. They tumbled down until they met a wide stream that
wound through the open field and lapped at the tower’s base. Pen was circling and sniffing among them, rooting in the tall
grass.
Viola sat down upon the uppermost edge of stone and stared out toward the ha-ha. Her head ached. Likewise
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