Sinful Confessions by Samantha Holt Page A

inside the opening in her drawers. “Christ,
Viola. Why do I always want to touch you?”
    She
gripped the shelf behind her with both hands and pressed her chest and hips forward,
like an offering. Ready for him, open for him. She needed his touch as much as
he needed to touch her. She didn’t need to say anything. He knew. He could read
her as easily he did her letters.
    A
finger skimmed her folds. She shuddered. “Again,” Viola demanded.
    He
repeated the movement, never looking away. In those grey eyes, she saw so much.
The man who had written those letters perhaps. The real Julian Cynfell. Eyes
dark, breaths heavy, he revealed everything to her as he touched her so
intimately.
    Simmering
pleasure started low down and he swept over her again and again. He traced
circles until hitting the sweet spot that had her breaths sticking in her
throat. It built slowly, slowly and the desire to close her eyes and concentrate
on the sensation struck, but his gaze held her captive. What did he see in her
eyes?
    When
he pressed one finger into her warmth, she arched. Her body accepted the
invasion with gratitude. Never had she needed to be filled so badly. With one
hand propped at the side of her head, Julian leaned into her and held her in
place with his chest. That finger moved with careful patience until she was one
trembling mass of desire. His thumb found her nub again and skimmed it. She
quaked from head to slippers. He slid forward again, burying his finger deep
within her, then out, still using the same measured pace. His clever thumb ran
over in similarly cautious circles.
    Ecstasy
unfurled slowly inside her. He only needed to press home a few more gentle
times to bring her near the edge. A trickle of perspiration pricked down her
back and her mouth moved in silent pleas.
    “Yes,”
he urged. One more circle of his thumb, one more slow thrust of his finger. “Yes.”
    “Yes,”
she repeated, surprised by how distant her voice sounded.
    And
then, gazing into his eyes, captured by his body, his presence, her peak
blossomed. It came in a slow sweep, as tender as his touch. It consumed every
part of her. Breathless, hot and as weak as a kitten, she flopped her head forward.
    Julian
touched his forehead to hers and brought his other hand to her face to cup it.
His breaths blew heavily over her face. Why her orgasm seemed to affect him so,
she did not know. When he tried to ease away, she latched her hands around his
neck.
    “Don’t.”
    “If
I stay, I will...” He trailed off but he didn’t need to say anything. She felt
the hard ridge of his desire. Felt the tension in his body. He wanted her.
    “Do
it,” she begged.
    He
jerked back and frowned at her. Perhaps he was used to taking charge, or women
who never sank so low as to beg. But, at present, all she could think on was
how she longed to be joined with this man. If she could take nothing else back
with her, she needed the memory of Julian making love to her.
    He
shook his head.
    “Julian,
make love to me.” She reached down and cupped him through his pants. He pulsed
against her hand.
    A
harsh breath echoed around the library. Viola gazed up at him, silently pleaded
with him. She saw the crack in his restraint through his eyes first, then in
his body. Gradually, like a great wall crumbling, his body softened into hers.
She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, soothing him. This beautiful man was
hurting so badly inside. Oh, how she ached to take away some of that pain, even
just for a moment.
    Using
his body to lever herself away from the bookcase, she flattened her lips to his
jaw. “Take me.” She kissed his chin. “Make me yours.” Then the corner of his
mouth. “Make love to me.” Viola let her tongue slip over the seam of his lips. “Here.
Now.”
    With
a heavy sigh, he gave into her, taking her mouth in a desperate kiss. His hands
found her rear and held her tight against him. Even through her skirts, she
felt his arousal hard against her. She