The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest by Mary Campisi

body twice more and exploded.
    Much later, Sophie lifted her head from his
chest and sighed. “Don’t look at me like that, Sophie.”
    “Like what?” Her eyes shimmered as she
spoke.
    “Like you want me to devour you again.”
    She ran her tongue over her lips and smiled.
“Why would you think a thing like that?”
    “No.” He was a strong man but if this kept
up, she’d be a widow in six months.
    “No, what?”
    “No, we are not going to make love again.”
There, he’d said it.
    She cocked a brow and said, “Ever?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Not ever. Just not
right now.”
    “Oh.” She looked away.
    “What does that mean?”
    “Nothing.”
    Damn, the woman could be trying.
    “It’s just that,” she hazarded him a quick
glance, “lovemaking is quite like eating chocolates.”
    “It is?” His lovemaking had never been
compared to a piece of confection.
    “Most definitely.”
    “How so?” Was he marrying a lunatic?
    “Every woman knows chocolate is quite
wonderful.”
    “Hmmm.” He liked that.
    “And though there are many kinds of sweets,
nothing is quite like chocolate .”
    His lovemaking was unique.
    “But every woman also knows one tiny bit of
chocolate is never enough.”
    Tiny? Was she implying his size was inadequate ? He stiffened and waited.
    “Therefore, every woman knows if one bite is
good, two bites are better.”
    “You don’t say?” What the hell was she
saying?
    “Indeed.” Her lips curved into a knowing
smile.
    “Hmmm.” And what was this about biting?
Biting what? Holt squirmed, uncomfortable with the mention of that
word in association with his cock.
    “Yes, so there you have it. And Gregory, if
two bites are better,” she leaned close and brushed a kiss over his
lips, “three is exquisite.”
    “Sophie, what are you talking
about?”
    She stared at him, her eyes bright with
mischief and something else . . . desire? “I want you, Gregory,”
she said, all hints of teasing aside. “Once, twice,” she kissed his
mouth, “three times.”
    “Three times?” She’d be a widow in one
month.
    “Every day.”
    Correct that prior calculation; two
weeks.
    “I must believe if the first time we made
love was so wonderful and the second even better, what will the
third be like? And the fourth? And the sixteenth?”
    Ah, so now he understood. The woman planned
to rate their sexual encounters. All of them.
    “Sophie, each time we make love will be as
special as or even better than the last time.”
    She nodded her head in eager agreement. “I
know.”
    He brushed an auburn lock from her forehead.
“But we can’t make love sixteen times in one day.”
    “I know that.”
    “Good.” He smiled and brushed his lips over
her temple.
    “Four times a day, no less than three.”
    Was she mad? “I’ll be a dead man.”
    “Well then, what are you offering?”
    Was she serious? They were negotiating their
lovemaking?
    “Twice a day,” he said, “but no less than
once a day.”
    “Deal!” she said with such conviction he
wondered if it had been her plan all along.
    “While we’re on the subject of lovemaking,
there is the little matter of the marriage.”
    “Oh yes, there is that,” she murmured,
settling her head on his chest with a long sigh.
    “What do you say to three week’s time?”
    “Three weeks?” Her head popped up and she
stared at him as though he’d just admitted to wearing women’s
drawers. “Where will we live? And what of Caroline? And your
family, I know nothing of them.”
    “Caroline will come with us, no matter where
we go. I’m looking at property nearby that should suit us nicely. I
very much want you to meet my family but that will have to wait
until I return from London.”
    “London?”
    “I’m leaving in the morning on a few days of
business. When I return, we’ll settle everything.”
    “I shall miss you horribly.”
    “Soon, we’ll be together every day.”
    She kissed a nipple. “And every night.”
    “Yes, there is