To All the Rakes I've Loved Before (A Honeycote Novella) by Anne Barton Page A

ready,” she said with a grin.
    And she was. He touched the slick folds at her entrance and found her swollen and wet. As he let his fingers explore, he studied her face and her body. She arched her back when he found her sweet spot, and he set up a rhythm, bringing her closer and closer to release.
    Each time she whimpered with pleasure, his own desire grew.
    “I’m going to taste you again,” he said. “Like before.”
    “No,” she pleaded. “I don’t… want you to… stop.”
    The words were barely out of her mouth when she came. “Stephen!” she cried, panting as she bucked against his hand.
    When her body was limp and sated, he rolled her toward him and cupped her bottom, pulling her hips toward his.
    “I love the way you make me feel,” she said.
    “And how is that?”
    “Free. Powerful. Adored.”
    He brushed a thumb across her lips. “You are all those things—and you always will be. Whether you’re married or single is irrelevant.”
    She arched a brow. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
    “Never,” he growled.
    “Good.” She rolled on top of him, her brunette waves tickling his chest. “Because marriage to you is sounding better by the minute. I think I need another taste of what it will be like.”

Chapter 15
    Lord B. is perilously close to losing his status as London’s premiere rake…
    —from the make-believe gossip papers of Miss Amelia Wimple
    Amelia was overwhelmed by foreign sensations. She was sitting on top of a naked man, for goodness’ sake. And she liked it.
    She could feel his sex, hard and large behind her bottom, and while the thought of joining with him was daunting, she trusted Stephen.
    She leaned over him and let the sensitive tips of her breasts graze the hard wall of his chest. Heat filled her belly, and a soft, insistent pulsing began in her loins.
    He rolled her onto her back and raised himself up on his arms over her. His broad shoulders and sculpted torso filled her vision, making her mouth go dry. He looked so powerful, so intense—and yet, there was a tenderness in his blue eyes that touched her soul.
    “I want you, Amelia. Not just here and now, but always. I want a lifetime of nights like this, and a lifetime of days—with you. I love you.”
    His words made her heart trip in her chest. He still hadn’t come right out and, well… proposed, but for now, his love was enough. “I want that too.”
    “Thank God.” He kissed her like he was drowning and she was air. She was drowning too—desperate for more of him.
    She knew what was to come next—what went where, and so forth—but she couldn’t even imagine how it would feel. The information she had on the subject was secondhand and highly suspect, but by all accounts—and based on her own observations—it was going to hurt.
    Sensing her apprehension, he said, “We’ll go slowly. We have all the time in the world.” And he stoked her desire. Clutching a fistful of her hair, he kissed the side of her neck and worked his way down to her breasts, suckling her gently at first, then harder, till little shocks of pleasure coursed through her. He cupped her mound and teased her wet, swollen lips apart with his fingers, then eased one inside of her.
    Her breath hitched in her throat as he set up a rhythm that left her aching and yearning for something more.
    He withdrew his finger, positioned himself at her entrance, and kissed her forehead. Every muscle in his body seemed tightly coiled and ready to spring. He pushed forward a little, gauging the fit, his face a mask of concern.
    “Do not worry.” She cradled his still bruised face in her palms. “I know it will hurt a bit, but I want this. I want you.”
    He nodded, and thrust slowly but firmly, filling and stretching her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he thrust some more, and then, at last, he was inside her.
    Raining kisses over her face, he whispered her name again and again. And then he began to move. He cupped her bottom