Winning Lord West (Dashing Widows 3) - Page 39

With a sinuous grace that had his heart performing a Highland reel, she slithered up his body. The glancing contact set off fireworks in his head until he couldn’t see anything else but her. If she meant to torture him all afternoon, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the experience.

“Later,” she said, but the rough note in her voice told him that she liked the idea.

He loved licking her to climax. Damn it, he loved every single thing they did together. If she stuck to her word and sent him away after her brother’s wedding, he’d be in a bad way indeed. When Silas had been sick with longing for Caro, West recalled feeling faintly superior. This time round, he had a horrible feeling the joke might be on him.

Helena rose over him, shirt gaping to reveal her perfect breasts at last. Unable to resist, he reached to cup them.

“No.” She jerked up, straddling him. She caught his wrists and pulled them away.

Air seemed in short supply. “I need to touch you.”

“First I’m going to touch you.”

“We can touch each other.”

“If we do, you’ll take over.”

“Don’t you like me to take over?”

“Don’t be a clod, West. Of course I do.” Her impatient affection pierced his heart. “I’m conducting an experiment, and I don’t want any interruptions.”

He laughed. “You and your experiments. Heaven help the man involved with a scholarly woman.”

“I’m not feeling too sorry for you.” She leaned down, still holding his hands, and kissed him thoroughly, using her tongue to stoke his craving.

Who needed air? He drowned in swirling heat. Her silky hair fell about them like a shining ebony curtain. By the time she raised her head, he was panting.

“I mean to be bold,” she said in the same tone young Helena had used when she’d boasted that she’d ride the wildest horse in her father’s stables. And by God, she’d done it, too.

“I hope so,” he said hoarsely.

Before he had a chance to calm his blood’s maniac rush, she stood and undid the last button. She freed the shirt from her waistband and shrugged it away.

For a moment, she stood proudly before him, bare-breasted and splendid. With her extravagant mane of black hair, she looked like some primitive deity.

Leda, you’re not even in the race.

Every time he saw Helena like this, it felt like a gift. His hands curled into the satin cushions piled beneath him. “You’re a beautiful creature.”

“For a woman plotting lechery, you’re a fine sight yourself.” She tugged at the tapes on her skirt and let it fall to the

floor.

West sighed with masculine appreciation as she sauntered naked toward him. Dear God, she was magnificent.

She came down over him on all fours. He groaned and lurched up to press closer.

That autocratic hand pushed him down. “Not yet.”

“That answer is rapidly losing its charm.”

“I still like it.” She dipped her head and nibbled an incendiary path down his neck to his shoulder, where she bit him. He grunted at the sting, but let her have her way. Then her hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere. His arms, his chest, his belly.

Those long fingers closed around his cock.

“Damn it, Hel…” Forgetting cooperation, he reared up.

In silent reproach, she lifted her hand away.

Tags: Anna Campbell Dashing Widows Romance
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