Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7) - Page 58

“Hugh!” she cried, lacing one hand in his soft, thick hair.

The contact was over in an instant, but the heat of his lips still sizzled like a lightning bolt. This game between them was new, and she felt uncertain.

“Trust me,” he said softly. He remained so close to her cleft that his breath teased the yearning flesh. “You’ll like it.”

His first kiss hinted that she probably would, but that didn’t make it right. “Do you want to do this?”

When he lifted his head, she met heavy-lidded eyes. She knew that look, too. His answer came as no surprise. “Oh, yes. I’ve wanted this since our first night, but I feared it might shock you.”

“It would. It has.” Her answer sounded more like a husky invitation than a protest.

“Should I stop?”

The week of debauchery hadn’t totally banished her shyness. What he wanted was perverse. No respectable lady would allow it. But the woman who had discovered a world of miraculous pleasure in her husband’s arms was eager for this new adventure.

As the silence extended, she watched disappointment flicker in those rich coffee eyes. He sat back and started to rise. “I ask too much.”

She was incorrigible. The angels must despair of her. She caught his hand before it slid off her bare knee. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

His eyes flared. “Really?”

“Really.” She hoped she sounded braver than she felt.

Now he had permission, Hugh acted with a purpose that stoked her anticipation. He shoved her nightwear up to reveal her mound. When he placed another kiss, longer this time, on the feathery auburn curls at the apex of her thighs, every hollow in her body turned liquid.

The evocative scent of her need tinged the air, mixing with traces of coffee, fresh rolls, and bacon lingering from breakfast. Jane wondered if she’d feel quite so abandoned doing this by candlelight. Something about bright morning sunlight pouring through the sash windows made Hugh’s intentions seem even more outrageous.

Except as he stroked his hands up and down her pale thighs and lowered his disheveled head between her legs, she moved past amazement to curiosity. When he touched her there, his hands made magic. She couldn’t help wondering what his clever mouth might do.

His tongue traced a hot line along her cleft, making her cry out and bury her hands in his hair. Heat roared through her and made her quake.

He did it again, and this time he lingered to torment the source of her delight. Her belly cramped in ecstasy, and her spine turned to water. She lolled against the couch as her legs splayed on either side of him.

She closed her eyes, so sight couldn’t distract her from the rich symphony of pleasure. Another cascading response, when his tongue penetrated her body. Her hands turned to claws, pulling his hair as she broke through into climax.

Hugh’s deep growls told her that he was enjoying himself. His mouth and tongue and teeth tormented her, licking and sucking and biting until she saw stars.

Jane floated back to earth and lifted eyelids that felt as heavy as bricks, to find him watching her with a gloating expression. She shivered again, when he wiped one large hand across his glistening lips. What a thrill to know that he’d feasted on her.

“Oh, Hugh…” she said in a broken voice and caught his hand. She brought it to her lips, smelling her own excitement on his fingers. Another wave of reaction clenched her belly. “You give me so much pleasure.”

She was exhausted after that quaking reaction to his intimate kisses, but his flashing smile, all male arrogance and straight white teeth, said he wanted more. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”

He rose and shrugged off the crimson dressing gown. When he kissed her, she tasted her juices on his lips. The knowledge made her desire spike.

With a couple of impatient movements, he discarded the loose trousers. Her gaze settled between his thighs, and hunger roared through her. Along with shock at her own wickedness. She couldn’t help wondering if her mouth could give him the same pleasure he’d just shown her.

Hugh scooped her up into his arms and carried her through

to the bedroom, still shadowy with drawn velvet curtains. Carefully he placed her on the rumpled sheets they’d crawled out of a mere hour ago.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to see the Tower of London today,” she said, as he came down over her to pepper kisses across her neck and shoulders, revealed under the loose nightgown. He gave a soft grunt of laughter and ran his teeth down the nerve in her neck. He knew that drove her mad.

With a groan, he flopped onto his back beside her. “I feel like the Tower of London right now.”

His joke prompted a horrified giggle, although she couldn’t deny that his erect rod was impressive. “I shouldn’t laugh.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” He cast her a narrow-eyed look. “You should be struck silent with awe.”

Tags: Anna Campbell Dashing Widows Romance
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