And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,106

Daphne inhaled, drew him in, her fingers clinging to his shoulders, her mouth open to him. Everything about him seemed to touch her—his tongue teasing over hers, his hands as they roamed over her, his hips pinning her to the blanket beneath them.

He’d gone from the tentative rogue in the folly, to the seducer in the library, to a man determined.

His touch wasn’t teasing and light, it was insistent, as if his desires had been bottled up and were now bursting forth like champagne.

That one kiss, that one moment where he’d made that fateful decision to cross the blanket, to breach the divide between them, now saw his every desire unleashed.

Having started with a kiss, his lips continued their assault over her neck, behind her ear, leaving Daphne breathless, her insides quaking.

She tried to gasp, to speak, but her mouth could only open, and what came out was a mew of pleasure. “Ahhh.”

He continued to tease her with his trail of kisses, his lips nibbling at her neck, and down along the edge of her bodice, as his fingers slipped beneath her gown and freed first one breast and then the other, leaving them bare to his touch.

Now it was his turn to moan as he sucked one of her nipples deep into his mouth, leaving it puckered tight and Daphne’s hips dancing upwards, strafing against the hard ridge beneath his breeches, as if seeking relief from the anxious, dangerous passions building inside her.

And then that wayward breeze ran over her legs—for she hadn’t even noticed that he’d brought her skirt up, and he had lost no time finding that nub between her legs, beginning to work his magic yet again.

Her legs opened to him, her body already wet and ready for him.

And then his kiss delved lower, his lips against her thighs, his breath hot against the curls at her apex, and when his fingers parted the way, his kiss at her very core, his tongue curling around her, washing over her, Daphne’s hips bucked, her heels digging into the earth beneath them, seeking something solid to hitch her to the earth, for she was truly rising again, but this time ever-so-fast and furiously.

Panting and anxious, she could only cling to the blanket, his tongue insistent over her, lapping at her, urging her to let go, to find her release.

“Ah, ah, yes, ah,” she gasped.

He caught hold of her hips and drew her closer, as if he knew exactly what her soft cries meant, knew the translation.

And the cure.

He trapped her close and sucked deeply, leaving Daphne rife with desires. With need.

There was nothing left for her to do but let go.

When she did, those anxious, dangerous spirals he’d coiled inside her burst open, tendrils flung out in all directions, wayward branches whipping this way and that as if tossed by this tempest of pleasure he’d unleashed. Above her, the dappled sunshine blinked and winked through the oak leaves like a thousand points of fireworks, fluttering and flashing even as her body danced and tossed with wave after wave of passion.

Lord Henry didn’t stop there, he continued to kiss her, continued to tease her until she was spent and shaken. And only then did he let go. He cradled her, soothed her with kisses to her lips, to her shoulders, with whispered promises of the delights to come.

Daphne could hardly believe him. More? Was that possible?

But when she looked into his deep, passionate gaze, she knew Lord Henry was a man of his word.

And deed.

Henry wanted nothing more than to bury himself between her legs and slake this desperate need that had burned in his veins since the night of the engagement ball.

He’d wanted her then. He wanted her now, but with such a different longing. To have her always. To tell her everything and for her to understand.

But right now, all he could do was make love to her.

The starry light in her eyes called for him to give in to his pent-up desires. Unleash the fires she stoked within him.

But he wasn’t about to rush this afternoon.

Entwined as they were, he knew instantly the moment her body stirred back to life, for her hips were once again brushing up to explore against him, her fingers trailing down his back, her fingernails taut against his skin.

He loved the way she teased him, like a cat on points, all nails and arched, ready to be tamed.

And then she surprised him, her hands moving to the top of his breeches,