the sheets to clasp his shoulders, hugging him close to her. He invaded her body relentlessly, and a sob hitched in her throat. Maryann found it increasingly hard to focus on anything but the stretching tightness between her thighs.
It burned.
She lowered her face and buried it in the crook of his neck, brushing featherlight kisses against the hollow of his throat. With a groan he thrust, sinking deep inside her sex. A cry tore from her throat, and she clung to his shoulders, gasping through the shock of the pleasure-pain.
A hoarse shout spilled from him, and then he convulsed inside her arms, pulling from her to spill his seed on her quivering belly.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I am like an untried lad. That should have been longer and far more pleasurable for you.”
She giggled at the disgruntlement in his tone. “Ah, rakesses do that,” she purred, feeling a powerful rush of feminine satisfaction. “I’ve heard rakes normally have ladies at their feet in a puddle…how wonderful that the shoe is on the other foot.”
Their harsh breath mingled in the silence of the room, and it took several moments before he kissed her forehead, then pushed from the bed.
He returned with a handkerchief and tenderly cleaned away his release.
Then he sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he murmured.
Maryann blinked, sensing he was not finished. Beyond curious, she shifted, containing her gasp at the discomfort between her legs. His penetration had been so abrupt and short-lived. He reached over and pulled her to him, positioning her so that she sat in his lap, her knees bracketing his hips. Her hair cascaded over her front and his chest in a curtain of simmering silk.
He reached between them to brush his knuckles over her nub. “I want to ravish you,” he said, his face a grimace of arousal.
Pleasure streaked through her as nerve endings came alive from that soft caress. He dragged her so fast into a world of pure sensation, she easily became lost to him.
“Ah,” she said teasingly, nipping at his chin. “Worrying about my sensibilities, are you?”
He grunted.
“I have a confession,” she murmured throatily against his mouth. “I found a very naughty book once in the library.”
“How naughty?” he groaned.
“Images…the most memorable of a buxom lady perched on her knees while a gentleman placed his mouth between her thighs.”
Her marquess cursed. Maryann laughed.
He was gorgeously intense, his face almost savage in its planes and angles. “Our coming together just now should have lasted much longer…but I was too eager…too desperate for you.” A dark line of color accented his cheekbones. “I am going to stroke, rub, and pinch it while you ride me.”
Maryann purred. “Tell me more.”
Nicolas nipped at her lip and cupped her entire sex. “Each rub of your clitoris will drive you wild, and you’ll beg me to stop from the agonizing pleasure throbbing through your quim.”
Her entire body flushed, sensing that this word was sensually crude, and to her shock, arousal surged hot and greedy through her body.
He brushed a kiss over her mouth again, as if to soothe. Her lips trembled in response.
He rubbed his thumb over her clitoris, once, twice, three times while he slowly impaled her onto his thick length. The relentless rub and press of his thumb against her nub had her shaking, almost mortified at how wet she got. Need coiled hot and intense through Maryann. The hand at her hips urged her down, and a wild cry tore from her throat. She felt deliciously impaled, the penetration stretching her despite the wetness of her flesh.
“Ride me.”
“With pleasure,” she whispered.
Holding Nicolas’s brilliant gaze, she gripped his shoulders, lifted her hips, and started riding him slowly. Each glide over his thick length wreaked havoc within her body. Her mass of hair rippled down her shoulders, cascading over his chest. She fisted his hair in her hands and dragged his mouth against hers, rolling her hips against his in a greedy glide. His large hands cupped her buttocks, and he helped her, dragging her up his manhood and urging her down sometimes with slow movements, other times rough and hard.
“Ride harder,” he growled against her mouth.
Maryann’s heart raced, beating a harsh, driving rhythm against her breast, and a broken cry of need escaped her as she responded with wantonness. She gripped his hair and held him to her as she rode him, faster and deeper, reveling in the primal invasion of his manhood inside her aching sex. With each stroke Nicolas drove