The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,96

seed in your wicked little hand.”

A light sheen of sweat covered his chest. She ceased stroking him, but his cock was still twitching insistently against her palm. She knew what it meant for a man to lose his seed, and for one mischievous moment she was so tempted to see him spill into her palm her hand began moving again of its own accord.

She didn’t get far with her teasing, though. Tristan twisted out of her grip. “No. I want to be inside you.” He raised an eyebrow at her boy’s breeches, a devilish smile curving his lips as he neatly plucked one button loose, then the other, and dragged the breeches over her hips. “Much easier than skirts, stays, a chemise…”

Sophia let out a breathless laugh. “To say nothing of a corset.”

He made quick work of the breeches, his throat moving in a convulsive swallow when she was bare before him. “Sophia,” he breathed. He took in every inch of her with his heated gaze before reaching out to run his hand over the smooth skin of her thigh. “I want you so much.”

She rose to her knees in the middle of the bed, her gaze still fixed on the slick, flushed head of his cock. Tristan let out a husky groan as it responded to her rapt gaze, throbbing insistently against his stomach. She watched as it twitched and jerked, straining for her, a soft gasp leaving her lips when a drop of fluid beaded the tip.

“Oh.” She touched her tongue to her bottom lip.

Tristan stared, his mouth opening, and all at once, playtime was over. He let out a hoarse growl and snatched her into his arms. “I need you, Sophia. Come here.”

She hesitated for an instant, as if trying to decide whether it would be more fun to obey or defy him, then she flung herself into his arms and her hands slid around to the back of his neck.

“That’s it, pixie,” Tristan whispered. He tumbled her onto her back in the bed, the long, hot length of his body pressing against every inch of hers, from her shoulders down to her toes. He dropped a sweet kiss on her lips, and cupped her face in his palms, his gray eyes serious. “Tomorrow, when I wake, I want to find you right here, in my arms. Don’t leave me again, Sophia.”

Sophia’s heart rushed into her throat. “I didn’t want to leave you yesterday morning, Tristan. You were asleep, your limbs flung wide and your hair falling over your face. You looked so warm, so peaceful I wanted to curl up next to you and fall asleep with my head on your chest.”

He touched his forehead to hers. “Then why didn’t you?”

Sophia heard the hurt in his voice, and a soft sob rose in her throat. “Because it’s hopeless, Tristan. Surely you see that? You’re the Earl of Gray, and I’m no—”

“Brave and passionate. Clever, kind, and beautiful.” He tipped her chin up. “You’re everything. I don’t want only a single stolen night with you, Sophia. I want all of you, always.”

She sucked in a shocked breath, but his lips took hers in a devastating kiss, and her thoughts scattered. When he drew away again, he was breathless. He gazed down at her, lingering on her bare breasts, her lips, the spill of her dark hair against his pillow. “Have you ever had a lover before, Sophia? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Whatever lingering nervousness Sophia felt vanished at his words. That he’d thought to ask, that he’d take such care of her made warmth rush through her, curling her toes. She wrapped herself around him, as close as she could get, and pressed her lips to the center of his hard chest before burying her face against his neck. “I’ve had…I’m not innocent, but it was only a few times, and it was a long time ago,” she whispered, letting her fingers drift down the taut plane of his stomach.

Sophia didn’t know whether it was her words or her touch that led to it, but something shifted between them then, as if the last thin barrier holding them apart crumbled and fell away. Every last vestige of the proper, elegant earl disappeared, and he was only Tristan, the strong, determined man who’d chased her across London the first night they’d met.

Not the detached lord, not the distant earl, and not the Ghost of Bow Street.

Tristan Stratford, the man.

He was gentle with her, so careful, yet at

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