A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,109

against her throat, she discovered that nibbling on his earlobe, alternately laving it with her flicking tongue, brought the most delicious groan rising from deep in his chest.

And then she was falling backwards, kept from fear only by holding tightly to Donovan’s back, feeling his arms supporting her until she was lying on something woolen, some cloak or cape her most ingenious Donovan had provided for her, the darling. It would appear that he’d had a good opinion of his ability to win her again this evening.

He followed her down, lying half on her, half beside her, one hand cradling her head even as the other began hiking up her skirts. As their lips met in another ravenous kiss, she pushed her hands down, reaching for the buttons on his breeches, knowing that once again there would be no time for words, no reason for prudery, no excuse for delay. Their passions were running too hot, too fierce, for either of them to go slow. Their need was too great for shame, their very position in this small secluded space amid the shrubbery adding to the excitement, the pleasure.

She felt his hand on her leg, her thigh, the soft skin above her white silk stockings, and smiled against his mouth as he realized that she was not wearing any undergarment save the wisp of material that secured those stockings. If she was going to be wanton, Marguerite had decided, she was not going to do it by half measures!

She felt the last of the buttons slip its mooring and hesitated only a moment before reaching inside the gap and colliding with Donovan’s aroused manhood. She had glimpsed him briefly last night and been amazed by his beauty, his size. Raised on a working estate, she was no stranger to the business of male and female parts, had even sneaked down to the fenced yard the day Squire Hadley’s stallion had been mounted on Sir Gilbert’s prize mare, but never before had she seen any beauty in the maneuverings.

Until last night.

Until Donovan.

She felt the bristle of his curled hair as she pressed her hand against his smooth lower belly, then felt a shock of pleasure pierce her most intimate places as her fingers discovered the silky, velvet, yet amazingly hard shaft of him. At the same time, she could feel his fingers moving between her legs, dipping inside her, stroking her until she thought she would have to scream.

She lifted her head to his shoulder and bit him, hard.

“Christ, Marguerite,” Donovan whispered hoarsely, burying his head against her breasts. “I don’t believe this. I should be better—stronger. But I can’t wait, aingeal. I have to have you now or disgrace myself.”

She was nothing if not agreeable, even when he rolled completely onto his back and pulled her on top of him, so that she was on her knees, straddling him. “Donovan?” she questioned him, peering down at him through the darkness.

“You can’t disappear again tonight, darlin’,” he answered, pushing his breeches down his strong legs to the knee, then arranging her skirts so that her bare buttocks were tickled by the hair on his thighs. “This is the only way we can keep you from being mussed past redemption.”

Marguerite lifted one eyebrow, considering his words, then smiled. She rather liked the idea, especially when she felt his hands between her legs once more, his fingers spreading her wide, to find the small bud that had burst into bloom for the first time not so long ago and now quickly blossomed again in memory and expectation.

She sensed the tip of his manhood pressing against the entrance to her womb, and she began to raise up slightly, accommodating him, guiding him, then settling herself so that she once more rested against him, his fullness deeply, pleasurably inside her, filling her.

His hips lifted, pushing into her. She pressed her hands against his belly, balancing on her knees, and allowed her head to fall back, her eyes tightly closed as she reveled in the sensations coursing through her body. Her tongue had to push forward, sliding between her lips, moving from side to side as if she were licking honey from them, feeding the hunger that grew deep inside her, urging her to move her body forward, then back, then to the left, then to the right, each small movement bringing the swelling bud in closer contact with Donovan’s body, each slight shift in position sending her higher and higher, until she didn’t think it