Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,76

when she’d once been in the grip of a violent fever.

“Look at me, Drusilla.” He stared down at her, his jaw tight. His finger stroked gently against her entrance and he gave a grunt of what sounded like frustration. “You are tight.” He pushed harder, and her entire body clenched against the slight invasion. His pupils flared until his eyes went black. “So very tight.” This time he pushed and did not stop. Her hips tilted to accept him, and he slid into her until his knuckles rested against her swollen flesh, his thumb stroking between her lips, touching her there.

He began to move in and out, his thumb occasionally, maddeningly flicking her core. His smile grew fierce and demanding as he pumped her deeper, harder, the sounds of her wetness unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room.

Drusilla shook her head from side to side; it was too much, too much.

“Too much,” she breathed out.

He leaned low and tongued one of her aching nipples. “Should I stop?”

“No!”

He laughed and then sucked her hard as his hand resumed its rhythm.

Drusilla’s thoughts fractured and broke into a thousand insubstantial pieces. Every muscle in her body clenched, as if to hold back the mad, pounding surge that originated from his hand. The sensation was elusive and engulfing—but trapped behind some barrier within her. Her body strained toward . . . something. Something just beyond her reach . . .

And then the dam broke.

Somebody yelled—her?—and she clutched at him, as if to hold on, but nothing could stop it and she went over the edge of awareness.

She was shuddering in the aftermath of her climax when he knelt over her, lowering his mouth over hers.They kissed as she floated, their tongues tangling—almost dancing—until he began to thrust into her, his suggestive motions causing her to tighten with anticipation.

Drusilla had believed she couldn’t bear even one more sensation, but then his thick crown pressed against the entrance to her body.

“Will you take me?” he whispered, nudging her swollen flesh with his blunt hardness.

She thrilled at his words. “Please.”

He pushed gently but inexorably, until he breached her. It was nothing like his finger; not even like two fingers.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

Drusilla realized she’d been holding her breath and took short, sharp mouthfuls of air, her heart fluttering like a trapped and frantic bird as he came deeper, deeper—

Oh God . . . when would it end?

And then he flexed the powerful muscles of his hips and thrust, seeming to break through some barrier before fully sheathing himself. Her body struggled to accommodate not only the hard length, but his thickness.

“I am sorry, Drusilla. That was the worst of it.”

The thrill of pleasure she felt at his rough and ragged tone lessened the discomfort. And then she realized there was no more pain.

Her womb was heavy and full: his big body penetrating, stretching, and dominating hers. The invasion was as raw and primal as nature and she reveled in his mastery: she never wanted him to leave.

When he began to pull out, Drusilla clutched at his taut, corded waist, her fingers slipping on his slick skin. “No. Don’t—don’t leave.”

His body shook against hers, and she realized he was shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Don’t worry, darling, I won’t be gone long,” he promised, his breath hot against her temple as he settled onto his forearms, the muscles of his back rippling beneath her hands. His hips began moving, filling her yet again, the sensation becoming desirable—almost addictive. Her body jerked, and it was his turn to gasp as she tilted her hips to accept him even deeper.

His muscles went rigid beneath her hands as he thrust. “Yes.” The word was a sibilant hiss. “Take all of me.”

She spread her knees wider, opening herself and earning a murmur of approval as he withdrew and invaded, withdrew and invaded.

His skin was velvety and damp from exertion. His broad, powerful shoulders tapered to an unbelievably tight collection of muscles at his waist. And his bottom . . . It was her turn to moan. And then his hips began to drum, driving her into the bed with the force of his thrusts.

His body began to shake and she knew what was happening because she’d just experienced something very much like it. It thrilled her to know she could bring him a similar pleasure. His pounding became brutal—savage—and it ripped away what was left of her breath. Gone was the gentle, careful lover; in his place was a man who employed his body like