A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,82

argument.

Yearning and desire burned in his eyes as he lifted her chemise over her head.

“Good God.” He looked like a man standing before an altar and his hands shook as he dropped her chemise and closed the distance between them.

Honey wrenched her eyes from his adoring face and shook her head, stopping him in his tracks. “No.”

His mouth fell open and she almost laughed at his expression of shock. “You have undressed me. I wish to—” she stumbled over her bold intentions.

But she didn’t need to finish.

He stepped back, his eyes kindling so brightly she was surprised she didn’t burst into flames. “By all means, strip me.”

Her hand shook as she reached for the towel slung low on his hips. There was not an ounce of fat on him and his navel was a taut oval stretched over muscles that were one of God’s masterpieces.

She’d seen many naked bodies—male and female—as her father had made sure she had all the models she needed to master her art. But never had she seen one as chiseled and battered and glorious as her husband’s.

And never had she seen one so aroused.

The tips of her finger slid over the satiny skin beneath his navel and he sucked in a sharp breath, the bulge under the towel straining against the thick fabric like some kind of wild beast.

Honey slid her fingers back and forth over the soft golden hairs that dusted the fascinating ridges that tapered into a V somewhere beneath the towel. His abdomen tightened and became even more defined as she stroked.

“You are a cruel woman,” he hissed between clenched teeth when she slid a single finger between flesh and fabric and then halted.

Her mouth curved into a smile that she couldn’t recall ever wearing before.

He chuckled. “And so pleased with yourself.” He swooped in and nipped her ear, making her jump. “Let me out, Honoria. Free me.” His voice was hoarse and throbbed with need.

She gave the towel a tug.

He was on her in an instant, pressing a length of unimaginably hard, hot skin against her belly, kissing and biting her throat in that way he had, as if she were something to be consumed, something delicious, something—

He stepped back suddenly and she rocked unsteadily on her feet and took a step toward him. He shook his head and she stopped, confused.

“What—?”

“You still have one more garment to shed.” He took a step back and dropped onto the bed, lounging on his elbows, his feet planted on the floor, his membrum virile red, hard, and jutting almost straight up.

He smiled, his eyes going from his erect manhood to her. “If you come closer, I will take them off for you. Or you could drive me mad,” he snorted, “madder by stripping for my pleasure.”

The mocking challenge in his voice—the absolute certainty—that she would not dare do such a thing gave her strength.

Honey dropped her hand to the tape that held up her fancy silk drawers and his gaze tracked her fingers like a falcon following prey. She hesitated, but his eyes never wavered. Honey bit back a smile.

His eyes rose to hers. “It’s entertaining to torment me, isn’t it?”

Honey smiled; it was.

She plucked the tape and the drawers slipped down. He watched and waited. She let them fall a little but still held the tie.

His expression was the very definition of avid. She could not believe that it was staid, scrawny, towering Honoria Keyes who held this handsome, powerful man in the palm of her hand.

Apparently, she didn’t. He growled and launched himself at her, scooping her into his arms while a startled laugh broke from her.

“That’s enough,” he said, right before his mouth crushed hers, his tongue a hot, slick sword stabbing into her.

And then she found herself floating through the air before bouncing on the mattress. He was beside her, his long body pressing against hers. His hand stroking her the way it had last night, but he was facing her, his mouth trailing kisses down her chin, neck, chest—

She gave a choked cry as his tongue flicked over a hard nipple.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this,” he muttered, tormenting one nipple while his palm swirled lightly over the other. “Lie back,” he ordered, nudging her breastbone with his forehead.

She toppled onto her back and he crawled over her, his knees between her thighs, shoving them wide, his hands planted by her shoulders.

This was it. He was going to put himself inside her and it would hurt. She