When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,65
the ground. She just had time to glimpse his angry red cock and then he was back in the bed, crawling over her, gently nudging apart her thighs and settling atop her, the chain and farthing pooling between her breasts.
His hard penis pressed into her thigh.
She thought that he might immediately mount her, but instead he kissed her.
Slowly.
His lips parting hers, his tongue lazily sweeping into her mouth.
She gasped, arching under him, feeling the hardness of his thighs against her own, the slight scrape of his hair on the tender skin between her legs. She drew on his tongue, suckling it. Suckling him.
Her hands stroked over his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his back, the long indentation of his spine, and his taut buttocks. She drew up her legs, driving her toes into the mattress, opening herself to him.
She yearned.
Until finally he raised himself a little and reached between their bodies. She felt his knuckles on her belly and then lower, brushing against her wet folds.
He positioned himself.
She inhaled, glancing up, meeting his gaze.
He did not look kind.
He stared down into her eyes as he pushed.
She swallowed, feeling him invade her. He was large, foreign, male where she was most female.
“All right?” he murmured, breathless, his voice dark.
She nodded.
“Sure?”
She lifted her chin as something pinched. “Yes.”
He began to retreat, the drag of his flesh against hers making sparks light within her. Just when she was about to complain, to clutch him and call him back, he thrust into her again.
Solid.
Hard.
Wonderful.
Her eyelids half closed against her will. Why had no one told her how sweet this was? Animal, crude, but sweet as well?
She spread her fingers along his throat and demanded, “Again.”
He stretched his lips in what might’ve been a grin and complied, his strong body thumping into her, his cock even deeper somehow.
“Like that?” he whispered.
“Yes.” She twisted, reveling in the feeling.
No wonder this was forbidden to women unwed. If young ladies knew about it, they’d never wait for marriage. They’d throw aside convention and social mores and bed any man who pleased them.
All of society would be turned upside down.
The thought made her slide her palms down his back, over the indentation at the small of his back and onto his pumping buttocks. She was allowed this. She was allowed him.
He was pounding into her now, his voice reduced to grunts in time to his thrusts. As if he’d lost the veneer of civilization.
And then, as she was watching, as she clutched the muscles of his bottom, she felt him tense.
As if he were having a seizure.
As if he were dying.
His head was thrown back, the cords of his neck shining with sweat and strain, beautiful and savage in the candlelight.
She watched him, rapt, as he stilled and shuddered.
He slumped onto her, unexpectedly heavy. Slowly he rolled off her.
She couldn’t help a pang of disappointment. Her body was still strung taut. Was it over? She’d somehow thought there was more. That the feeling that had been building within her would have some outlet.
Instead everything had simply stopped. Perhaps later, when he fell asleep, she could—
He leaned over her again and placed his hand on her feminine triangle.
“What—?” she began.
He stroked a finger into her folds, watching her, his half-lidded eyes lazy, satiated, and then he touched that bit of flesh.
She squeaked.
“Like that?” he murmured.
“Yes.” She clutched at his arm, but not to stop him. To hold him there.
He smiled slowly and bent to kiss her, relentlessly stroking her all the while. She could hear the sound of him working her—wet and explicit—and it filled her with needy heat. Should she be embarrassed? Perhaps, but she couldn’t care right now. All of her being was focused on that one finger.
She moaned.
She was so close.
So close.
And then he thrust his tongue into her mouth and she clenched her thighs around his wrist, whimpering as she shook apart.
Chapter Eleven
Well the tinker wept and Bet’s mother shouted, saying that Bet need not honor a promise her father had made years ago.
But Bet looked at the fox and shook her head slowly. “Father gave his word and the fox saved him from the wood.” She held out her hand to the beast. “I will marry you.”.…
—From Bet and the Fox
Gideon woke the next morning to the feel of Messalina’s soft lips brushing against his shoulder.
He opened his eyes and met her beautiful gray gaze.
Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “Good morning.”
He cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded like knives