Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(68)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

He stroked her back, waiting.

She lifted her head, her beautiful eyes still shining. “You must think me so foolish.”

He smiled at her tenderly, for she made something in his chest squeeze. “Nay, love. I jus’ think ye’ve a soft heart, and I cannot be displeased with that.”

She smiled, though her lips trembled.

He threaded his fingers through her fine brown hair. So lovely it was. “And I’m that sorry the memories give ye pain, but I’m afraid I’m not sorry for what we did here.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But I’m not sorry.”

“I’m that glad to hear it,” he murmured, running his mouth over the corner of her lips.

She gasped and then opened her mouth shyly, and he never hesitated. He kissed her deep, thrusting his tongue into her warmth, tasting the dregs of her sorrow.

He didn’t particularly like the memories of another man in her thoughts, but he figured he knew of a way to drive them from her mind. Turning her, Mick pulled her close until her plump arse rested against his loins. His rod was already stiff and hard. He wrapped his upper arm over her shoulders and scooped one luscious breast into the palm of his hand.

He’d not had time to properly appreciate her lovely titties earlier—his lust had been near out of control once she’d shown her willingness. In the daylight he’d strip her naked and examine his new prize, but here in the dark he merely held her. He weighed her softness—her plump breast fit his palm perfectly. Her breath caught and her nipple was pointed and eager. He thumbed it, flicking it gently through the lawn of her chemise, feeling her body quiver against his.

He played leisurely, lazily with her nipples for a few minutes and then his hand stole lower. Her chemise was tangled high about her thighs, which served his purpose well. He laid his palm over her cleft. This was his now, a private garden of delight open only to him. Her breath hitched again as he delved his fingers into her honeyed slit. She wept here, as well, and the discovery was gratifying. This at least he could do for her. He found that tender bud at the apex of her cunny and delicately slipped a fingertip around it, not quite touching the little peak, teasing instead. Around and around his finger slid, until she sighed restlessly and moaned his name—Michael—the only one who called him so.

But he allowed it, for she was a fair prize, this soft-hearted woman. And if she were his woman, well then, he supposed in a way he must be her man.

“Hush, darlin’.” He tongued the back of her neck tasting salt and womanly allure.

She bumped her hips demandingly into his and he chuckled low. At last he touched her where she wanted his fingertips. He pressed firmly, rubbing and circling until a high wail came from her throat. The sound was a balm to his blasted soul.

She would’ve jerked away then, but he was having none of it. He anchored her hip and tethered her in the most basic way possible. He lifted her upper leg, draping it over his own hips, and thrust into her warm, welcoming wetness.

Then he went back to playing. He bit at her shoulder as he stroked her pretty cunny, his own body still. He had what he wanted: her pinned to him, unable to escape. He slid his fingers through her sweet folds until he touched the base of his own flesh where it met hers. His cock was buried within her body as his hand played upon her delicate flesh. She moaned low and he licked where he’d bitten her shoulder, then moved to catch her earlobe. She tried to rub against him, but he was stronger and he easily held her still.

Fingering. Softly tapping.

She was swollen now, his hand drenched with her readiness. He could feel her flexing about his rod and the sensation was an exquisite torture. He treasured her, treasured her tears, treasured her love for others. Her heart might even be big enough to fill that empty space in his own chest. Perhaps she could be his heart as well.

“Michael,” she whispered, a siren unaware of her song.

“Yes, love?”

“Michael, please.”

“Turn yer head to me, love.”

She did and he devoured her mouth, licking salt tears from her lips, thrusting his tongue deep within, a pirate demanding tithe.

She arched and he could no longer hold himself back. He flexed his hips and drove deep within her, holding her cunny in the palm of his hand. He speared within her clenching valley, plundering all that was sweet in her. She opened her mouth wide in a silent scream and his release caught him, hard and fast as he kissed her openmouthed. He tore his mouth from hers and shouted his triumph. She was his, now and forevermore, until the end of time, until the seas ran dry and man no longer roamed the earth, amen.

His and only his.

She slumped against him, the scent of their passion musky in the night air.

“Sleep,” he murmured to her, and held her against himself, his cock still buried deep.

She was caught and he had no intention of ever letting her go.

Chapter Fifteen

The rainbow bird swooped low from the sky and flew in happy cartwheels around Clever John’s head before alighting and turning into Tamara.

She threw back her rainbow head and laughed merrily. “Clever John, you have gray in your hair and your strong back has begun to bend! Has it been so many years, my friend?”

But Clever John was looking toward his castle with worry. “I wish for a chest of gold and jewels that is always full.”

Tamara smiled a little sadly and raised her arms to the sky. “As you wish!”…

—from Clever John

Silence woke to the feel of a man’s body around her. It was such a nice luxury that she sighed in pleasure. His broad shoulders cradled hers, warming her all the way through. The soles of her feet were against his calves and she flexed her toes, feeling the rough hair on his legs.

Only then, with that small movement, did she realize that he still lay within her. Silence froze, her eyes wide in shock. She’d slept linked with Michael. Even now she could feel the twitch of his penis within her depths. The sensation was utterly decadent.

Utterly wonderful.

In one night she’d shared more with Michael than she’d ever had with William. It was more than the fact that Michael was a slow, thorough lover. He’d listened to her weep without male embarrassment. Had stroked her and comforted her. The thought gave her hope. If he was able to listen to her tears and disappointment, then surely if they argued, if they disagreed, he’d talk about it with her—not turn aside as William had. And if Michael was able to talk to her…

Well. Then they might have a future together.