Pru moaned. “Oh, Ash.”
He would happily pleasure her forever. She spent in a torrent, her juices flooding his tongue, and he licked them up, swallowed them down. His spoils. All his, for the taking. But if he lingered a second more, he would never want to go, could not force himself to leave her side and her bed as he must.
Reluctantly, he kissed a path up her body, all the way to her forehead. He planted the last just over her left brow. How he hated to put an end to this, but he knew he must, before he reached the point of no return.
“Thank you, sweet,” he murmured. “I will go to bed with the memory of you.”
“To the devil with the memory of me,” she said, gripping his biceps and holding him fast when he would have left her bed. “I am here now, Ash.”
Here was an invitation he could not accept. She was delirious from her climax. She did not know what she was saying. As the one with more experience, he would have to prevail.
“Of course you are,” he agreed, softly, “but I cannot take this any further, sweet. Not until we are wed.”
No matter the temptation she presented, naked and warm, all luscious curves and silken seduction. Though he was still clad in breeches, shirt, and cravat, his body was aligned to hers, and she was ready for the taking. Not that he would do it. He should not, he knew. It would he scandalous. Disreputable. Dishonorable.
Delicious.
Fuck.
He had precious little resistance when it came to the woman he loved.
“I want you,” she said, and there was no doubt as to what she meant.
She wanted his cock. Inside her.
Bloody hell, he was marrying a minx.
And he could not be more pleased.
Pru was theeldest of her sisters.
She had always been the voice of reason.
But she did not feel reasonable, wise, or particularly prudent in this moment. No, indeed. All she felt was the aching need for the man she loved.
“We should wait until we are married,” he told her tenderly, kissing her cheek. “I have already ruined you thoroughly enough.”
“Yes, you have,” she agreed, releasing his arms to pluck at the knot in his cravat. “You may as well finish what you have started.”
“Pru.” Her name was a groan.
But he did not make a move to leave. Instead, he kissed her ear. The knot she had been working upon gave way, and she tugged it free, before tossing it into the darkness. Where it landed, she did not care. Then, her fingers settled upon the buttons of his shirt. She wanted his bare chest. Nothing but his skin.
Together, they hauled the shirt over his head. Her fingers explored him. Warm, solid male flesh. Rigid slabs of taut muscle. A dusting of crisp masculine hair. His chest was strong, his belly lean. Touching him sent an arrow of heat to the still-throbbing flesh between her thighs.
“I should go now,” he said.
“You should stay,” she countered, making her way to the fall of his breeches.
He caught her hand, staying her. “If you take off my breeches, I am going to make love to you, Pru.”
His words of warning sent a frisson of desire unfurling through her. “Good.”
She slid her hand down the front of his soft breeches, gratified when he exhaled sharply and his hips jerked into her. His cock was thick and long, pressing into her palm. And warm, so very warm. Her core pulsed.
ReadingThe Tale of Lovehad given her all the forbidden knowledge she needed.
“Pru,” he said again, his voice strained. He kissed her throat. His hand moved over hers, molding her fingers around the shape of him.
