Mortified, she shoved at his shoulders. “Get away from me.”
“What’s the matter—”
“Let mego.” She pushed harder, and after a heartbeat, he stepped back.
His lean face had the flush of passion, but his eyes were measured. “What is happening here, Maggie? Did I do something wrong? Did I misread—”
“I amnotsome trollop for you to use at your convenience.” Despite her churning shame, she kept her chin up. “I am a respectable widow, and I deserve respect.”
He stared at her. Pushed his fingers through the dark waves of his hair, a gesture of infinite male frustration. “I do respect you.”
“If that is true, then you will prove it by staying away from me. I don’t want to see you again, Mr. Jones. Good night.”
She groped for the door handle behind her. She half expected him to stop her, but he just stood there, his hands braced on his hips, his expression unreadable.
She turned the knob, pivoted quickly, and fled.
While she still could.
6
In the hours before dawn,Rhys was unable to sleep. He lay naked in bed, his hands laced behind his head, the sheets tangled at his waist. Staring into the shadowed canopy, he let his mind wander. In the twilight hours, it was easy to slip into a reality of his choosing.
In his fantasy, he and Maggie had just finished kissing. She had her back against the door. She leaned against it in a posture both shy and provocative.
“Take me, Rhys,” she breathed.
She beckoned him with her kiss-swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes. He wanted to kiss her again, to partake of that feminine flavor that was hers and hers alone, but he wanted something more. He reached for the pins that confined her hair, plucking them out one by one. He was rewarded by the cascade of cinnamon waves, the scented strands slipping like silk through his fingers.
She smelled of roses and spice. Everything nice.
His cockstand showed his appreciation.
He took her mouth again. She was every bit as hungry for the kiss as he was, and the mating of their mouths grew carnal, ferocious. Licking, sucking, tongue against tongue. Ah, God, she made him greedy. Made him feel as if he hadn’t had a woman in years—and he hadn’t, not one like Maggie. Never one like her.
He unclasped the cheap velveteen cloak, pushing it off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, and the rest of her garments soon joined the heap. He stripped her down to her chemise, the thin layer exposing her to his rapacious gaze. Her tits were full and round, their cherry tips budded against the linen, begging for him to have a taste.
He bent his head, drew the delicate fruit into his mouth. Her gasp of delight went straight to his groin, and his bollocks drew tighter, his cock turgid with need. He suckled her through the linen, his tongue flicking her nipple, laving it over and again. Her fingers slid into his hair, and pleasure shot down his spine as she tugged, holding him at her breast.
As if he’d ever want to leave. But he did…only to give her other breast the same attention he lavished upon the first. As he licked and nibbled, he squeezed the firm mounds, appreciating how they overflowed his palms.
“Please, Rhys, hurry. I can’t wait.”
Her panted pleas were a siren’s call. Who was he to resist? He grasped the hem of her chemise, shoving it up to her hips. The sight of her shapely legs threatened the integrity of his trousers: his erection butted into the placket like a battering ram as he gripped one smooth, firm thigh, just to the side of her sweet thatch.
The hair on her sex was a shade lighter than that on her head and a piquant contrast to the pink petals they guarded. She had the prettiest pussy. He slid a finger along her slit and found a dream come true. She was wet and wanting, creamy for him. His thumb skated upward to her hidden pearl, and her hips bucked.
“What do you want, Maggie?” he growled. “Tell me.”
She wetted her lips. Lips as pink and plump as the ones he was petting. “I want you inside me.”
Imagining her breathy admission, Rhys couldn’t resist any longer. He gripped his rearing cock, the crown already bulging, slickened by his fantasies. He thrust into his fist as if it were Maggie’s cunny, tight and lush and greedy to be fucked. From the village gossip, he’d learned that her dead husband had been an elderly scholar, and he couldn’t imagine she’d had much satisfaction from a dried-up old stick.
He frowned. He didn’t want to think about Maggie with another man. With anyone but him.
He focused instead on taking her up against the door. His fingers dug into her plush hips as he lifted her against the wood then impaled her upon his raging shaft. She moaned, her hands clutching his shoulders as her cunny stretched to take his invading meat. He pulled out and slammed in to the rhythm of their panted breaths. Her tits bounced as he plowed her, tunneling deep into her small, succulent hole. She took it all and begged for more.
“Take me, Rhys. Make love to me. I want you.”
