She opened her mouth to identify herself, but suddenly forgot how to talk when he ground his hips against her bottom. She sucked in her breath; she could feel him grow big and hard against her.
Goodness!Her eyes widened with amazement. Knowing she could do that to him made her feel somehow stronger—empowered.
He moved the thick column lower, positioning himself between her legs. The blunt tip nudged intimately at her entry.
Dear God.
She shuddered. Awareness spread over her in a hot wave, the proof of his arousal triggering her body’s response to the primitive call. She started to tingle; a flush of fevered heat spread over her skin in a shimmering wave. She felt alive in a way that she never had before.
I should tell him…
But all thoughts of telling him anything slid from her mind when his lips found her neck and his hand covered her breast. He groaned, cupping and squeezing while his mouth ravished her neck. She’d never imagined him like this. Rough. Demanding. Unabashedly sensual.
He was devouring her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, his lips and tongue trailing hot wet kisses down to the nape of her neck. The scrape of his jaw along the sensitive skin burned like a brand.
Her knees felt weak, her entire body boneless with the wonder of it. The passion she’d always dreamed of was in her grasp. She didn’t want to let go.
His body was moving against hers in a wicked dance that demanded a response. But she didn’t know the steps. When his hips moved against her she had to press back, increasing the friction. The harder he kissed her neck, the more he squeezed her breast, the faster his movements became, the more bold were her responses. She arched her back, circled her hips, and let the gasps of her pleasure fall more freely from between her lips.
Her body was not her own. It was his. It had always been his.
Magnus should have done this a long time ago. What the hell had he been waiting for? Blood pounded through his veins in anticipation. His heart hammered. He couldn’t wait to be inside her.
He felt as if a weight were being lifted off his shoulders. Despite what his brethren thought, he hadn’t lived like a saint in the years since Helen had refused him. But always before, he’d been burdened by guilt—unwarranted or not.
Tonight he would be free; he could feel it.
He was more than a little drunk, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t believe how turned on the gel was getting him with those little breathy sounds she was making. He loved the way her tight little bottom moved against his hardness, teasing him, driving him mad with the urge to thrust inside her. He loved her smooth, silky skin that tasted like honey, and the full, ripe breasts that could almost make him forget the full, ripe breasts that had been tormenting him for days. Those damned gowns!
Don’t think about her.
He distracted himself with her chest—Joanna, he reminded himself—squeezing the soft flesh a little more insistently, savoring the heavy weight of it, and then burying his nose in her hair with a groan as the force of his desire pounded through him. If the soft silkiness and faint scent of lavender stirred a familiar memory, he shook it off. Then, to prove the memory false, he slipped his hand below the fabric of her dress and cupped her bare breast in his hand.
He liked the way she gasped. Liked it so much, in fact, that he set about eliciting some more. He ran his thumb over the taut little tip, caressing it to a firm peak. When it was nice and hard, he rolled it between his fingers and gave it a gentle pinch. He was rewarded with another gasp.
Liked that, did she?
For a moment, he fought the urge to flip the little wanton around and cover that gasp with his mouth. But he shied from the intimacy. He didn’t want to kiss her, he wanted to swive her. So badly that he didn’t know how much longer he could wait.
Helen was awash in sensation. The shock she’d felt when his big, callused hand had made contact with her naked breast had turned to wonder as he began to caress her, and then to urgent moans as his stroking intensified.
Her breasts felt so heavy in his hands. Her nipples were so hard and tight they throbbed. And when he began to pinch them between his fingers, tiny needles of pleasure shot through her straight to her toes.
She felt so strange. So hot and restless. She’d never imagined this kind of passion from him. There was nothing chaste and reverent about his touch. He wanted her, and he was showing her exactly how much.
“God, it’s been so long,” he groaned, his breath coming hard and fast in her ear.
How long?she wanted to ask, but dared not speak for fear he would realize it was her and stop. She didn’t want him to stop. Her body was clamoring for something she didn’t understand. She was hot everywhere he touched her and needy everywhere he hadn’t.
“I can’t wait much longer, I need to be inside you. I hope you like it from behind.” He moved against her again, slower and more sensually—like his voice—showing her what he meant. The sheer naughtiness of it sent a wicked thrill running through her.
Why has he never talked to me like this?It was a side of him she’d never seen before. A little base. A little crude. And more than a little exciting. A passionate, fiercely carnal side that he’d kept hidden from her. It sent a flood of desire pooling between her legs. Damp. Warm. Needy. But it was nothing compared to what happened when his hand covered that warm and achy place. He gripped her firmly, holding her to him.
“Do you?” he teased with that smooth, velvety voice, rocking against her in silent question.
Helen couldn’t seem to breathe. Glad that he couldn’t see her shocked, wide eyes, she nodded furiously, not really knowing what she was agreeing to except that she wanted whatever he wanted to do to her.
“Naughty lass.” He chuckled and flipped her skirts up. A blast of cool air swept over her backside. He paused to give her bottom a swift caress before his hand slipped around the front of her thigh to reach between her legs.
