With restraint slipping, he fisted his fingers in those golden strands, set his other hand at her waist, and guided her into an exchange that would take them both down. He was hard, ready, straining against his trouser close. When he touched her through the silk of her gown, she was warm, slick, open to him.
Her hoarse moan echoed about the room, thrilling him.
“Cry out, no one can hear you,” he whispered, bending to grasp the hem of her sleeping gown, stripping it away before either of them could think better of it.
It landed on the floor as her amber eyes rose to his.
Later, he’d let her have her wish. Have her wrap her lips around his cock and suck him dry if she chose to. He would tell her exactly what he liked.
But for now…he wantedthis.
Capturing her lips, he lifted her into his arms and laid her back upon the mattress. When she would have closed her legs, he caught her knee and held her there, his gaze lingering in open admiration. She was a marvel—a sensual marriage of delicacy and lush curves. Nipples dark pink and tightlybudded, golden curls nestled between her thighs. He recognized the vulnerability of her position: candlelight gilding her skin, every inch of her offered to his sight.
“You are my dream, Isabella. My God, you are.”
Her lips parted, though only a ragged sigh escaped as he stepped back and let his shirt slide from his shoulders. His trousers and drawers followed, though he slowed when his cock sprang free. He trapped it against his thigh…but there was no hiding his arousal.
“Oh,” she breathed, “oh,no.”
Ever laughed, a sound he’d never made during sex before, not once. It felt freeing. One knee pressed to the mattress, he climbed over Isabella before he could utter something nonsensical like,it will fit. Naturally, it would. He would make sure she was prepared, willing,begging—or die trying.
But wasn’t showing better than telling?
The first touch, as he settled between her thighs, stripped logic from his mind. Any plan, his instinct to use his usual tactics, dissolved as her hands curved around his hips, anchoring him. Her scent, a trace of vanilla and lavender, lit his senses. Beneath it lingered the teasing aroma of her awakening.
The dance escalated, sex against sex, grinding, seeking. Her leg circled his, her body lifting to meet him, fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. He loved her urgency, her absorption. Bracing his forearm against the mattress, he slid his other hand between her thighs, parted her, and began to stroke. The rhythm took hold within seconds, sparks flashing behind his lids. Her gasping sighs, the blinding heat of her, the torrent of images driving through him, dragged him perilously close to release.
When he leaned to take her nipple between his lips, his teeth, she cried out as he’d requested, a rich reverberation about the chamber.
His mahogany bed, as dated as the rest of the place, rocked beneath them with barely a murmur. Earlier, he’d gone down on his hands and knees to shore up the frame. Nothing good had happened to him in this house since his mother’s passing—certainly nothing likethis—and he’d wanted it to be perfect.
Or at least wonderful.
His mind buzzed, his spine tightening with the promise of release as he thumbed the swollen bud at her center and slid a second finger deep inside her. Her nipple pressed against his lower lip, his cheek cradled by the curve of her breast. What could be more glorious? She had to crest—and soon—or he would disgrace himself and spill before she had properly touched him.
Thankfully, she shattered.
“Ever,” she whispered against the tender hollow between his shoulder and ear. Her hips rose to meet his thrusts, matching the ragged rhythm of their breath. She reached for him, fingertips gliding over the crown.
Not now,he thought,not yet.
“Later, I’m going to come with you, inside you, so accept this now,” he said, lips pressed to the warm curve of her ear. “Dammit, sprite, I’ll follow, I promise.”
As she crested, shaking and moaning, her body clenching around his working fingers, heat pulsing beneath his circling thumb, Ever rose enough to watch her come undone—back arched, skin slick, flaxen hair in wild disarray. Love struck him, swift and blinding, followed by a possessiveness so fierce it stunned him.
She washis. He would find a way.
He accepted those certainties with her image seared into him for all eternity.
Chapter Twelve
Where a daring woman finds answers.
Percival Everard Trentham, sixth Earl of Merevale, deserved the April nomination; no man could be more worthy of the Brazen Belle’s favor.
This foolish reflection circled her mind as Isabella closed in on pleasure, the rake in question pressing her into the depths of his feather mattress with his broad body. Their skin fused, damp with exertion, a crude, often graceless act she had never imagined could prove so astonishing. This was leagues beyond what they had done in his office or the stable. Her nipples tightened beneath his mouth, the pull of his suction striking deep within her core. And when he gently used his teeth, she’d had to press her lips to his shoulder to hold back her cries.
In fact, she possibly bit him back.
