Page 50 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

All she cared about was him kissing her again, caressing her again. She lay back, every muscle in her body tense with anticipation.

As she lay underneath him, waiting for him to act, he gazed down at her, his eyes glazed, his expression one of raw hunger. He looked as if nothing and no one could stop him now, and stopping him was the very last thing she intended to do.

‘My Lord, Primrose, I want you so much,’ he said, as he quickly undid the remaining buttons of her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders and pulling down her chemise.

His eyes fixed on her exposed breasts, and there was no mistaking the intent of that look. It was desire. Wild, unfettered desire.

He liked what he saw, and she loved having him look at her like that.

Her back arched slightly off the floor, her breasts moving towards him, as an unfamiliar sense of power filled her. To have him look at her like that, as if she was beautiful and desirable and he was completely lost, was almost as arousing as his touch.

Almost.

She took hold of his hand, replaced it on her breast, closed her eyes and surrendered to his caresses.

His lips returned to hers, kissing her hard with mounting insistence, as his hand tormented her breast, stroking, pinching, making her writhe in pleasure beneath him, her throbbing need rising with every caress.

His lips left hers, then slowly, tantalisingly, moved down her neck, across the mounds of her breasts. She suspected the direction his lips were heading, and while she loved each kiss that brought him closer, her body was all but screaming for him to reach their destination.

When he took one sensitive nipple in his mouth she cried out, the intensity of the pleasure ripping through her almost unbearable. His tongue stroked the tight bud, as his lips continued to nuzzle, causing moans to escape from her lips, primal, earthy moans that lent nothing to dignity or polite femininity.

But what did she care? She could not stop her moans even if she wanted to.

With each stroke of his tongue, with each caress of his lips, they grew louder and came faster, until a deep shudder rippled through her body, starting from the site of his lips and filling her with glorious, indescribable tremors of pleasure.

She collapsed back onto the rug and looked up at him, wanting to ask what on earth had just happened, but unable to form the words as her breath continued to come in rapid gasps.

Before she had time to fully recover from that rush of unexpected sensations, his lips were once more on hers, as his hand pushed up the bottom of her skirt.

As if in a reenactment of his lips kissing a teasing line to her breast, his hand slowly moved to the inside of her leg, up her calf, over the top of her silk stockings to the naked flesh of her thighs.

With a sigh, she surrendered herself to the sensual pleasure of his touch and the realisation of where it was heading. He was about to touch her in the most intimate of places, the place her body urgently wanted to feel his caresses, so desperately it was throbbing with a mounting need that demanded release.

His hand inched closer. Her rapid breaths turned into low moans. The pounding deep in her body heightened. Her legs parted, inviting him to move higher. His fingers slid inside her drawers, in the same manner they had entered her blouse. Anticipation and excitement grew within her as she waited for what he would do next, her breath coming faster and faster, until she was almost panting with excitement.

His fingers traced along her folds, and she writhed beneath him, feeling so deliciously, so sensually wanton.

Another finger entered her, parting her. Was he making her ready so he could take her? She hoped so, because that was what she wanted. She wanted to feel him deep inside her, filling her up, taking her, making her his.

‘Oh, yes,’ she cried out, placing her hand over his and pushing it more firmly against her pulsating core.

His lips once again found hers as his hand continued to rub between her legs, gently at first, then with more pressure, the fingers moving deeper and deeper inside her with each stroke.

The sound of primal growls filled the air. Her growls. The burning need inside her flamed hotter with each stroke of his hand, until liquid fire burnt through her veins, and she cried out, her body arching off the ground, then releasing back to the floor, spent, exhausted and consumed with a bliss that was heavenly.

And yet still he was not finished with her. Before she had time to recover, his lips were nuzzling the sensitive skin of her neck.

‘I want you,’ he once again murmured in her ear.

‘Yes,’ she gasped out, incapable of saying anything else.

‘I have to have you.’

‘Yes,’ she said, between breaths, wishing there was less talk because she was desperate to feel whatever pleasure came next.

‘I will marry you. I promise.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she responded, hardly aware of what she was saying, just wanting him to do what he promised, to take her, so she could experience all that this magnificent man could give her.