The Illicit Love of a Courtesan. Jane Lark

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СКАЧАТЬ free, then one taut peak was absorbed in the warmth of his mouth. It sent a tremor across her skin and pain and pleasure reaching inside her.

      He did not just want her body, he wanted her soul. It had only ever been Paul’s. But with Edward Marlow she wasn’t sure she could keep it safe. When Gainsborough touched her—when she touched him—she detached her mind. He took her body, but only her body. This man would claim everything.

      He lifted away from her again and began plucking pins from her hair, watching the dark curls fall to her naked shoulders and over her breasts.

      “If someone comes in?” Ellen heard her breathless words.

      “No one will.” His voice was deep. He sounded as lost in lust as her. His hands rested on her shoulders and turned her to reach the back fastenings of her dress. The small ivory buttons slipped free one by one, and he kissed her exposed skin.

      “You’re so beautiful.” The whisper brushed her neck as her dress fell in to a pool at her feet. Then his fingers swept her hair across her shoulders before tugging at the lacing of her light corset.

      When her corset fell away too, he began stripping off her chemise, lifting it over her head and baring her breasts before throwing it aside. Then his hands reached about her and gripped together, drawing her back against him as he kissed her neck.

      “You are nature’s finest art.”

      Her head tilted back, savouring his caresses and his hand slid down over her stomach and then slipped under her cotton underwear. No one had ever caressed her with such tenderness. She ached for him—he made her feel—every nerve in her body was humming for his touch—it was a rising floodtide inside her. It was torment, unbearable. It stole her awareness of everything but him. She wanted to cry out, to protest and scream. She did not. He did not stop. Oh, she was afraid of it, of this unfamiliar feeling.

      There was an explosion of pleasure. It rushed through her blood, a flood, racing, ripping her apart, an unearthed power she hadn’t known existed tearing into her limbs and leaving them weak. She felt him take her weight as she nearly fell and her fingers gripped his forearms. His lips brushed the skin behind her ear and he did not cease.

      “Not again, please.” Her words were breathless. She was afraid of the torrent that might flow now the dam was breached, afraid of losing control. He was still a stranger. It was too hard to trust.

      His answer was to turn her and kiss her. She willingly returned it, her hands gripping fists full of his hair, as the tide of his passion swept her away again and he leaned her back a little so the chair’s seat pressed against her calves until she fell back. She knew it was by design when he knelt before her and smiled and then his gaze dropped and he began loosening the ribbon securing her drawers. He slid them off, leaving her naked—exposed—while he was still fully clothed.

      His warm breath brushed her breast. His eyes were glazed and his pupils wide dark onyx pools as his gaze swept over her body.

      Awareness of the room, of him, refilled her. “This is not fair.” She hesitated, unfamiliar with desire. “I want to touch you.”

      Amusement and compliance shining in his eyes, he released the knot of his cravat while she pushed his coat from his shoulders.

      Once he was stripped of neckcloth, coat and waistcoat, she tugged his shirt from his waistband and lifted it off over his head before throwing it aside. Then she reached for the buttons of his breeches but his hands stopped her.

      “Not yet.”

      Why? What else could come?

      Lean muscular contours rippled across his torso, shadowed by a dusting of dark hair across his chest which narrowed to a line delving into his waistband. Instinctively she licked her lips, only to be disturbed from her admiration by a sound of humour in the back of his throat.

      “Careful, you’ll make me think you’ve not known pleasure like this.” His voice was low and husky, laden with lust and unexpected humour.

      His hands gripped her hips and drew them forward, tumbling her backwards, and his head bent to kiss her stomach. Her muscle tightened, caught by surprise, but she was equally overwhelmed by a feeling of tenderness—care. It pierced her disordered thoughts. It was in his touch. She knew if she asked him to stop, even now, he would.

      Moisture rushed into her eyes. This man is kind and gentle. Longing swelled inside her, body and soul. Desire and hope.

      But he is not my rescuer. She had to push the thought away and shield herself behind denial. Her heart could not be involved in this. It was a physical hunger. He knows the art of sex better than other men I’ve known, that is all.

      His fingers slid down her thighs and up again. “Relax, Ellen,” he whispered, looking up and smiling.

      She closed her eyes, took a breath and tried to, but she felt so nervous and uncertain. When his lips touched her, her fingernails dug into his flesh.

      She’d thought herself incapable of embarrassment after a lifetime of humiliation, yet this intimate caress made her blush. No one else, not even Paul, had kissed her there.

      She clung to him, hanging on as he urged her back into the pool of sensual delight. He knew more than Paul had done, Paul had made her happy, but never like this.

      This time when the flood swelled, smashing aside her sanity, Edward did not let her escape but pushed her over another wave. It was then he freed the buttons of his breeches and filled her.

      An exclamation of satisfaction left her lips.

      His slate-blue-eyes looked into hers and his closed lips smiled as he pressed into her again. He smiled more and she gripped the arms of the chair.

      Well, she had wanted escape. He was certainly giving her that.

      The sweet sensations transported her beyond the room, body and soul, and she clung to him, watching him through a haze of lust.

      He was so beautiful, hard, masculine, yet gentle.

      She loved this man, she had known him only moments but still she knew she loved him. He’d possessed her body and her heart.

      He released her hips and held her hands, weaving their fingers together.

      How could this? How could anyone stand such..? Light exploded within her.

      The man was a God, an athlete, his strength, his stamina, his gallantry all spoke of it. There was no doubt.

      “You are…” She stopped, hardly knowing what she said, and then her fingernails digging into his flesh she fell over the edge of reality into an abyss of sensation far below.

      A virile cry escaped his throat, erupting from deep in his chest and he hastily withdrew.

      When she felt the warmth on her stomach, she was plummeted back to reality and felt cheated, insulted. She was still a whore whom he would not want to bear his child. He was no hero, just another man. For a moment she hated him, even though he’d only really shown forethought and kindness. He’d reduced the possibility of a child. What good would a bastard child bring? No good, except a memory of this one night of release and him.

      Ellen felt cold, thrown from a warm hearth in to snow, soiled again, СКАЧАТЬ