Sin. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ riding coat from his broad shoulders. She watched, breathless, as he dropped it to the floor, leaving him in his shirtsleeves. She wrapped her hands around his biceps, rock hard bulges beneath exquisite lawn. With one hand he undid his waistcoat buttons, with the other he cupped her breast. Her bosom seemed so small beneath his large, masculine hand. Pleasure sizzled from his touch. Like a firefly seeking light, it raced through her and burst between her thighs. Oh!

      She shut her eyes as he kissed her deeply. Their tongues twined. His hands slid between her back and the daybed, splayed wide over her. The buttons dropped from their loops. He pulled the neckline of her bodice down. Her breasts perched atop her crumpled bodice, lifted for his admiration and pleasure.

      He licked the valley in between. “Lovely.”

      “But not large.” In pictures, women possessed succulent breasts. “Don’t men favor large—”

      “I assure you that you have beautiful tits.”

      He nuzzled her nipples. He’d been shaved close, his cheeks and jaw wonderfully smooth, skimming over her sensitive skin. His mouth opened—her nipple disappeared inside. Her touches to herself had been nothing compared to the suction of his mouth, the swirling of his tongue. He laved, licked and suckled, and her dampened nipples gleamed in the faint daylight.

      She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Freed the first. Then she sensibly let him do the rest. It was all she could do to breathe.

      His shirt fell open, revealing ridges and planes of muscle, swirls of dark hair, dusky brown nipples. She stroked the soft curling hair, tracing it down over his flat, rippling stomach to the snug waistband of his breeches. Daringly, she coasted her fingers lower, and touched the hard ridge of his cock. She skimmed her hands back up. Her thumbs brushed his nipples, which tightened instantly. “Your nipples are so different than mine.”

      “But they are as sensitive and they enjoy the same attentions. Stroke them, pinch them—”

      “Suckle them?” she suggested softly.

      “Yes, sweeting, but for now you are to lie back.” He moved off the end of the daybed and dropped to his knees. He was going to…to kiss her there. Yes, she’d drawn the act, had trembled with illicit desire each time she sketched a man’s head between a woman’s thighs, and now she was burning with anticipation.

      Soft golden light traced his cheekbone, his firm lips. In the candlelight, his skin was the color of toasted meringue.

      Her breath left in a whoosh as he kissed her nether curls.

      His tongue tangled within them. Luxuriant pleasure washed over her. She dug her fingers into the smooth fabric of the chaise, curled her toes.

      He slid his tongue down to her quim. Warm and slick, it flicked her nether lips apart. He tasted her juices, groaning as he did.

      He watched her over her nether curls—she stared helplessly into his turquoise eyes, a slave to the pleasure he was giving. Then, above her mound, he winked at her.

      How could she be so shocked—and suddenly worry about Maidenswode propriety—while arching and moaning on his chaise?

      He slid his tongue into her passage, filling her with wet heat. Plunged it in and out and she cried out with each spearing thrust.

      He lifted his mouth from her throbbing quim. “Tell me what you like, love. Do you like my tongue to slide inside your cunny?”

      She nodded, unable to speak.

      “Have you seen your beautiful pussy, my dear?”

      Again she nodded. She’d held a mirror there to look. She’d been so curious. In paintings it was a mysterious oval-shaped opening. She’d had to know for herself.

      “Have you touched your clit?” he asked wickedly. And with that, his mouth closed over her sensitive bud.

      Her moan turned to a scream. “My lord!”

      He licked her nub with demanding strokes that sent explosions of ecstasy and agony, shock and delight, racing through her. She was pleading for mercy. Crying “my lord” over and over, clutching at his hair.

      But he wouldn’t stop. He stroked, stroked, stroked. The tide of sensation, of agony, was building in her. But it was too much.

      He caught hold of her hands so she couldn’t push him away or pull free. Relentlessly, he suckled and teased. This was so much more intense than her caresses. She arched her hips up to him. She had to close her eyes, grip his hands.

      “Oh! Oh! Oh! My lord!” She wanted him to never stop, to take her over the brink—

      She exploded. Her body clenched and pulsed and she thrashed with it. Saw fireworks—worthy of Vauxhall—then sparkling darkness. She was screaming!

      He stopped her shouts with a kiss, covering her mouth with his. His lips tasted of her quim, rich and primal and musky, and his fingers stroked her. She was still coming, still pulsing, still caught up in ecstasy. Then, she opened her eyes to find him leaning over her, braced on his muscular arms. He smiled down at her. She touched his cheek, and he kissed her palm. A gesture that made her heart tremble.

      Then she realized she was half-naked, drenched in sweat and her juices, and had screamed his house down in the middle of the morning.

      She sat up abruptly, almost falling to the side as she did. Her head was dizzy—lovemaking was as intoxicating as liquor. She must put herself to rights but her bodice was crumpled beneath her bare breasts, her skirts a wrinkled mess.

      “What is wrong, my dear? Why the haste?”

      “I—oh, what have I done? I am—” Horrified, she thought of his offer. “You see I’m not good and proper at all, my lord. I am not the sort of woman who should paint Lady Ravenwood’s baby.”

      As she slapped at her skirt to try to smooth it, he kissed her cheek. “Marcus. After that intimacy we are Marcus and Venetia, my dear. And you aren’t wicked, love. However, you aren’t going to Chartrand’s.”

      “I do not require your permission!”

      “I could stop you in a heartbeat,” he warned, “Merely by telling your father.”

      “You wouldn’t!”

      “I could dispatch a footman with a note immediately.”

      He crossed his arms over his bared chest, forearms and biceps bulging—how could she notice such a thing when he threatened to betray her? How could he do such a thing after giving her an intimate French kiss?

      To protect her. She almost laughed at the madness. He was the noblest man she’d ever known yet he had just licked her quim until she saw stars.

      She stared down at her hopeless skirts. “Then you have won, my lord. I cannot go.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “I take it I am here to play Devil’s Advocate?” Viscount Ravenwood leaned back and sipped his brandy.

      Sprawled on his leather chair, Marcus raked his hand over his jaw. “Miss СКАЧАТЬ