couldnât help it, she really couldnât. The tiny sound escaped despite her best of intentions.
Aunt Roberta had painstakingly talked with her last night, going into embarrassing detail about what Lizzie could expect the night of her wedding. Roberta had described the act at some length, but had not explained what to expect of her husbandâs manly parts.
Heavens, she had never imagined that. Certainly sheâd felt it before, rather enjoyed rubbing tender parts of her own against it, but she had never actually seen it. Until now.
His erection stood thick and proud from his hips and bobbed slightly as he climbed into the enormous bed beside her. When Oliver pulled the covers over the sight, Lizzie frowned and tugged them away, curious for a closer look.
This strange bit of flesh was a rich flush of color, so different from the rich cream of the rest of him. The ridged shaft looked as thick as her wrist and the tip darkened with a touch of the purple of a ripe plum. Was it as hard as it looked?
She reached out then jerked back when Oliver groaned and his erection rose like a living thing.
âOh, love, donât stop. Iâve been dying a small death every day waiting for the moment when you would touch me this way.â Oliverâs warm, broad hand led hers back.
What firm, warm flesh this part of him was made of! The soft, velvety-fine skin beckoned her to stroke. She did, and Oliver emitted another groan that sounded as if it were ripped from him.
When she would have hesitated, she looked up at him and into his blue eyes, glittering wildly with the passion she was now familiar with from stolen moments during their engagement, but oh, so much more heat than ever before. He silently implored her with those lovely eyes not to stop.
So she didnât. Not until Oliverâs breath quickened impossibly and his erection began to throb in her palm, and he pushed aside her awkward hands to lean in and kiss her.
Time faded as his lips devoured her in a luscious, soul-searing dance while his handsâ¦his hands roamed her length with long assured strokes, petting and stroking, discovering the small of her back, the curve of her hip, the delicate skin at the back of her knee. Then he found the hem of her shift and inched it up, revealing her flushed, trembling skin to his touch.
In a moment, the shift was gone and in its wake was heat, incredible heat where they touched, finally, bare skin to bare skin. It was a rich, erotic feeling and Lizzie shifted, rubbing against him to feel the texture of him again.
âOh, starling. You have the right of it already. Youâll be the death of me, wonât you?â
âEnough talking, Your Grace. More kissing.â
âWhatever Her Grace desires,â Oliver said with a chuckle she could feel in her marrow then he fulfilled her wish.
Tongues flickered and stroked in counterpart to the caress of his hands. He lingered at her breasts, molding his palm to the curve of her, and teased the tips with his thumb. Then he broke away and kissed his way down the length of her neck until he could lave the tautened peaks.
Lizzie arched into him, amazed at the moist heat and the echo of warmth pulsing between her legs, the arousal Oliver so easily drew from her. But still she longed in that deep hidden place.
The promise of this moment, with this man, thrilled and excited her. The promise of his lovemaking nearly drove her mad, especially when he began to touch her lower, where she ached, and he rubbed his erection against her hip in counterpoint.
The inferno built, firing through her blood to engulf her, Oliverâs fingers wicked little minions of torture. When he sank a digit into her, she couldnât stifle a cry. When he added another, sliding in and out of her wet heat in a wicked rhythm of delight, Lizzie began to moan, or thought she did for that last brief moment that she could still think.
And then he stopped and Lizzie thought sheâd
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