Read Online A Little More Scandal by Carrie Lofty - Free Book Online
Authors: Carrie Lofty
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broken nose, striking eyes, and beautiful mouth. To the fantastic breadth of his chest, with every sharp muscle flexing in time. Or to the trail of glossy, damp golden chest hair that arrowed down to . . .
Good God, he was big.
In and out. How did she take him each time?
And yet her body was open, accepting his hard pulse with ever more greed. Again she trailed her sharp caress across his skin, this time down his chest. He arched back a little more, then a little more, until he offered the proud, arrogant picture she had wanted to see. For a moment she basked in the wonder of him. So powerful. Holding on, just for her. His labored breathing and faltering pace said as much. And still he rocked her with the most blatant weapon a man possessed.
A trapdoor in her mind unlocked. Opened. She shuddered, then shrieked behind his hand. Desperate for closeness, she hugged her legs behind his back and clung to his neck. He bowed over her, his arm wrapped low around her hips. Her bare bottom, slick with sweat and her body’s moisture, squeaked along the desk’s polished wood.
There had been a word. A word the soldiers used when they thought no woman was within earshot. A word only the closest of her friends in the nursing corps had dared utter, followed inevitably by hushed giggles.
Fucking.
William was fucking her.
That taboo thought and the mindless, pounding beat of his body launched her into a dark and searing realm. She screamed. All she heard was a muffled noise, but the scream echoed louder and longer within her mind. Pleasure flared outward from where they joined, hot and liquefying. She bucked beneath his hold, his big frame, his questing hips, until the screams died away, until he groaned her name. The tremendous shudder that overtook his chest and shoulders made her grin beneath his palm.
This was not her first time. But it was the first time she understood the fiery potential of man and woman.
They lay panting, reclined against the desk, for longer than Catrin could figure. William’s face was tucked along the side of her throat. She could not feel her upper thighs where they pressed against the edge of the desk, yet the slight discomfort was easy to ignore. The supper hour could be nigh for all she knew. She was so dazed, so faintly sore, so completely tousled, that she never wanted to move again.
Only on one other occasion had she felt such paralysis. Instead of revisiting those hours left strewn on an unfamiliar beach, alone, her life ebbing away, she tightened her hands around William’s hard, muscular middle. Damp skin spread beneath her restless finger.
“Would it be so terrible?” she asked against his brow.
Words.
Even her own voice sounded foreign—her accent thicker, her breath ragged. They had shared a great deal, so quickly, and without the need for words. She had known it could be right between them. A shame, then, to return to a form of communication where they wound up at odds.
After a shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “Would what be so terrible?”
“Marriage. To me.” She laughed softly. The vibrations flowed from her chest into his and back again. “We seem compatible enough.”
“Do you truly go through life thinking like that?”
“Like what?”
“In such plain terms—and so against the grain of Society.”
“Plain saves confusion, as you well know,” she said with a smile. “And don’t forget that I’ve lived among men, soldiers no less, for the past five years. I’m often surprised when I manage to keep pace with the more subtle nature of female conversation. As for Society, they already think I’m a whore or a heroic angel. Nothing I’ve done here will alter that, not when their small minds are already made up.”
William levered above her. She reached her arms overhead, feeling as contented as a cat in the sun. Her nipples remained exposed, tight and sensitive. She should cover up, but his eyes still consumed her.
“Were you in the habit of keeping
Good God, he was big.
In and out. How did she take him each time?
And yet her body was open, accepting his hard pulse with ever more greed. Again she trailed her sharp caress across his skin, this time down his chest. He arched back a little more, then a little more, until he offered the proud, arrogant picture she had wanted to see. For a moment she basked in the wonder of him. So powerful. Holding on, just for her. His labored breathing and faltering pace said as much. And still he rocked her with the most blatant weapon a man possessed.
A trapdoor in her mind unlocked. Opened. She shuddered, then shrieked behind his hand. Desperate for closeness, she hugged her legs behind his back and clung to his neck. He bowed over her, his arm wrapped low around her hips. Her bare bottom, slick with sweat and her body’s moisture, squeaked along the desk’s polished wood.
There had been a word. A word the soldiers used when they thought no woman was within earshot. A word only the closest of her friends in the nursing corps had dared utter, followed inevitably by hushed giggles.
Fucking.
William was fucking her.
That taboo thought and the mindless, pounding beat of his body launched her into a dark and searing realm. She screamed. All she heard was a muffled noise, but the scream echoed louder and longer within her mind. Pleasure flared outward from where they joined, hot and liquefying. She bucked beneath his hold, his big frame, his questing hips, until the screams died away, until he groaned her name. The tremendous shudder that overtook his chest and shoulders made her grin beneath his palm.
This was not her first time. But it was the first time she understood the fiery potential of man and woman.
They lay panting, reclined against the desk, for longer than Catrin could figure. William’s face was tucked along the side of her throat. She could not feel her upper thighs where they pressed against the edge of the desk, yet the slight discomfort was easy to ignore. The supper hour could be nigh for all she knew. She was so dazed, so faintly sore, so completely tousled, that she never wanted to move again.
Only on one other occasion had she felt such paralysis. Instead of revisiting those hours left strewn on an unfamiliar beach, alone, her life ebbing away, she tightened her hands around William’s hard, muscular middle. Damp skin spread beneath her restless finger.
“Would it be so terrible?” she asked against his brow.
Words.
Even her own voice sounded foreign—her accent thicker, her breath ragged. They had shared a great deal, so quickly, and without the need for words. She had known it could be right between them. A shame, then, to return to a form of communication where they wound up at odds.
After a shake of his head, he cleared his throat. “Would what be so terrible?”
“Marriage. To me.” She laughed softly. The vibrations flowed from her chest into his and back again. “We seem compatible enough.”
“Do you truly go through life thinking like that?”
“Like what?”
“In such plain terms—and so against the grain of Society.”
“Plain saves confusion, as you well know,” she said with a smile. “And don’t forget that I’ve lived among men, soldiers no less, for the past five years. I’m often surprised when I manage to keep pace with the more subtle nature of female conversation. As for Society, they already think I’m a whore or a heroic angel. Nothing I’ve done here will alter that, not when their small minds are already made up.”
William levered above her. She reached her arms overhead, feeling as contented as a cat in the sun. Her nipples remained exposed, tight and sensitive. She should cover up, but his eyes still consumed her.
“Were you in the habit of keeping
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