Read Online A Ravishing Redhead by Jillian Eaton - Free Book Online
Authors: Jillian Eaton
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voice shaky but determined. “You only had to say so.”
Henry felt as though he just had been kicked in the solar plexus. Blindly he reached for her and together they tumbled onto the bed. Their lips met, their tongues entwined. He drank her in as his hands explored her body, slipping easily beneath the hem of her nightgown to explore her flushed skin.
Margaret moaned, her head thrashing side to side as his thumb flicked across her nipple. When he pinched the sensitive nub she cried out and arched against him, grinding her hips against his hips, her slender thighs against his thighs.
“Lift your arms,” he panted and when she did he ripped her nightgown off with a savage growl. It floated to the floor and was soon covered by his shirt and trousers. Both naked they rolled across the bed, he on top and then she, neither willing to give up control.
His fingers tangled in her hair and pulled back, exposing the slim column of her throat. He suckled eagerly, working his way down until his mouth settled with ravenous hunger over her breast and his tongue swathed her nipple in lingering circles that had her purring with pleasure.
Agile as a cat she rolled to the side and then crawled on top of him, hitching her long legs on either side of his hips, letting her hair rain down across his chest as she took her turn. He groaned as her nails raked down his chest, and exhaled with pleasure as she soothed the scratches with her tongue.
Henry’s body was on fire and every thought was of her. Her touch burned him from the inside out, making him yearn for something he could not name, something he had never felt before. Grasping her shoulders he flipped her beneath him once again. His fingers dipped, danced, and explored the heart of her heat. She writhed in ecstasy as he coaxed her higher, then higher still, until on a quiet sigh she came into his hand.
His arms braced on either side of her head as he entered her gently, distracting her from the inevitable pain with soft murmurs and gentle, teasing kisses. She quivered beneath him, her body taut as a bow, her eyes closed tight.
“Margaret, look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough with need and the effort it was taking to hold himself back.
Her eyes opened. She gazed up at him, her blue eyes swirling with unsaid emotion and he found himself drowning in their depths, succumbing to her as a sailor would a siren. She whispered his name and he was lost.
Henry slid in to the hilt and she gasped but did not cry out. Her nails clung to his back, digging furrows that he did not feel; could not feel above the waves crashing against his body, pounding into him with the force of a tempest.
One thrust. Two, three. Together they hovered on the brink of the cliff and with each other’s names on their lips they hurtled blindly over the edge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning Josephine and Grace came to call. Margaret met them at the front door and immediately ushered them into the sitting parlor where they spread out amidst the tidy furniture and all began speaking at once.
“When did you get to London –”
“Where is Henry and why do you –”
“Are you going to Lady Devonshire’s ball –”
They burst out laughing. Josephine recovered first. Unlacing her hat and setting it down beside her, she leaned forward and said, “You go first, Margaret. And do start with the reason why you are practically glowing from head to toe.”
“I am not glowing ,” Margaret said.
Grace tilted her head and studied her friend through narrowed eyes. “There is definitely some sort of glow,” she decided after a pause. “Look Josie! She’s blushing. You’re blushing.”
“Only because it is quite warm in here,” Margaret said defensively. Jumping out of her seat she went to a mahogany chest in the corner of the room and selected a fan from one of the drawers. Expanding it, she began to wave her face vigorously, sending loose curls fluttering back to form a red halo
Henry felt as though he just had been kicked in the solar plexus. Blindly he reached for her and together they tumbled onto the bed. Their lips met, their tongues entwined. He drank her in as his hands explored her body, slipping easily beneath the hem of her nightgown to explore her flushed skin.
Margaret moaned, her head thrashing side to side as his thumb flicked across her nipple. When he pinched the sensitive nub she cried out and arched against him, grinding her hips against his hips, her slender thighs against his thighs.
“Lift your arms,” he panted and when she did he ripped her nightgown off with a savage growl. It floated to the floor and was soon covered by his shirt and trousers. Both naked they rolled across the bed, he on top and then she, neither willing to give up control.
His fingers tangled in her hair and pulled back, exposing the slim column of her throat. He suckled eagerly, working his way down until his mouth settled with ravenous hunger over her breast and his tongue swathed her nipple in lingering circles that had her purring with pleasure.
Agile as a cat she rolled to the side and then crawled on top of him, hitching her long legs on either side of his hips, letting her hair rain down across his chest as she took her turn. He groaned as her nails raked down his chest, and exhaled with pleasure as she soothed the scratches with her tongue.
Henry’s body was on fire and every thought was of her. Her touch burned him from the inside out, making him yearn for something he could not name, something he had never felt before. Grasping her shoulders he flipped her beneath him once again. His fingers dipped, danced, and explored the heart of her heat. She writhed in ecstasy as he coaxed her higher, then higher still, until on a quiet sigh she came into his hand.
His arms braced on either side of her head as he entered her gently, distracting her from the inevitable pain with soft murmurs and gentle, teasing kisses. She quivered beneath him, her body taut as a bow, her eyes closed tight.
“Margaret, look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough with need and the effort it was taking to hold himself back.
Her eyes opened. She gazed up at him, her blue eyes swirling with unsaid emotion and he found himself drowning in their depths, succumbing to her as a sailor would a siren. She whispered his name and he was lost.
Henry slid in to the hilt and she gasped but did not cry out. Her nails clung to his back, digging furrows that he did not feel; could not feel above the waves crashing against his body, pounding into him with the force of a tempest.
One thrust. Two, three. Together they hovered on the brink of the cliff and with each other’s names on their lips they hurtled blindly over the edge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning Josephine and Grace came to call. Margaret met them at the front door and immediately ushered them into the sitting parlor where they spread out amidst the tidy furniture and all began speaking at once.
“When did you get to London –”
“Where is Henry and why do you –”
“Are you going to Lady Devonshire’s ball –”
They burst out laughing. Josephine recovered first. Unlacing her hat and setting it down beside her, she leaned forward and said, “You go first, Margaret. And do start with the reason why you are practically glowing from head to toe.”
“I am not glowing ,” Margaret said.
Grace tilted her head and studied her friend through narrowed eyes. “There is definitely some sort of glow,” she decided after a pause. “Look Josie! She’s blushing. You’re blushing.”
“Only because it is quite warm in here,” Margaret said defensively. Jumping out of her seat she went to a mahogany chest in the corner of the room and selected a fan from one of the drawers. Expanding it, she began to wave her face vigorously, sending loose curls fluttering back to form a red halo
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