Read Online Passion Over Time by KyAnn Waters, Natasha Blackthorne, Tarah Scott - Free Book Online
Ads: Link
always, even at their parting.
Though he couldn’t imagine becoming bored with her too quickly.
He went to the sidebar and helped himself to a generous portion of brandy.
When he turned back to her, her expression had brightened considerably.
The sad, poor abandoned girl was gone. And the wild, wicked little wanton had returned. Her eyes glowed with excitement, lust. “I must leave soon.”
“Must you really?” he asked.
She nodded and approached him with a walk that was, well, it was a courtesan’s sort of walk, a hip rolling, graceful stroll. He could not take his eyes from the fascinating flat firmness of her belly. The pale, fine triangle of hair between her legs.
His lust quickly returned. His erection was growing and swelling against the confines of his clothing.
She stopped in front of him.
He forced himself to return his gaze to her face.
She was smiling at him, so natural and at ease in her own nakedness. “Let’s not waste the time we have left.”
She took hold of his cravat, untied it. She was so angelically beautiful, yet so bold. How many men had she spoken those words to? How many cravats had she so deftly untied? Yes, it shouldn’t matter. But right now, it did matter. Very much.
All reason fled in favor of a mad impulse to take her hard, the way she seemed to prefer, over and over until he wiped her mind free of every other man she’d ever known. He reached down, swept her off her feet, took her to the bed and tossed her down. Bouncing several times, she braced her arms out wide on either side, her face flushed and her eyes aglow. “Goodness, Grey, where’d that come from?”
He covered her body with his own.
At the touch of her, all velvet skin over fit, youthful muscles, her lush, soft yet firm breasts, need pounded through him.
Still laughing, she grasped the open neck of his shirt and pulled hard. Tearing cloth sounded and his laughter came out in a choked groan.
“That was London tailoring, minx.” He nipped her earlobe.
She rubbed her taut nipples against his bare chest. His fingers flew to his pantaloon buttons, wrenching them open. The lack of finesse, the haste appalled a part of him. He didn’t fancy going to bed with half his clothes still on. For Christ’s sake, he still had his damned boots on.
Devil take him. For all her petite appearance, this girl was a dangerous vixen. Dangerous to his personal control. No one else had ever driven him into such a frenzy of desire. His cock throbbed in time with his thundering heartbeat while poised at her slick heat for one quick, deep thrust. His ears detected something, not her moans. Something else. His own heartbeat… No, syncopated—
Thunder?
It came again.
Knocking.
His hands tightened on her hips, as if to deny his own thoughts. But the world must be coming to an end if Will dared disturb him. He lifted his head. Her throaty protest sent pure need knifing through him. His lips found hers again. Whatever Will wanted could go hang. He plunged into her hot, wet depth and her inner muscles hugged his length tight. He groaned, clasping her buttocks fiercely.
The knocking came again, louder and sustained.
He tore his lips from hers.
“They’ll go away,” she whispered.
“No, they won’t.”
Calling on years of self-discipline, born and trained into him, he withdrew and rolled away quickly, going to dress, giving himself no chance to reconsider. While he was fastening his pantaloons with difficulty over his erection, she wrapped her arms about his waist, her erect nipples like cinders against his shirt-clad back.
Christ, didn’t she realize what it would do to him? Lightening sharp desire surged through him and he set his teeth while he disentangled her hands. “I’ll be right back.”
He strode to the door, opened it and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Will’s face was so white, his freckles appeared like black specks.
“What is it?” Grey asked.
“ The Philadelphia Pride
Though he couldn’t imagine becoming bored with her too quickly.
He went to the sidebar and helped himself to a generous portion of brandy.
When he turned back to her, her expression had brightened considerably.
The sad, poor abandoned girl was gone. And the wild, wicked little wanton had returned. Her eyes glowed with excitement, lust. “I must leave soon.”
“Must you really?” he asked.
She nodded and approached him with a walk that was, well, it was a courtesan’s sort of walk, a hip rolling, graceful stroll. He could not take his eyes from the fascinating flat firmness of her belly. The pale, fine triangle of hair between her legs.
His lust quickly returned. His erection was growing and swelling against the confines of his clothing.
She stopped in front of him.
He forced himself to return his gaze to her face.
She was smiling at him, so natural and at ease in her own nakedness. “Let’s not waste the time we have left.”
She took hold of his cravat, untied it. She was so angelically beautiful, yet so bold. How many men had she spoken those words to? How many cravats had she so deftly untied? Yes, it shouldn’t matter. But right now, it did matter. Very much.
All reason fled in favor of a mad impulse to take her hard, the way she seemed to prefer, over and over until he wiped her mind free of every other man she’d ever known. He reached down, swept her off her feet, took her to the bed and tossed her down. Bouncing several times, she braced her arms out wide on either side, her face flushed and her eyes aglow. “Goodness, Grey, where’d that come from?”
He covered her body with his own.
At the touch of her, all velvet skin over fit, youthful muscles, her lush, soft yet firm breasts, need pounded through him.
Still laughing, she grasped the open neck of his shirt and pulled hard. Tearing cloth sounded and his laughter came out in a choked groan.
“That was London tailoring, minx.” He nipped her earlobe.
She rubbed her taut nipples against his bare chest. His fingers flew to his pantaloon buttons, wrenching them open. The lack of finesse, the haste appalled a part of him. He didn’t fancy going to bed with half his clothes still on. For Christ’s sake, he still had his damned boots on.
Devil take him. For all her petite appearance, this girl was a dangerous vixen. Dangerous to his personal control. No one else had ever driven him into such a frenzy of desire. His cock throbbed in time with his thundering heartbeat while poised at her slick heat for one quick, deep thrust. His ears detected something, not her moans. Something else. His own heartbeat… No, syncopated—
Thunder?
It came again.
Knocking.
His hands tightened on her hips, as if to deny his own thoughts. But the world must be coming to an end if Will dared disturb him. He lifted his head. Her throaty protest sent pure need knifing through him. His lips found hers again. Whatever Will wanted could go hang. He plunged into her hot, wet depth and her inner muscles hugged his length tight. He groaned, clasping her buttocks fiercely.
The knocking came again, louder and sustained.
He tore his lips from hers.
“They’ll go away,” she whispered.
“No, they won’t.”
Calling on years of self-discipline, born and trained into him, he withdrew and rolled away quickly, going to dress, giving himself no chance to reconsider. While he was fastening his pantaloons with difficulty over his erection, she wrapped her arms about his waist, her erect nipples like cinders against his shirt-clad back.
Christ, didn’t she realize what it would do to him? Lightening sharp desire surged through him and he set his teeth while he disentangled her hands. “I’ll be right back.”
He strode to the door, opened it and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Will’s face was so white, his freckles appeared like black specks.
“What is it?” Grey asked.
“ The Philadelphia Pride
Similar Books
