Read Online Pleasure and Purpose by Megan Hart - Free Book Online

They both moaned. Nessa's head fell forward. Their mouths met, hungry for each other. His kisses inflamed her. The bites even more so. Edward's teeth found her throat again and he held the soft skin between them, torturing her with the anticipation of the sting.
    He'd told her this wasn't making love, but it had become more than fucking. Their bodies moved in perfect tandem, her climax mounting.
    "This feels good?" he asked.
    "Aye, it does. . . ." Her words became a gasp when he circled more firmly on her clit. Then, he asked no more questions, and they moved together, each seeking the ecstasy of release. Hers came first, a burst of sparkling bliss radiating through her entire body. Her cunt fluttered, and the next moment she felt the pulse of his cock and heard his cry of joy as he climaxed.
    Her head found a place on his shoulder as his arms went around her, holding her close to him. She listened to the sound of his breathing. He softened inside her, but they didn't move apart.
    "You shall have to try harder, sir," she whispered after a time.
    "How so?"
    She smiled, nestled in his arms. "If you truly wish me to fail." Edward sighed and held her closer. "I know, Stillness. I know." Then they said no more on the matter,
    "Is she a witch?"
    Edward looked up from his book. "Who, Alaric? Your new conquest? She's a bit testy, or so I've heard, but a witch? I wouldn't go that far."
    Alaric frowned and eased his long body into the empty spot on the sofa facing Edward.
    "No, not Larissa, though testy as a description of her is being kind. No. Your Handmaiden."
    Edward, knowing it was useless to do otherwise, set aside the text he'd been reading.
    "Why do you ask?"
    "Because I'd say she's woven a spell over you." Alaric grinned. "The change is remarkable. The ladies are all atwitter. Even our dear Cillian took me aside to mention it to me. He wanted to know whether you'd been overindulging in herb and worm, for your smile was so ready and bright."
    Edward shook his head. "I'll tell him it's no indulgence but his own recent calm behavior that's allowed me this good nature."
    "He won't believe you." Alaric reached to the table in front of him and snagged a slice of joba melon. "And if you tell him that, he's likely to head back to his usual ways sooner than later."
    "Good point." Edward watched his friend devour the juicy melon. "Do you make love to Larissa the way you eat that fruit? No wonder she's testy."
    Alaric rolled his eyes. "Nobody makes love to Lady Larissa, old man. If you count yourself lucky to be allowed to her bed, Lady Larissa quite clearly makes love to you, not the other way 'round."
    "She sounds perfect for you, Alaric." Edward knew the lady in question, though not well.
    "She does all the work, you get all the benefit."
    Alaric sucked his teeth free of the strands of melon before answering. "She rides me like a pony, crop and all."
    Edward raised a brow. Further discussion on that matter became impossible as the library door banged open and Cillian burst through, followed closely by his latest lapdog, Persis Denviel. The two men carried jugs of worm and bowls of herb.
    "Edward! Edward, my dear one!" Cillian had already been imbibing. His eyes were bright, the pupils dilated, and his pale cheeks flushed. He raised the jug. "And Alaric. Join us!"
    "No, thank you." Edward shook his head. "I must ride home and I care not to need tying to my saddle to keep me aboard the horse."
    Cillian made a face. "You needn't leave us, Edward. What have you at home that could replace the camaraderie and companionship of the palace?"
    At that, Alaric let out a snort and sat up straight. Cillian's red-gold head swiveled toward the other man. Putting a hand on his hip, Cillian strode forward to peer more closely at Alaric.
    "You know," he said, then glanced at Edward, "don't you? You know what's put such a smile on our dear Edward's handsome face. Don't you?"
    Alaric smiled and bowed his head in deference to the man hovering over him.