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Authors: Susan Johnson
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standing very close. "We don't have to do this."
His powerfully muscled chest, nude, inches away, only added to her discomposure. "Speak for yourself. I wasn't out last night. Or the previous night for that matter." She grimaced. "Actually, it's been a fortnight now that I think about it, which accounts for—"
"Then it's not my chivalry." He smiled.
Her gaze dropped to the rampant bulge in his trousers. "Not unless
that
goes with chivalry."
"It does."
She found herself smiling back. "Definitely chivalry, then. And I'm feeling as though I might attack you soon, when I've been trying to restrain myself since—"
"Yesterday."
"Yes. Satisfied? Since the moment I saw you at Leighton's."
"I thought so."
"You needn't sound so smug."
"I'm not smug, just pleased."
"Then you may please me now as well."
"Now? Here?"
She shot him a stern look. "I'm not giving up my bed. Untie this knot."
"Is that an order?"
"It is."
He grunted softly, an almost inaudible sound.
"You don't take orders."
"No."
"You feel your authority is at risk?"
"Strangely, yes."
"We're just going to make love, not meet on the field of battle."
His mouth quirked faintly. "With you, I'm not sure."
She offered him a sportive look. "Should I be concerned?"
"You
are
all alone," he noted teasingly.
"And you are"—she reached out and ran her palm down his erection—"very large…"
He drew in a constrained breath. "You probably shouldn't do that if you want to get to your bed—"
"Do this?" She drew her fingertips up the length of his engorged penis, the soft wool of his trousers warm to her touch.
"Be careful, darling. At this point I can't guarantee politesse."
"If I were looking for politesse, I wouldn't have invited you in."
"That's it," he said, scooping her up into his arms.
"And if you feel the need to give any more orders," he added, striding toward the bed, "you're going to have to do it lying on your back."
"Hurry," she whispered, twining her arms around his broad shoulders.
He quickly looked down.
"That wasn't an order," she breathed, her eyes half closed. "Just—please…"
Her breathy plea jolted through his body, his own covetousness at fever pitch and moving swiftly, he deposited her on the bed, stripped off her drawers, and tossed them aside. Wrenching open the buttons on his trousers, he undressed in seconds, lowered himself between her open thighs, and plunged in without fore-play or preliminaries, without so much as a kiss, because she was clutching at his shoulders and rising to meet him and so damned wet, he was sliding into her yielding flesh without resistance. Whimpering, she arched up to meet him, impatient, needy, the supple strength of her thighs in counterpoint to his driving invasion. And when he was fully submerged, when he was buried to the hilt, she blissfully sighed. Gratified, he moved slightly upward so she would feel the pressure more intensely.
"Oh, God, oh, God…"
And it felt as though her breathy cry were vibrating through every pulsing nerve in his body. There was no accounting for the inexplicable feeling, for the tremulous, breath-held sensation, and he understood in those seconds that a fuck was no longer a fuck. That he wished to feel this again—that he would. And if the strength of Miss Ionides's grip—everywhere—was any indication, she was going to eat him alive.
Or he her, because this astonishing pleasure was unique in his much-explored sexual universe.
Wishing to experience the momentous rapture once again, he withdrew against her protest, and driving back in caught his breath against the awesome pleasure. "Christ," he whispered, and holding himself hard against her womb, he absorbed the shimmering ecstasy while she panted beneath him. Impaled, stretched taut, enchantment rolled over her in heated waves. And then he pressed forward that exquisite distance more, and she screamed.
Neither was capable of restraint after that, and in the grip of such fierce desire they moved in a
His powerfully muscled chest, nude, inches away, only added to her discomposure. "Speak for yourself. I wasn't out last night. Or the previous night for that matter." She grimaced. "Actually, it's been a fortnight now that I think about it, which accounts for—"
"Then it's not my chivalry." He smiled.
Her gaze dropped to the rampant bulge in his trousers. "Not unless
that
goes with chivalry."
"It does."
She found herself smiling back. "Definitely chivalry, then. And I'm feeling as though I might attack you soon, when I've been trying to restrain myself since—"
"Yesterday."
"Yes. Satisfied? Since the moment I saw you at Leighton's."
"I thought so."
"You needn't sound so smug."
"I'm not smug, just pleased."
"Then you may please me now as well."
"Now? Here?"
She shot him a stern look. "I'm not giving up my bed. Untie this knot."
"Is that an order?"
"It is."
He grunted softly, an almost inaudible sound.
"You don't take orders."
"No."
"You feel your authority is at risk?"
"Strangely, yes."
"We're just going to make love, not meet on the field of battle."
His mouth quirked faintly. "With you, I'm not sure."
She offered him a sportive look. "Should I be concerned?"
"You
are
all alone," he noted teasingly.
"And you are"—she reached out and ran her palm down his erection—"very large…"
He drew in a constrained breath. "You probably shouldn't do that if you want to get to your bed—"
"Do this?" She drew her fingertips up the length of his engorged penis, the soft wool of his trousers warm to her touch.
"Be careful, darling. At this point I can't guarantee politesse."
"If I were looking for politesse, I wouldn't have invited you in."
"That's it," he said, scooping her up into his arms.
"And if you feel the need to give any more orders," he added, striding toward the bed, "you're going to have to do it lying on your back."
"Hurry," she whispered, twining her arms around his broad shoulders.
He quickly looked down.
"That wasn't an order," she breathed, her eyes half closed. "Just—please…"
Her breathy plea jolted through his body, his own covetousness at fever pitch and moving swiftly, he deposited her on the bed, stripped off her drawers, and tossed them aside. Wrenching open the buttons on his trousers, he undressed in seconds, lowered himself between her open thighs, and plunged in without fore-play or preliminaries, without so much as a kiss, because she was clutching at his shoulders and rising to meet him and so damned wet, he was sliding into her yielding flesh without resistance. Whimpering, she arched up to meet him, impatient, needy, the supple strength of her thighs in counterpoint to his driving invasion. And when he was fully submerged, when he was buried to the hilt, she blissfully sighed. Gratified, he moved slightly upward so she would feel the pressure more intensely.
"Oh, God, oh, God…"
And it felt as though her breathy cry were vibrating through every pulsing nerve in his body. There was no accounting for the inexplicable feeling, for the tremulous, breath-held sensation, and he understood in those seconds that a fuck was no longer a fuck. That he wished to feel this again—that he would. And if the strength of Miss Ionides's grip—everywhere—was any indication, she was going to eat him alive.
Or he her, because this astonishing pleasure was unique in his much-explored sexual universe.
Wishing to experience the momentous rapture once again, he withdrew against her protest, and driving back in caught his breath against the awesome pleasure. "Christ," he whispered, and holding himself hard against her womb, he absorbed the shimmering ecstasy while she panted beneath him. Impaled, stretched taut, enchantment rolled over her in heated waves. And then he pressed forward that exquisite distance more, and she screamed.
Neither was capable of restraint after that, and in the grip of such fierce desire they moved in a
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