Read Online Taming the Prince by Elizabeth Bevarly - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Bevarly
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hate to think that he was thinking about her using her mouth on him as she was thinking about using her mouth on him and feeling impatient as a result. Unless of course, that impatience resulted from the fact that he was so anxious for the two of them to get down to—
Drat. She was doing it again. Thinking errant, erotic thoughts about Shane Cordello. While being held hostage, no less. What on earth was wrong with her?
“You don’t have to pour it on so thick, Miss Wallington,” he finally said, and with the mention of pouring thickness, her thoughts once again turned to the, ah, unacceptable. Then she realized he was talking about flattery and not—Ah…he was talking about something other than what she was thinking about. “I’m not a child,” he added petulantly.
Oh, she was frightfully aware of that. But all she offered in response to his assurance was a noncommittal “Mmm.”
“Come over here,” he said.
And there was something in his voice, something velvety and seductive and rough, that sliced through the darkness and made her skin fairly prickle with anticipation. What an odd reaction, Sara thought. Odder still was the way she so automatically and immediately moved toward him. Because she realized she was responding to his command not because it was one she had initially proposed herself, but because this time he was the one uttering it. And somehow, with that one simple utterance, everything between them changed.
Sara moved forward uncertainly, sensing where he was without seeing him. And blindfolded as she was, she realized she was acutely aware of him in ways she hadn’t been initially. She could smell him now, a musky mix of manly scents that combined to put her senses on red alert. And she registered his breathing, deep and low and a little ragged. As she drew nearer still, she felt the heat of his body mingling with her own, and the very air surrounding them seemed to grow damp and heavy with it. And she quickly recognized the fact that she’d misjudged his distance when she bumped softly into him, her front to his.
Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite make herself takeeven a tiny step backward. She told herself it was because she needed to be this close to him in order for him to perform the action she had requested—oh, all right, commanded—that he perform. Then she had to force herself to admit that although she did indeed need to be this close to him, that need hadn’t necessarily come about because she wanted him to free her bonds. No, her need in that moment stemmed from something else entirely, something Sara told herself she’d be better off not pondering.
He was taller than she remembered, perhaps because she no longer wore the low heels she had initially been wearing, and his chin grazed the crown of her head when they made their first contact. It occurred to her then that this was the first time the two of them had actually physically touched each other, and somehow that made the gesture seem almost poignant.
Before Sara had a chance to consider anything else, she felt his lips brushing over her forehead, and she realized he was doing just as she had asked—or, rather, commanded—he do, trying to remove her blindfold with his mouth. But he had trouble finding it at first. His coarse, unshaven jaw grazed her forehead and temple, and she remembered then how she had wondered what such a touch would feel like. Now, suddenly, she knew. It felt exquisite. Seductive. Arousing. His mouth began brushing against her sensitive flesh then, again over her forehead and temple, a good half-dozen times before he finally gripped the scrap of cloth with his teeth. And with every soft brush of his lips against her skin, with every faint breath that warmed her flesh, her heart gathered speed and beat more frantically against her ribs.
Good heavens, she thought. How could he possibly be making her feel aroused at a time like this? Before she had time to consider that question, he had tugged
Drat. She was doing it again. Thinking errant, erotic thoughts about Shane Cordello. While being held hostage, no less. What on earth was wrong with her?
“You don’t have to pour it on so thick, Miss Wallington,” he finally said, and with the mention of pouring thickness, her thoughts once again turned to the, ah, unacceptable. Then she realized he was talking about flattery and not—Ah…he was talking about something other than what she was thinking about. “I’m not a child,” he added petulantly.
Oh, she was frightfully aware of that. But all she offered in response to his assurance was a noncommittal “Mmm.”
“Come over here,” he said.
And there was something in his voice, something velvety and seductive and rough, that sliced through the darkness and made her skin fairly prickle with anticipation. What an odd reaction, Sara thought. Odder still was the way she so automatically and immediately moved toward him. Because she realized she was responding to his command not because it was one she had initially proposed herself, but because this time he was the one uttering it. And somehow, with that one simple utterance, everything between them changed.
Sara moved forward uncertainly, sensing where he was without seeing him. And blindfolded as she was, she realized she was acutely aware of him in ways she hadn’t been initially. She could smell him now, a musky mix of manly scents that combined to put her senses on red alert. And she registered his breathing, deep and low and a little ragged. As she drew nearer still, she felt the heat of his body mingling with her own, and the very air surrounding them seemed to grow damp and heavy with it. And she quickly recognized the fact that she’d misjudged his distance when she bumped softly into him, her front to his.
Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite make herself takeeven a tiny step backward. She told herself it was because she needed to be this close to him in order for him to perform the action she had requested—oh, all right, commanded—that he perform. Then she had to force herself to admit that although she did indeed need to be this close to him, that need hadn’t necessarily come about because she wanted him to free her bonds. No, her need in that moment stemmed from something else entirely, something Sara told herself she’d be better off not pondering.
He was taller than she remembered, perhaps because she no longer wore the low heels she had initially been wearing, and his chin grazed the crown of her head when they made their first contact. It occurred to her then that this was the first time the two of them had actually physically touched each other, and somehow that made the gesture seem almost poignant.
Before Sara had a chance to consider anything else, she felt his lips brushing over her forehead, and she realized he was doing just as she had asked—or, rather, commanded—he do, trying to remove her blindfold with his mouth. But he had trouble finding it at first. His coarse, unshaven jaw grazed her forehead and temple, and she remembered then how she had wondered what such a touch would feel like. Now, suddenly, she knew. It felt exquisite. Seductive. Arousing. His mouth began brushing against her sensitive flesh then, again over her forehead and temple, a good half-dozen times before he finally gripped the scrap of cloth with his teeth. And with every soft brush of his lips against her skin, with every faint breath that warmed her flesh, her heart gathered speed and beat more frantically against her ribs.
Good heavens, she thought. How could he possibly be making her feel aroused at a time like this? Before she had time to consider that question, he had tugged
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