Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle
Page 115
“No?” She readjusted her weight, resting her palms on either side of him. His erection rose against her, hot and throbbing. She couldn’t help rubbing herself against it.
“No, they would be better termed Amazons.”
“Goodness!”
“That is not always such a terrible thing, you know.”
She laughed again. He always said the silliest things when they were alone. When he was happy and at his ease. “An Amazon is a fierce warrior, savage.”
“Ah,” he said. “It all depends on whether the Amazon is a friendly one.” He traced a fingertip down her neck to her collarbone. “Did you ever think you would like to play the Amazon?”
“Me? Heavens, no.”
“Emily, I have allowed no woman to mount me like this in almost nine years.”
She paused, considering the weight of that admission. The trust he was showing in her. She laughed softly, to lighten the moment. “I haven’t mounted you. You pulled me up here, remember?”
“So I did.” He was reaching around her buttocks, reaching in between their bodies and then he pressed the crown of his cock to her cunny. He thrust up and entered her, his girth stretching her.
She gasped and closed her eyes, savoring the feel of slickness, his hardness pushing into her softness. He seated himself quickly then rocked his hips and the head of his rod knocked against the mouth of her womb. He rocked several times and she began to deeply appreciate the different type of sensation from this approach. She went a little limp and fell against his chest with a moan.
“Being on top means being the active party,” he said, with faint admonishment.
She lifted her head and looked at him, puzzled.
“You are supposed to fuck me this time.” Now she could hear the humor in his voice.
She frowned at him. “I don’t know how.”
“It is like riding a horse.”
“You know I can’t ride.”
“Well, then, this will be a start in learning, won’t it?”
She let her mouth fall open.
He rolled his hips again and sent waves of sensation through her. “Like that, sweetheart, that’s all you have to do.”
Sure she would seem foolish and inept, she tentatively rolled her hips against his.
Stronger waves of sensation overtook her and she moaned. She rolled her hips again, more sure this time. Oh, this was good. She did it with more determination. Very good. She flexed her pelvis and rocked harder and harder against him.
He grasped her hips and shifted her body against his. Her erect nub brushed against his front and sent jolts of fire up through her belly. She trembled all over and moaned again. Then she was moving against him, rubbing, squirming, maximizing all the sensation she could.
Momentary exhaustion forced her to pause and fall against him a little. She panted and realization of how undone she had become overcame her. She pressed her face to his chest and a nervous giggle escaped her.
He touched her cheek. “Look at me.”
She dared to turn her head the slightest bit, and peeked up at him with one eye.
He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “Being on top means you get to be selfish, greedy, demanding and maybe a little…” He seemed to be searching for the right word.
She understood him so much better now. She knew he wanted to do things with her that he was perhaps not so comfortable with. Maybe he was even ashamed of his desire to do them. But he wished to re-experience things that had been unpleasant in a different and far more enjoyable light. He wanted their love to make everything new and whole. She began to catch his meaning.
“Forceful?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Forceful, if it suits your mood.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed, as hard as she could. “Like this?”
His pupils widened, making his eyes look darker.
“Aye,” he said huskily. “Just like that.”
Sometime later, she lay, watching the play of firelight and shadow on the fine bones of his aristocratically handsome face. She remembered the fear of being foolish she had had at the start of their play tonight. And it gave her an idea of what it must cost a man to admit to desires he wasn’t completely comfortable with.
A squeezing sensation swelled in her throat. He trusted her now. Trusted her enough to take these chances, to show her the other sides of himself, things he had shown no one else, at least not willingly. On a sigh, she closed her eyes.
“I love you, sweetheart.” His deep, smooth voice drifted to her. He took her hand, lifted it and pressed his firm, warm lips to it. “You have given me back my soul.”
“I love you, too, Alex.”
She knew the truth, finally. For all his charm, masculine beauty, wealth and power, he wasn’t a sun god. He was all too human and flawed, and she loved him all the more for it.
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Please keep reading. I have included some excerpts from my other works.
A Measured Risk by Natasha Blackthorne
A MEASURED RISK features a shy, intellectual, strong-willed widow with real life curves (Rubenesque/BBW) and a protective, possessive Dominant, alpha male hero. This is a story of Dominance and submission with light BDSM, emotional healing, trust and love.
He is her most dangerous temptation and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?
Book one in the Regency Risks Series
Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took her husband's life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. She longed to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel. She sensed intuitively that he could teach her how to overcome the terrors that held her in bondage.
And now she's willing to risk almost anything-her reputation, even her virtue-to find out. But what he proposes startles her.
When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approached him, Ruel instantly sensed she would be the sweetest, most submissive experience of a lifetime-if only he can gain her total and complete trust. He makes her a non-negotiable offer. His help in return for her submission and obedience.
But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming husband. She's learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one but herself.
How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through her self-protective defenses and show her how to love when he has spent his lifetime avoiding that tender trap?
Reader Advisory: This is a BDSM romance. This book contains anal sex, spanking, light bondage, D/s themes and brief F/F touching.
This is a work of historical fiction, it is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of or guide to how people recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a work of historical erotic romance, it is also not intended to portray modern BDSM or D/s lifestyles.
A Measured Risk is published in British English and uses British Spelling.
Excerpt from A MEASURED RISK
“Why did you run away?” His deep voice settled in her belly, rich and warm, like crème brûlée on a cold winter’s night.
“Because I wanted you to follow.” She tried to sound sophisticated and seductive, but her voice choked off on the last word.
Ruel placed his hand on the shelf above her head and blocked her path to the door. His tall, solidly muscled body leaned over her, surrounding her with the sumptuous, sinful scents of tobacco, Scotch whisky and something masculine and undeniably dangerous. A slow, sensual smile stretched his hard mouth.
He appeared different. Softer. More approachable.
At the change, her insides seemed to flip over.
“Well, sweeting, getting us off alone was a very inspired idea.” He touched one of her fallen ringlets. “I am bored to distraction with endless hunting and fencing.”
As he slowly wrapped the curl around two fingers, he brushed her collarbone. Fiery sparks tingled down her spine, so intense that she shivered and her nipples beaded, pressing against her stays. By some instinct she hadn’t even known she possessed, she arched her back, presenting herself for his assessment.
His eyes shone so vividly blue against his bronzed face that they resembled cornflowers. She swallowed tightly and wished for a long drink of claret. This more personal side of him suddenly seemed far more hazardous than his usually fierce exterior.
Well, no matter. There was nothing to fear. She would allow only as much contact as need be to get to know him a little. Since being torn from her lonely yet secure life in Ireland and thrust into society at age sixteen, she’d spent her time allowing people only as near as was comfortable. She was an expert at emotional evasion.
It should be easy to regain her control.
But now, as late afternoon sun rays played over his pale hair, turning it to the colour of winter wheat, all her carefully rehearsed words flew away.
Say something—anything—else he will think you’re a bird-wit.
An intimate smile, one that invited her to play, tugged at his mouth.
“In a situation like this, alone with a gentleman, it’s perfectly normal for a lady to feel some apprehension.” His hushed voice, barely audible above the piano and boisterous singing from down the corridor, accentuated their isolation. His gaze became so piercing that she had to lower her eyes.
He brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “She will invariably ask herself if he will try to kiss her.”
She jerked her eyes back to his face. God, he couldn’t mean to—Not yet, surely… Peculiar, heated chills swept over her. She tried to take a step back, but found her arse flush against the bookshelf.
He leaned closer; so close that his Scotch-scented breath tickled her face. “And just in case you are wondering, Lady Cranfield—the answer is most assuredly yes.”
She should demand that he put his arm down so she could pass by and leave. She really should. But she couldn’t stop looking at his hard mouth and wondering what it would feel like upon hers. He was so close to her that his breath blew on her lips. If she moved but a fraction, she’d be kissing him.
Kissing him.
Dear God. Her breath began to come very fast and short. Her throat went tight with a suppressed moan.
His eyes burnt as brightly as aquamarines. He looked so fierce. If he kissed her, if he dared… Oh God, it would be so harsh. That cruel-looking mouth could express itself no other way.
Excitement rushed through her, sending tingles to every point of her body, even her toes.
But no, he wouldn’t. Not yet.
He kept leaning closer. He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he seemed to focus all the harder upon her.
Heart pounding and unable to move away, she braced herself for his assault.
His lips brushed hers, barely. A gossamer caress.
He lifted his head.
It was done.
Ended.
And it hadn’t even begun.
He held her chin, appearing so cool, so unaffected. His kiss had seemed to sear her. An urge to put her fingers to her lips arose in her. She resisted it, for it would give away too much of how she was affected.
Never show your feelings.
He traced his thumb along her lower lip, slowly, deliberately, as he studied her with eyes that now glittered with something powerful and predatory. Heat pooled in her pelvis, low and spreading even lower.
She went weak all over, as if she’d lain in a sunny window seat for too long. Her knees almost buckled. She forced them to lock. To be strong.
It should not have affected her so profoundly. It had just been a peck—not a true kiss at all. William had poured out all of his skill upon her and hadn’t garnered even a tenth of the reaction in her that this man’s peck had.
Ruel traced her jaw line with his fingertips. Unthinkingly, she leaned in to his touch.
“Of course, once he has kissed her, then it’s his turn to wonder…” His voice sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. “How will she respond? Will she withdraw, or can he ignite some hidden fire?”
She sensed that he was toying with her. She didn’t understand flirtation—why had she imagined she could carry this ruse off? Was he making advances in order to have a laugh with Francesca and her simpering friends later? Hurt blossomed in her chest. She resented him for that. She ought to feel indignant, superior, uncaring—anything but hurt.
“Please don’t make sport of me.”
She cringed. Was that quavering, pleading voice really hers?
An infinitesimal pause. “Now, why on earth would I do such a thing?” His voice was as smooth as velvet.
“To please your vanity,” she replied, trying to regain her wits.
“Here.” He placed her hand to his chest. The contours of his muscles were hard, powerfully developed. Even more so than she’d expected. His body heat radiated through the satin and, beneath her hand, his heart beat was rapid and strong.
“Is that vanity?” He put a finger under her chin, giving her no choice but to face him. “Is it?” He gentled his grip.
The warmth in his voice settled over her like luscious hot chocolate. Melting her insides to quivering burgoo, rendering her speechless, unable to move.
“My dear, lovely Lady Cranfield, I am going kiss you again.”
Then he touched his mouth to hers, more firmly this time. Delicious, steady pressure. Her lips trembled and she clutched his lapels. He lifted his head. At the loss, a throaty, pleading moan sounded in her ears. Had it really come from her?
Clearly, now was the time for her to reassert some control over her reactions. To put him at a more comfortable distance.
“Kiss me back.” At the commanding edge in his voice, hot, sweet honey pooled in her belly.
No. Focus.
What had she wanted to ask him? Focus? Dear God, what rubbish. She could scarcely remember her own name, much less anything else. What madness had made her think she could maintain control over him?
He traced her mouth with his tongue. Deliberately; lingeringly. This time she couldn’t hold back a moan. She had grown to dislike it when William kissed her opened mouthed. It had always seemed such an overheated, messy thing. But where was her coldness now? She was burning to know what it would feel like to know Ruel’s full kiss. She had to know—just once—or she would surely die.
Just once. Certainly once wouldn’t hurt.
Tentatively, tremulously, she opened her mouth.
He thrust inside, his tongue like a bold blade of flame as it touched hers. He tasted of whisky and something smoky, too sensual to be borne. Fire burst within her, spreading over her breasts. Of their own volition, her hands slid up his muscled arms and she gripped his shoulders and moaned again.
She twisted and pressed her breasts against his chest, trying to increase the sensation on her taut, aching nipples. However, her stays prevented it. Her frustration vibrated deep in her throat, another longer, more intense moan.
>
The sound startled her and, for a moment, it was as if she was staring down at the two of them. She didn’t recognise herself, but she couldn’t stop kissing him back. Couldn’t stop rubbing her breasts against him.
Who was this uninhibited strumpet?
His breathing changed, growing heavier. He cupped her face with his large, long-fingered hands, angling her head. She went even more boneless and allowed him to move her as suited his desire.
He probed more forcefully with his tongue, went deeper, compelling her to open further, to melt against him more completely. He slid his hand to her neck and threaded his fingertips through her hair. He lifted the heavy mass off her neck. Cool air rushed over her nape. In one quick movement, he tightened his hold on her hair and, with gentle but firm pressure, he pulled her head back. Her shocked gasp came out as a mere whimper, muffled by his demanding mouth.
No man had ever handled her like this. She’d never even suspected a gentleman would handle a woman—even one of his whores—like this. If she had any sense left, she ought to be frightened, offended—enraged.
Instead, her nipples pebbled painfully and heat twisted through her insides.
He tore his mouth from hers. As she gasped for breath, a sense of loss hit her so intensely that she felt disorientated. She stood there, leaning against his hard body, panting open-mouthed, with her head pulled backwards by his grip.
He studied her and tightened his grasp, pulling more harshly this time. A violent shaft of desire stabbed her, womb-deep.
Warmth, and what looked very much like satisfaction, shone in his gaze.
He laid his other hand along her collarbone in what could only be called a blatant, sexually possessive manner. The skin crinkled around his eyes. He was smiling, ever so slightly.
Something had just happened. She didn’t understand what it was. If only she could think, she would be able to reason it out. However, liquid warmth pooled in her lower pelvis and flowed out between her legs in a gush that came so suddenly she gasped. Her sex throbbed as if it were a beating heart.