Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“Ye gods,” he whispered, his voice somewhere between a groan and a growl. Grasping her waist, he drew her into a shadowed alcove. His hands then slipped down to the fastenings of his trousers.

Anna felt the fumbling of fabric—soft wool, smooth cotton—and then Devlin seized her hand and suddenly there was a primal, pulsing heat against her palm. Velvet flesh, hard as steel.

I should scream, I should swoon. Instead, she curled her fingers around his maleness and squeezed ever so gently.

Devlin made a sound in the back of his throat.

She tightened her hold and drew a gasp.

Thinking back to her father’s books on primitive cultures—and the lengthy late-night chats with her older sister about the mysteries of desire—Anna slowly moved her hand up and down the rigid length of him.

“Am I getting this right?”

“Exquisitely so.” Devlin circled his hand over hers. “It’s for you to set the rhythm, like so,” he added, guiding her stroke. “And adding pressure here…” A sharp exhale. “And here will drive a man mad.”

Slowly, slowly. Anna closed her eyes, intent on learning every nuance of his shape and his reaction to her caresses. Oh, Society would think her worse than wicked, worse than wanton for breaking every rule of proper behavior. But for now…

His hand fell away.

But for now, to the Devil with all rules. Acting on instinct, she quickened her strokes while watching Devlin’s face. His jaw muscles tightened and a sheen of sweat began to bead his brow.

“I like the feel of you,” she whispered. “Though no doubt I will be damned to perdition for saying so.”

His hips rocked in rhythm with her touch. “Perdition,” he said through gritted teeth, “suddenly seems a rather attractive place.”

“I imagine it’s very hot.” Anna tentatively ran her touch around the crest of his cock. “On account of all the flames.”

“Flames.” With a raspy groan, Devlin jerked her hand away.

A lick of chill air chased his warmth from her fingertips. “W-was I doing something wrong?”

It took him a moment to steady his ragged breathing. “Alas, you were doing it all too right, sweeting.”

“I—I never imagined that passion was quite so…powerful.” She pressed her palms together as he turned away to refasten his trousers, surprised by the fierce pulse of heat coming from within her own body. “It’s one thing to read about it in books and quite another to experience it in the flesh.”

“You’ve not yet experienced the pleasures of passion?” he asked in a devil-dark voice.

Anna wasn’t sure how to answer.

As Devlin turned and set his hands on her shoulders, the alcove seemed to come alive. The slanting patterns of sunlight began to dip and dance over the woodwork, and the air around them started to crackle with unseen sparks. Whirling, twirling, whirling—everything became a blur, and then suddenly Anna found her body braced against the back wall.

“Have you?” he demanded. Their bodies were locked together in an intimate embrace.

Words tangled together too tightly for speech. All she could do was shake her head.

“I did warn you that playing with fire is dangerous.” His whisper teased against her face. “Now it’s your turn.”

Go. Now.

Anna’s heart began to thud against her ribs. “I don’t think—” she began.

“That’s right,” said Devlin. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

In the next instant, Anna was overwhelmed by a swirl of sensations. His hand was skating down the curve of her thigh…her skirts were skittering against her legs…a cool draft was curling around her ankles.

Up, up the fabric inched, as if impelled by some ancient Highland spell. Lace tickled over her skin, and his hand…

She gasped. Oh, surely his hand wasn’t going to touch her there.