To Romance a Charming Rogue (Courtship Wars)

Eleanor shivered with heat as his mouth moved upward to her woman's mound covered by a thatch of ebony curls. When he stopped just short of the heart of her, though, she looked down. The sight of him poised between her spread thighs was enough to make her tremble. His dark hair was an erotic contrast to her pale skin as she felt the hot, taunting moisture of his breath brushing her cleft.

She whimpered when his tongue made its first sweep across her wetness. Then he tasted her fully, his lips enveloping the hidden bud of her sex. The sweet shock of it made her hips arch off the

blanket, which only caused Damon to slide his hands under her buttocks to hold her steady.

Perhaps she should have been scandalized by his stunning passion, by her own wantonness, Eleanor thought in a dazed corner of her mind, but instead she welcomed the magical caresses of his mouth.

A moan sounded in her throat as he went on tonguing her, stroking the engorged, keenly sensitive nub. Eleanor clutched at his shoulders, not certain she could bear any more, but Damon continued his relentless assault, driving her on to greater heights until she was writhing beneath him, thrashing her head from side to side as the frantic fervor built and built. She thought she might shatter from the tormenting pleasure-and in only a few moments, she did just that.

She melted and exploded all at once.

The bright starburst that splintered within her left Eleanor weak and blissfully enervated in the aftermath. Her eyes remained closed as she strove to recover her dazed senses, but when she felt Damon ease to one side, she opened them again.

His expression was one of tender approval, she saw. Then to her surprise, he took her hand and brought it to the apex of her thighs, pressing her fingers against her feminine cleft, which was now slick with moisture.

“That is better,” he said with satisfaction. “Your body has prepared itself for my entry. You're wet with your own honey.”

Releasing her, he switched her attention to his own loins by reaching down and unbuttoning the front placket of his pantaloons. Her breath faltered when he opened his drawers and freed his long, swollen phallus, which jutted from the curling hair at his groin. Eleanor swallowed, fascinated by his male anatomy and the large, pulsing size of him.

Damon took her hand again and brought it to his blatant arousal, letting the surging warm flesh brush her palm. He inhaled a sharp breath when her fingers curled gently around the hard shaft, and shuddered with pleasure when she traced the firm, velvety sacs below.

“Enough of that, sweetheart,” he said in a husky warning. “If you arouse me too keenly, I won't be able to control myself.”

“I don't want you to control yourself,” Eleanor murmured shyly, feeling brazen and joyously light-hearted.

“Yes, you do. We need to go slowly so I won't hurt you.”

He stretched out beside her, bracing his weight on one elbow, and drew her close, letting her feel the swollen ridge of his erection against the softness of her thigh. When his hand rose to brush back a raven curl from her face, the tenderness and sensuality in his touch was unmistakable.

“I have dreamed of this,” he murmured, gazing down at her.

She had dreamed of it as well, of Damon making love to her as he was doing now. Of Damon holding her and touching her and treasuring her.

His palm cradling her cheek, he bent again to feather kisses along her jaw and lower, down the column of her throat. At the same time, he reached out to cup her breast. The warmth from his palm seared her skin, and a moment later, his mouth joined in, grazing her nipples with arousing caresses.

When he shifted his position to cover her body, however, settling his weight between her thighs, Damon raised his head to look at her. His eyes shimmered with a hot, primal haze of desire, Eleanor saw with mingled excitement and elation.

Desire churned inside her as well, along with an exquisite heat that throbbed in time with her racing pulse. She wanted him with an intensity that frightened her.

Yet she wasn't afraid when his hard arousal found the wet haven between her legs and probed her entrance. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he began his careful penetration.

His intense, dark gaze never left hers the entire time. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he ordered softly.

“I will…”

Yet she didn't want him to stop. His powerful thighs kept her own parted as he sank lower, pressing inexorably into her, yet her body was opening willingly for him, stretching, accepting his swollen male-ness.

When at last he lay buried deep inside her, Eleanor felt overwhelmingly full of him, although she could not call the sensation painful. Her breathing had shallowed, however, and she was certain he could feel her pounding heart against the hard wall of his chest.

“Are you all right, Elle?”

The deep husk of his voice held a note of worry, but she reassured him with a faint smile.

“Yes,” she whispered truthfully. Having their flesh joined in the most intimate way possible seemed somehow right… perfect, even.

Careful and tender, Damon lay completely still, waiting for her to grow accustomed to his impalement, and after a while Eleanor realized that the coiled tension inside her was growing more urgent.

When her rigidness began to relax, Damon withdrew, then slowly slid upward once more, making her tremble, before pulling back again. He repeated his sensual action numerous times, stroking her with each gentle plunge and retreat, surging slowly, withdrawing rhythmically, coaxing her response, until instinctively her hips lifted and sought to match his pace in a dance of sweet abandon.