To Romance a Charming Rogue (Courtship Wars 4)

A muscle flexed in his jaw when she reached for the placket of his breeches, and he pushed her hands away. But he himself unfastened his breeches and drawers and took them off, following with his stockings.

When Damon rose in all his naked splendor, Eleanor's breath caught in her throat at the picture he made, illuminated by the glow of firelight. He looked rather disreputable with his tousled hair and shadow of stubble on his face, but he was still the most sinfully beautiful man she had ever known, with his virile strength and muscular grace.

Yet his expression remained enigmatic, as if he was waiting for her to make the next move. She obliged by stepping toward him. In the quiet hush of the room, she could almost hear her heart thudding in rhythm with the soft hiss and crackle of the hearth fire as she cupped his face in her hands and raised her lips to his.

Her kiss started out gentle. The taste of brandy was potent and rich to her senses, and so was the flavor of Damon's mouth… the scent of his skin, the heat of his body. But the gentleness vanished when she stirred an unwilling response in him.

Lifting her close to his body, he held her with crushing tightness and kissed as if he needed her, as if he craved her.

His hunger only served to heighten Eleanor's desire, but this moment was not about her. It was all about succoring Damon.

Pressing her palms against his shoulders, she broke off their fervent kiss and stepped back. Then moving to the bed, she turned back the counterpane and drew down the linen sheets.

“Will you join me, Damon?” she asked softly.

His gaze was wary, cautious. “It depends. Do you plan to leave me aching this time?”

“No. I mean to make love to you.”

This time she meant to carry through on her implied promise of pleasure.

Damon evidently believed her, for when she climbed onto the bed and stretched out on her side, he lay down beside her, on his back. But he remained rigid, as if he still didn't trust her.

Eleanor knew she would have to win back his trust. She wanted his arms around her, flesh on flesh, touching, but she settled for moving closer and pressing light kisses against the side of his throat, his bare shoulder, his collarbone, his chest.

Finally, when it seemed right, she rose up on her knees and began a tender exploration of his body with her hands, sculpting the hard lines of bone and muscle and burning skin with her palms, her fingertips, until she reached his loins.

He tensed even more when she closed her fing

ers over his thick arousal, and she could see his jaw tighten, but he lay still while she teased the heavy sacs beneath his erection, pulling lightly. When she took him into her warm hand again, his eyes turned even darker. Then bending, she pressed her lips against the swollen head of his shaft. He sucked in a breath at the first touch of her mouth.

Eleanor continued her tender ministrations, though, plying him with delicate caresses of her tongue. Damon squeezed his eyes shut, while his hands clenched at his sides, his features taut with desire and pain as she softly ran her tongue around the swollen head… the sensitive ridge below… the pulsing, velvet-smooth length…

Following her instincts then, she closed her lips around his engorged member to take him more fully in her mouth, enveloping him, welcoming him.

His whole body began to tremble, making her feel both precious and powerful, so she drew him even deeper, suckling, absorbing his scent and taste.

When her lips slowly slid down over his fullness once more, his hands moved to curl in her hair and he strained against her mouth, his breathing harsh and ragged. She heard her name hoarsely whispered, felt him shaking.

Then abruptly he grasped her shoulders and compelled Eleanor to raise her head.

His jaw was knotted tightly, his voice hoarse when he ground out one word: “Enough.”

Still clutching her shoulders, he rolled her onto her back and mounted her, encountering no resistance. She kept her thighs spread, soft and welcoming, and threaded her fingers in his dark hair.

His face was hard with need, his eyes alight with dark fire as he sank into the cradle she made for him. The desire she saw there made her chest feel tight… and then he buried his face in the curve of her neck as he buried his flesh in her wet warmth.

Eleanor arched her back in response and rocked against him, which made Damon drive upward again, and then again with more urgency.

Not protesting his ferocity, Eleanor wrapped herself around him. She felt surrounded by him, invaded by him, fulfilled by him as he ignited a burst of fire inside her. Her hips rose up to meet him as he went on withdrawing, then sinking deep, plunging his hardness into the recesses of her body until he couldn't get any closer.

Her moan turned to a sob of need, a plea that seemed to inflame him. When he grated out her name, the hoarse sound reverberated through her and sent her spiraling over the edge of passion. Every part of her clenched; her inner muscles clutched at him, holding him fast, as shuddering tremors began to ripple remorselessly through her.

At her fierce climax, Damon let himself surrender. His strong body arched helplessly above her as he reached his own harsh explosion deep within her. He threw back his head as he shattered, his teeth bared in primal pleasure while guttural groans of release ripped from his throat.

Afterward, his arms came around her as he collapsed upon her. His breathing ragged, he lay there, hot and heavy, still joined to her, and held her close, almost desperately so.

When Eleanor eventually recovered her own fragmented senses, her hands slid up his back, stroking gently, soothing him. In response, Damon buried his face in the curve of her neck, as if absorbing the warmth and strength of her.