Midnight's Wild Passion

To his regret, she paused after a few heart-stopping caresses and knelt over him, giving him a breathtaking view of her breasts. When his hand cupped one white globe, it was betrayingly unsteady. Her breath snagged, then again when he teased her nipple with his thumb. She had beautiful breasts. He’d already spent an eon exploring them with his mouth. It wasn’t time enough.

Would he ever have time enough to get his fill of her? He feared the answer was no.

He wasn’t a religious man, but as she bent her head and peppered his chest with nips and licks and heart-stopping kisses, he sent up a prayer of gratitude. He didn’t deserve this but, dear Lord, he intended to enjoy it while he could.

She suckled his nipple and any thoughts of a sacred bent disintegrated. He tangled his hand in her hair, feeling her head move as she pleasured him.

Her exploration continued and he gradually realized she’d spent the night storing away everything he’d done to her. Something about that intense focus on his actions made his heart lurch with unfamiliar emotion. Now it seemed she meant to devote the results of that study to his pleasure.

Or torment.

Thoroughly she tasted every inch of his torso. He suffered in gallant silence until she dipped her tongue into his navel. He released a long groan.

“Don’t you like it?” she murmured, raising her head and staring at him with curiosity but no pity.

He’d seen the same expression in the farmyard cats when they played with a mouse. Hard to equate this seductive enchantress with the woman who had wept distraught in his arms in the Merriweathers’ library. The memory of her distress enlisted a protectiveness that did nothing to ease the pressure in his balls.

“Of course I bloody like it.” Talking was difficult when arousal made him light-headed and his cock ached like the very devil.

“Good.” She rose with a natural grace that sent his heart smashing against his ribs once more. Her lips took on a triumphant curve as she straddled him.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her pale hair flowed around her slender shoulders, her breasts jutted in impudent invitation, her long legs framed his hips.

His gaze fell to the dark blond curls between her thighs. He sucked in a shuddering breath redolent of her hot scent and wondered if he’d survive long enough to penetrate the secrets behind that plump delta. Right now he wasn’t sure he fell victim to pain or pleasure or a heady mixture of the two. He closed his eyes, but the image of Antonia naked and eager remained burned on his brain.

The effort of keeping still turned his belly hard as stone. Although not as hard as another part of him.

The provocative wench shifted from where he so desperately wanted her. When she knelt over his legs, black agony swept Ranelaw as he realized she wasn’t going to take him.

Or not yet.

He closed his eyes and told himself he could endure. He could endure.

If only he believed it. He was a fraction away from dragging her under him. His hands clenched so hard in the sheets, he heard the linen rip. His teeth ground together as he battled not to fuck her like a randy animal.

Slowly, slowly, he regained some threadbare control. Then lost it again in a blast of light as her hand closed around his cock. Another tattered groan escaped and he fought to form words to warn her if she touched him there, he wouldn’t last.

He opened his eyes. She stared down at him with an unreadable expression. Then through his daze, he watched incredulous as she bent. The thick fall of her hair tickled his belly.

Surely she wasn’t about to . . .

Anticipation held him silent, waiting. With a shaking hand, he pushed her hair away to watch her.

She hesitated.

His balls threatened to explode. Even as he fought not to push her those last few inches, his fingers dug into her hair. He gasped so hard for air, he sounded like he suffocated. He prepared to beg her to move further off. To remove the temptation of those soft, pink, moist lips.

She lowered and sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth.

Antonia heard Nicholas’s great inhalation, then nothing, as if he held his breath in suspense. He was quiveringly still. She had no idea if he wanted this or not, but the need to taste him became irresistible.

She closed her lips around the head, his rich flavor flooding her senses, and tentatively sucked.

He shuddered.

With enjoyment or revulsion?

She applied more pressure and Nicholas groaned. His hand fisted in her hair. Her tongue flickered out and she licked him with a slow thoroughness that made heat settle hard and heavy in her belly. The flavor of his skin was stronger here. He tasted warm and virile and salty.