A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

If she ever looked at another man like that she would break his heart. The vulnerability washed over him-he acknowledged it, accepted it and let it pass. Reaching out, he took her chemise from her, let it fall to the floor, then curved his hand about her hip.

He urged her to him and she came-shy but not hesitant. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders; he slid his about her waist and held her, sensing the supple strength of her, then he looked up, trapped her gaze, and slid both palms down, over her hips, over the firm spheres of her bottom. He spread his fingers and cupped her, caressed her, kneaded gently-within seconds, her skin dewed and heated. Her pupils dilated, her lids half lowered; she caught her breath and tensed slightly.

Holding her gaze, refusing to let her break the contact, he left one hand evocatively fondling, tracing the smooth curves and hidden valleys, brushing the backs of her thighs. His other hand he placed palm flat on her belly. She sucked in a breath, and tensed even more. Ruthlessly holding her gaze, he slowly slid his hand up, brushing the sensitive underside of one breast with the backs of his fingers, then closing his hand about the firm mound.

She gasped softly; her lids fluttered, then fell. He smiled and kneaded, stroked and tweaked, all the time watching desire flow across her face. Her lips parted. Her tongue slipped out to moisten them; her breath came in little rushes, not yet pants, but with urgency building. Her lashes fluttered as she felt him learn her, explore her.

With a wolfish smile, he bent his head.

Her shocked gasp rang through the room. She clutched his head, fingers gripping tight as he rasped his tongue over the nipple he'd suckled, torturing it even more. She was soon panting in earnest, the sound sweetly evocative.

He drew back. Desire had flooded her, changing her skin from flawless ivory to rose. Sliding his hand down over her waist, he watched her face as he gently kneaded her taut belly, then reached lower, spearing his fingers through her soft curls, pressing into the soft flesh behind.

She was already wet, swollen and ready-he stroked, and she shuddered. And leaned against one thigh, caught his shoulder for balance.

Before he could blink, she hauled in a breath, opened her eyes, and reached for his buttons. Her nimble fingers slid them free; she reached in-

He closed his eyes and groaned.

She closed her hand and he shuddered. His hands fell from her; head bowed, hands fisted, he endured as she eased her hold and went searching, exploring.

He gritted his teeth. He didn't want to open his eyes-his lids still lifted, just enough so he could see her slender arm, wrist-deep in his open breeches, fine muscles flexing as she stroked and squeezed.

Then she reached deep.

The groan she ripped from him was one of real pain-he was achingly hard, throbbing fit to explode.

Her other hand pushed at his chest. "Lie back."

He did, falling flat on his back, chest heaving as he struggled for breath-control was far beyond him. Her hand left him-he cursed the loss of her touch.

"Just a minute."

In disbelief, he felt her tugging at his breeches. This was nothing like what he'd had planned, but… with a defeated groan, he lifted his hips and let her strip them from him. She got them halfway down, then froze.

Only then did he recall she'd never seen what she'd so successfully accommodated four times thus far.

Oh, God! He levered his lids up-she was standing between his thighs, completely naked, staring, absolutely mesmerized, at his groin. At his rather large member, thick as her wrist, which was presently standing at full attention out of its nest of brown hair.

Stifling a groan, he tensed to sit up, to grab her before she jumped away-to calm her, soothe her, reassure her-

In that instant, the stunned look on her face dissolved into a glorious smile-a wicked, purely sensual, blatantly eager light danced in her eyes. Releasing his breeches, she reached for him-

"No!"

Chest heaving, he lay on the bed and gazed at her in absolute horror. Her fingers had stopped mere inches from his staff, which was growing more painfully rigid by the second. He glanced at her face.

She opened her eyes wide and raised her brows back. She didn't get close to looking innocent-it was pure sensual challenge that flashed in her eyes. When he didn't immediately respond-just lay there looking at her, stupefied and at her mercy-her chin firmed.

He hauled in a breath. "All right-but for God's sake get these off me first."

She chuckled wickedly and did, quickly easing the tight breeches down his long legs, then hauling them off his feet.

He used the moment to gather his strength-she was going to kill him.

His breeches hit the floor; the next instant, she clambered eagerly onto the bed-and surprised him again. He'd assumed she'd come to his side-instead, she climbed up between his thighs, settling herself on her knees directly before what was clearly her present obsession.

He sucked in a breath-it got trapped in his lungs; they seized as she seized him. Too gently. On a groan, he reached down and closed his hand about hers, showing her how much pressure to exert. As in all things, she learned quickly. After that, all he could do was lie back and think of England. Of Lady Osbaldestone-of anything that might distract him. Not that anything did-it was utterly impossible to detach himself from her touch, from her increasingly explicit caresses. With the fingers of one hand wrapped about his rigid length, she reached to his chest, running her warm hand over taut muscles that tensed and tightened even more.