The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)

Her pretty mouth lifted. “You challenge me, sire?”

He nodded. “What is it that you want from me today?”

His demanding question appeared to let something loose in her, for she cast down her eyelids but not before he caught the mischief in her eyes. “It is too hard to speak it aloud.”

“Show me.” With his fingertips he encouraged her, stroking over her skin from throat to the edge of her gown.

She responded visibly, her bosom swelling as her breathing quickened. “Have you put a suggestion in my mind by magic?”

“No.” He laughed softly. “But now I am even more eager to learn your thoughts, since you think I should take the blame for them.”

“I want you.” With one hand on his shoulder she nodded at the ground.

He arched an eyebrow at her, then dropped to his knees.

She hitched up her skirts, revealing her legs, blushing delightfully as she did so.

“You truly have become wanton.”

“Under your spell, yes.”

It made him proud to hear her say that, but was that accusation he saw in her eyes? It was, but there was humor there, too. She had entranced him, too. Unruly passion built in him, his cock painfully hard for her.

Pausing barely a moment, she pushed him over onto his back and then stood over him with one booted foot on either side of his hips. She lifted her skirts and petticoats in order to straddle him.

“Ah, I see.” He ran his hands around her stockings where they were tied with ribbons above her knees. She truly was attempting to show him how bold she could be.

She put one hand on her hip. “Are you outraged?”

“Intrigued, perhaps.”

Her cheeks were flushed. Then she lowered herself over him, knees on either side of his thighs. Her skirt billowed out around them, her warm inner thighs a tantalizing weight against him, and so close to the straining erection inside his breeches.

“As I am intrigued by you.” She tugged his shirt free of his breeches and pushed it up, baring his chest.

He rose to assist, amused by her actions. Casting the shirt aside, he arched one eyebrow expectantly. She stared at him for a long moment, and then began to stroke his chest, her touch inquisitive.

Lennox rested back on the ground. The pungent aroma of bluebells and moss and pollen rose all around them. She ran her fingertips over his skin, and Lennox felt more than just the stimulation, he felt the bond between them needling beneath his skin as she explored. A rich swell of fertile magic bedded in him, and he marveled at how potent their connection was. It strengthened his magic. That was irrevocable. Carnal congress always did, but not like this. With Chloris everything about the experience was enhanced and magnified.

She bent and kissed his chest, her tongue tasting his skin.

Lennox grumbled. “You’re making me impatient for you.”

She chuckled, her eyes flashing as she looked up at him from the place where she currently tended to him, kissing the hard line of his muscled rib cage as she moved lower to where his cock strained to be inside her.

“It is good to see you so emboldened, Mistress Chloris.”

“Do not call me mistress or you will disarm me, and I know what I want.”

He glanced down at her hand, where she fumbled with his belt. “That you do.”

When his cock bowed out, free from the restraint of his clothing, she clasped it in her soft hand. For a brief moment Lennox had to close his eyes and think of something else in order not to come undone too quickly.

He could not resist watching her for long, however.

A possessive look shone in her eyes as she stroked his length. How good it would be to see her riding him, and he felt sure that was her intention. Her fingertips touched him tentatively at first, then she grasped him firmly and stroked him up and down while she bent to kiss his swollen crown.

“Chloris,” he warned when her tongue made contact with his skin.