The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

And waltzed them both into desire’s flames.

Stacie couldn’t think. At all. Sensation consumed her as his tongue tangled with hers and his hands slid from her face only to fasten about her waist and pull her flush against him.

Her nerves leapt and sparked at the contact—at the feel of his hard chest pressing against her breasts, the raspy hair laced across his hard muscles subtly abrading her almost-painfully tight nipples.

His hands—his lean, strong pianist’s hands—explored, caressed, stroked, claimed, and with a touch of arrogance that was all him, possessed. Her breasts, the globes of her bottom, the curves of her upper thighs—he made them all his. He relentlessly stoked fires beneath her skin, until she was burning.

And all she wanted was more—yet more. A wild, wanton, passionate side of her had been buried by her refusal to marry—her effective denial of this—but now the gates had been opened, and in his arms, that passionate side sought the light.

Sought satisfaction.

Marriage had set her free. Free to embrace even this side of her—so long denied, so hungry.

So ravenous.

She sent her hands skating over his hot skin, gripping, tensing her fingers into the muscle bands, exploring and delighting when muscles rippled under her trailing fingertips.

He was still half clothed, which seemed unfair. Emboldened, she experimented. Eventually, she pressed into him and sinuously shifted, caressing his chest with her breasts, and sensed her moment—a fractional hiatus when she finally succeeded in fracturing his focus and turning it inward—and reached for his waistband and the buttons closing the flap of his trousers.

In seconds, she had the buttons undone, but he realized, caught her hands, pulled back from the kiss, hesitated for a second—she thought he swore softly, but couldn’t be sure through the haze clouding her senses—then he released her, swooped, swept her up into his arms, and carried her to the bed.

At last was her only thought as he juggled her, tossed back the coverlet, then laid her on the silken sheets. She’d linked her arms around his neck and drew him down with her, and he came readily, stretching out alongside her.

She boldly tugged, wanting him to cover her, only to discover he had other ideas. That he wanted to explore every inch of her body as if she were the rarest of pianos and he had to note and then worship every single key, every taut wire.

He made her arch. He made her gasp and moan and, ultimately, writhe.

She’d thought she’d reached the wanting stage already, but he made her ache with heightened need.

Then his clever fingers delved between her thighs, breaching and penetrating, and her body convulsed as it never had before in an eruption of pleasure so intense, stars danced before her eyes.

He reduced her to panting limpness, then seized the moment to slip from her side and dispense with his trousers and stockings.

Then, finally gloriously nude—a sight that made her breathing suspend and her eyes feel like saucers—he returned to her.

To her arms as she welcomed him to her, her muscles functioning once again as the effect of her passionate release faded, to her lips as he claimed them anew, to her body as he came down atop her, spread her thighs with his, and settled heavily between.

Glorious! Her senses sang as they absorbed the full impact of his weight, his naked form, pressing her into the bed. Her awareness fractured as she tried to take in every tiny nuance of the moment.

Then he reached down and touched her, traced his long fingers through the slick folds of her entrance, and heat flooded her again. Passion laid its hand on her anew, and she welcomed its heady flame.

He continued to kiss her as he shifted his hips, and the broad head of his erection nudged between her folds, then eased deeper into her body.

Novel sensations swamped her, the thickness of him stretching her channel. The intrusion of his body into hers was startling and, more than anything else, embodied the term intimacy.

He paused, every muscle in his lean frame tensed to the point of quivering—and she thought he was wai

ting for some sign from her. She tightened her arms about him, tipped her head back to better return his kiss, and raised her legs, wrapped them about his hips, and drew him to her.

She sensed his breath hitch, then he flexed his spine and, with one powerful thrust, drove all the way home.

Filling her and nudging her core.

She yelped, but before the sound had fully dissipated, the pinching pain had eased.

He raised his head and, breathing harshly, looked into her face. “Are you all right?”

She could only just make out the gravelly words. In answer, she smiled beatifically.