Page 60 of The Wolf of Mayfair
She rather suspected it was both.
He caught her wrists in one of his larger, powerful hands, and stretched them high above her head. Using them as if to steer her, he guided her so her back collided with the wall, so that his punishing grip and muscle-hewn frame kept her upright.
“Like that, do you, sweetheart?” he purred between each kiss.
Words failed, and she could offer him nothing more than a whimper in return.
A pleased-sounding, triumph-filled, husky laugh rumbled in his chest.
“Let me in,” he demanded, and she did as he bade, knowing intuitively what he sought.
She parted her lips.
“Very nice, kitten,” he praised. With his spare hand, he caressed his palm hard over her hip, then swept his tongue inside; that silken, hot flesh lashed against Helia’s like a brand.
He kissed her like he wanted to possess her, and she ached to belong to him, in this way.
In this way, or in other ways, too ...a voice at the back of her mind murmured, sounding that alarm.
Helia thrust that uneasy and unwelcome reminder aside and gave herself fully over to his embrace.
His tongue danced around hers in a fiery pirouette that left her dizzy and struggling to keep up.
She touched the tip of hers to his, experimentally at first. Enlivened as she’d never been, Helia grew bolder in her movements.
Anthony’s chest rumbled, and Helia swallowed that primitive growl of approval and sagged under the power of it.
He kept her anchored between his strong body; the hard, punishing wall at her back; and his even harder erection at her belly. Anthony moved his hips in a circular motion so she could feel all of him. His rod, thick and long and rigid, prodded her belly.
For—before now—Helia may have been untouched, unkissed, and innocent in every way, but she’d grown up around livestock. She knewthe act that occurred between the mounts and dogs they bred, all in the name of breeding, was no different from what transpired between a husband and wife.
She’d been wrong. So very wrong.
For this? This sinful but beautiful act wrought pleasure and a need that had nothing to do with babes and everything to do with the feelings this embrace stirred inside Helia.
Anthony drew her lower lip into his mouth and suckled that flesh.
She dropped her head back on a low, agonized moan.
A restless ache settled between her legs.
He tossed his head back in masculine delight, then filled his hands with her breasts. “You love that, don’t you, my pet? You like when I palm your breasts?”
He nipped lightly at her lip. “Or is it my violent kiss?”
She lifted her hips against his.
Anthony stilled his ministrations; he hovered his mouth over the spot right where her pulse pounded. “Or,” he dangled, sin and temptation incarnate, “do you like when I rub myself over you?”
His words were naughty, his tone somehow a jeer and a silky caress all at the same time.
All of it,she silently screamed.
She loved it all. She wanted all the things he did and spoke of ... and more. Whatevermorewas.
Suddenly, Anthony stopped.
Helia cried out; her breasts heaved from the force of the breaths she drew; her respirations came in fast spurts.
