Page 74 of The Pleasures of Passion
So he did the only thing he could think of—tugged her close and kissed her the way he’d been wanting to since this morning. Deeply. Thoroughly. With tongue and teeth and all the raw, hot need churning inside him.
And for a moment she opened up to him, his lovely rose, grabbing him by the shoulders and straining against him to kiss him back, giving as good as she got.
Then she caught herself and tore her mouth free. “Niall . . . what I’m trying to say is . . . youstillkeep secrets from me.”
“None that matter,” he countered.
When he tried to cover her mouth with his again, she turned her head. So he shifted to kissing her jaw, her throat . . . the few bits of pure, sweet flesh that weren’t covered up by her demure carriage gown.
When he tongued the hollow of her throat, she moaned. “My husband . . . kept secrets, too. And I hated it.”
He scattered kisses over her cheeks and nose. “You kept secrets from him, as well.”
“Just the one. And I shouldn’t have. Perhaps if I’d told him about you from the beginning . . . he’d still be alive.”
“Then God forgive me,” he growled, “but I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Don’t say that.” The words were a thready whisper.
“It’s the truth.” He tightened his arm about her waist. “If he hadn’t died, I’d now be looking for a wife in society and comparing every woman to you.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You thought me an adventuress. Some part of you still does, or you would tell me the tru—”
He attempted to kiss her again, but she caught his head to stay him. “My point is,” she whispered, “you know every one of my secrets, but you won’t tell me yours.”
“I will. Eventually.”
“Why notnow?”
With firm purpose, he walked her backward toward an apple tree. “Because right now I want only one thing—to make love to you. To remind you that there are things between us that transcend the past. I know how to make you yearn and burn. I know how to give you pleasure.” He lowered his voice to a harsh rasp. “And you want me to. You know that you do.”
When she swallowed hard, he exulted. She wasn’t as immune to him as she tried to pretend.
“I—I said no bed play.”
“I see no bed.”
She eyed him askance. “You’re splitting hairs, you devil. You knew what I meant.” When he pressed her up against the tree, she lifted her eyes heavenward. “What is it with you and trees, anyway? My maid still hasn’t worked the stains out of the last gown you ruined. And why must we do thishere, where anyone might find us?”
“Because we can,” he rasped against her lips. “Because we want to. Because I own every inch of this land, and I want to take you in the place where I mean for us to build a life together.” He dragged up her skirts. “I’ll buy you a new gown, sweeting. But all these apples hanging from the trees are making me hunger for something sweet, and I simply have to indulge.”
Even her look of confusion bewitched him. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
He dropped to his knees. “You, Bree. I want to feast onyou.”
Holding her skirts bunched up at her waist with one hand, he used the other to part the opening in her drawers so he could view the lovely flesh he meant to kiss and devour. He suspected that her stodgy husband had never donethisto her, and when he leaned forward to place his mouth on her and she gasped, he knew he’d guessed right.
“What the devil are you . . .” She released a shaky sigh as he licked her pretty mons, then delved deeper with his tongue. “Oh . . . my . . .word.”
God, she was as luscious and juicy as ripe fruit. He could dine on Bree for hours. Or at least long enough to show her that there was so much more to making love than her arse of a husband had shown her.
“Hold this.” He thrust her gathered skirts into her hand, and miraculously, she did his bidding.
Then he set about giving her delicious honey-pot the attention it deserved. He’d always loved the taste of a woman fully aroused, but God, Bree tasted better than anything. And she was so receptive, too, clutching at his head to hold him to her as she pushed her cleft against his tongue.
“Niall . . . heavens . . . that is so . . . so . . .naughty.”
“For my naughty wanton, yes.” He licked and teased and tormented, relishing her sighs and moans and eager little thrusts of her pelvis against his mouth. “I love when you’re naughty, sweeting.”
