Page 70 of Her Beautiful Bastard
“Rifles and pistols,” she declared as he went back to kissing her arm, intertwining his fingers with hers. “We angels enjoy our target practice, after all. And horses, and whisky, and cigars.”
He glanced up at her, pursing his lips. “You like cigars?”
She inclined her head. “Well, I do not know yet, as I’ve never tried one. But I would like the option.”
He snorted, shaking his head as if he found her both insufferable and adorable at the same time. “Your every wish is my command, angel. And what of kisses? Does my angel need to be kissed?”
She gasped when he took hold of her waist and urged her closer, his strength making her confident that she would not go falling out of the tree. “Yes … often.”
He nuzzled her neck, placing a kiss there, then working his way up toward her mouth. “I shall drown you in kisses every day. What of caresses, my angel? Do you need my hands on you?”
Her only reply came on a whimper as he cupped her breast, his fingers seeking out her nipple and giving it a light tug. She was dizzy, the sky spinning about over her, the tree limb seeming to sway below, Sinclair’s grip on her the only thing keeping her from floating away.
He was still kissing her, his hand busy at her bodice, dipping inside to cup her through her stays and chemise.
“What else, angel? Tell me what else you need, and it is yours.”
Turning her body a bit, she threw her arms around him. “You, Sin. I only need you.”
His lips claimed hers, his urgency stoking an answering need in her. She moaned against his mouth, her body coming to life at his touch and reminding her that six long weeks had stood between their last meeting and today’s wedding. Now that she knew what it was to be loved by him, to feel him inside her, she could not believe she’d survived so long without it. She felt as if she would go up in flames from only the stroke of his tongue against hers, the nip of his teeth at her lower lip.
Then, he was grasping her legs, helping her to turn and face him, straddling the branch just as he did. Heat flared in his gaze at the sight of her, skirts now hitched up around her hips, legs bared, her other slipper having fallen to the ground below them. The rough bark abraded the insides of her thighs through her stockings, but Sinclair swiftly put an end to that, grasping her hips and pulling her until she straddled him.
The limb they sat on was quite sturdy, the ancient cherry tree more than strong enough to bear their combined weight. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her again, deeper this time, slower, seeming to relish the sensations of their lips and tongues meeting and parting in a languid dance. He tasted of cake and champagne, and some other thing that seemed uniquely Sinclair.
His hands traveled, stroking her hair, smoothing over her back, grasping her buttocks to fit her closer to him, so she could feel the thick ridge of desire straining toward her through his breeches.
“Lydia,” he murmured, sprinkling little kisses along her collarbone, then dipping his tongue into her bodice to find her nipple. “If we do not stop this, I am going to fulfill the promise I made to you on the night we met. Do you remember?”
She grinned at the reminder. Sinclair had urged her to climb out of the tree and leave before their kiss turned into something more. He had promised her that he’d want to free his cock and thrust inside her, not letting the fact that they were sitting in a tree stop him.
Her smile turned devilish as she reached down between them, finding the buttons on the fall of his breeches. “I’ve always been curious how you would have managed that.”
His eyelids grew heavy as he gazed down to watch her deftly open his breeches. “This angel is definitely fallen. Thrown out of Heaven for being such a little wanton.”
She giggled, taking hold of his cock and giving him a squeeze. He groaned, the organ pulsing in her fist. “Whatever will you do with me?”
Reaching down to help her free him completely, he finished hitching up her skirts, ensuring she was free from the tangle of petticoats and chemise as he angled her over him. His knuckles brushed against the wet inner flesh as he urged his cock toward her opening, forcing a little gasp from her at the sudden contact.
“Hold on to me, angel,” he told her, one hand holding tight to her hip and urging her down onto his erection. “You’ll have to hold on tight unless you want to go tumbling out of this tree.”
She did as he instructed, grasping his shoulders, her head falling back with a sigh as she sank onto him, his cock filling her inch by slow inch. His kisses and caresses had been enough to make her wet for him, their time apart making her desperate for him.
He groaned against her shoulder, kissing and lapping at her pulse with his tongue, one hand coming up to pull her bodice, chemise, and stays down to free her breasts. His other hand squeezed her arse, urging her to undulate against him, ride him to her satisfaction. The motion sent a ripple of ecstasy through her, her place on top of him allowing him in as deep as he could go, their closeness permitting each motion to stimulate her clit.
“Sin,” she whispered, his name falling from her lips heavy with awe and wonder as well as love.
She was making love in a tree. Her husband had taken her astride his hips, and she was now riding him while straddling a tree limb. She would have laughed if it didn’t feel so bloody good, each surge of her hips creating heat and friction in the place where their bodies were joined, Sinclair’s tight grip on her arse and busy mouth on her breasts only adding to the pleasure.
He bit at her nipples with gentle pulls of his teeth, then showered her exposed skin with kisses, traveling up her throat to her lips, then back again, seeking her breasts once again. His breath raced against her skin, teasing the places left damp from his tongue.
“My wicked little angel,” he murmured, kissing along the line of her jaw. “Letting me fuck you in a tree on your wedding day. What else will you let me do to you, I wonder?”
She moaned, his wicked words and their location out in the open where they could be seen should anyone decide to venture out for fresh air only adding fuel to her desire, urging her to shift against him faster, pressing down to create even more of the tortuous friction.
“Anything,” she whimpered. “You could do anything to me, Sinclair … I am yours, your angel.”
“Anything?” he murmured, just before his hand on one of her buttocks began to move, his fingers finding their way into the cleft between her cheeks.
