Page 60 of Wicked Rivals
She wriggled to get free, startled by this turn of events. “What are you doing?”
“Ah no, my lovely Scottish hellion, I’m afraid this one pleasure you must endure.” He lifted his gaze to hers, and then he bent his head and licked her…down there.
If he hadn’t been holding her thighs down, she would have spasmed at this foreign pleasure. He kept licking, kissing, torturing her aching flesh. It was more than she could take. Just when she thought it would kill her, he lifted his head, and with a wicked grin, he sat up and tugged his breeches down enough to free himself. Then with one hand he guided himself into her. He was large and thick as he thrust in. Rosalind hissed at the tightness.
“Breathe, darling.”
She gritted her teeth. “I am.”
He laughed and then leaned over her, pressing her down into the bed as he captured her mouth. The kiss, added to the weight of his body on hers, made her relax. She felt safe. He was controlling the kiss, their bodies—he would not hurt her, and he would give her the satisfaction she craved. It was a promise he made with every press of his lips.
Ashton gripped her wrists and pinned them on either side of her head, his fingers curled around her arms, trapping them. She was truly owned by him now, and yet she knew if she asked him to stop, he would.
“How do you feel?” He rocked his hips, pushing in deeper.
Rosalind lifted her hips, then kissed him back before replying.
“Wonderful.” She blushed at the admission. “You?”
“You grip me like a fist.”
She was about to object, since he was the one gripping her wrists, until a tight thrust explained his meaning.
He circled his hips. “Are you ready?”
Ready? What did he mean?
Ashton withdrew and began to pump his hips hard, keeping her wrists pinned as he took her. She didn’t know that a man could move like that, that fast, that hard.
But Ashton seemed to be able to keep up this wild pace all night. She knew she wouldn’t survive that—it felt too good to hold on to her control. Not when her body demanded the release that was building inside her like a summer storm. The pressure in her lower belly mixed with the delicious heat of her arousal…she was so close…
“Hold on,” he growled.
She struggled against him, needing to find the right rhythm of friction, harder, faster. He somehow learned what she craved through whatever moans and cues she gave him and began to thrust into her even harder. Their bodies were slick with sweat. The sounds of their lovemaking were primal, animalistic. Simply thinking of that proved too much for Rosalind.
She careened off the ledge of sanity and fell into a realm of sheer bliss. Every muscle in her body went limp. An instant later Ashton shouted and collapsed on top of her. He buried his face into the pillow beside her, and his lips feathered a delicate kiss on her ear. That sent rippling aftershocks through her. Her inner muscles clenched around his shaft and he groaned.
“Bloody hell, woman. You are…” He didn’t finish, but his face turned to hers and she caught a glimpse of his roguish smile.
“I’m what?” she panted.
“Perfect.” The smile turned boyishly charming. It melted her in places she thought she’d never feel again. It was scary for her to realize she felt the same about him.
“How do I compare to the others?” he asked.
“The others?” She stared at him, confused.
He shifted his body, not fully rolling off her, but easing most of his weight to the side so as not to crush her.
“Yes, your other lovers.”
Other lovers? Had he not guessed she’d had no other lovers save her first husband?
That amused her for some reason. He believed she’d had paramours? It was a common assumption, she supposed, since a number of notable young widows had collected lovers by the dozens, but she hadn’t.
“There aren’t any. I have only ever been with Henry.” Despite his assumption, she was oddly shy in admitting that she hadn’t had more experience. Ashton’s brows rose.
“Well, I must admit, I like the idea of having you all to myself. I’m rather a selfish creature, you see.”
