Page 67 of The Lyon Whisperer
“I shall knock on your door.” She toyed with the buttons on his waistcoat. “I should like to come to your chamber again, if it please you. Yours is a much bigger bed.”
Dinner was ashort-lived affair, with neither one of them suggesting an after-dinner drink, walk, or visit to the library. They both chose to retire almost immediately.
Chase was ready when she knocked, minutes later, having undressed and doused the candles.
He opened the door, naked but for his heavy silk robe, and found her wearing her thin night rail, no dressing gown, no demure cap.
Without a word, he lifted her in his arms and carried her, trembling, toward the bed.
Once there, he set her on her feet. He undid the tiny row of buttons at her neckline then stripped her of her gown in one fluid move.
He gazed at her, naked, black hair streaming over her shoulders, flesh glowing in the golden firelight.
This time, he vowed, he would make it good for her, but it would cost him. The need to take her again, to sink himself in her softness, raged through him.
He flung the covers off the bed and dropped onto the mattress on his back, scooping her along with him.
She made a soft sound of wonder and melted onto him.
His mouth sealed over hers, and his hands roamed as if memorizing her body.
She responded with a sweet ardor, her fingers weaving into his hair, her nails, scoring his scalp like a lusty kitten.
“So soft,” he whispered against her lips. “Like satin.”
Her arms tightened around his neck, and she tugged herself closer, higher.
He closed his eyes, reveling in the pressure of her ripe breasts pressing into his chest, her low belly sliding over his engorged cock, then hissed in a breath when her knees splayed over his hips, opening her apex to him.
He sank his teeth gently into her lower lip, then soothed the abraded skin with tender kisses as his hand cruised over the twin mounds of her bottom, and lower, to explore her deepest feminine secrets.
She shuddered when he parted her.
A low whimper sounded. He dimly realized the sound came from his own throat. But Holy Christ, she was feverishly hot, soaking wet, and all his.
He played at her opening, torturing himself with the silken feel of her. Her low moan only added fodder to the fire burning within him.
“Do you like this?” He whispered against her lips, circling the entrance to her channel with his fingertip.
“Yes,” she breathed. She parted her slender legs, inviting his touch with no hesitation, no guile.
He caressed her, luxuriating in the lush flesh, half out of his mind with wanting. But he wanted, needed to bring her pleasure.
All at once she came apart, body shuddering, lips parted on a cry, head thrown back in ecstasy.
God’s teeth. He’d never known a more bewitching, more tantalizing, more sensual creature. When she went liquid in his arms, her face nuzzling into his neck, he could wait no longer.
He flipped their positions on the mattress and plunged into her, again, and again, and again. She was tight, so tight, her channel pulsing around him and fitting to him like a glove. He gritted his teeth against the all-consuming pleasure.
When she began to lift her hips to meet his thrusts he nearly stopped breathing.
When her second release tore through her, he did. The dam inside him broke. With a hoarse, exultant shout, he exploded into her in the most powerful climax of his entire life.
When he was spent, he eased off of her and wrapped in his arms, pulling her back into his chest. He ran his fingers over her belly, her hip, through the thick mane of her hair. He could not seem to stop touching her.
“Better this time?” he could not resist asking.
“Beyond anything,” she whispered. She rolled to face him and snuggled closer.
