Page 85 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Perhaps now coshing would come as naturally to her as kissing and coupling.
He chuckled. A man could not complain about two out of three.
“Youmustpromise, Bink.”
“I’ll promise. I’ll promise to talk about it more.” He sent his hand up under the thin silk, and watched her eyes darken and glaze.
“I’ll hold you to that promise and—oh.” The bottle plopped, tipped, and a river of sweet-scented amber coursed over the table.
Bink pulled her out of its path, onto his lap. Brandy laced the top of her foot. He tipped her back, brought her foot up and licked it clean, down to the tips of each toe.
She gasped and wriggled.
When he released her foot, he lifted her into a straddle, and pushed her thin silks high, drawing her closer until her breasts huddled against him, muddling his brain, rendering all of his senses to only that softness, that seal of her skin against his.
“We’re not finished.” Her breath came in tiny, barely audible puffs. “With this discussion.”
And then her kiss took away all his ability to think.
