Page 113 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
“I assure you, the lessons will take more than one night.”
He rolled her again and explored her body, finding the spots that brought laughter, those that brought pleasure until she was gasping and he was ready to burst.
“Now, Charley.” Her legs came around him like the twin arms of a nutcracker.
Crushing his cock between them. “Wait.” He pushed her legs down, positioned himself, and studied her face.
She nodded.
He eased in a bit and watched her.
“It does not hurt.” She smiled encouragingly.
He eased in more.
“Still good.”
He pulled out and plunged in, halfway. She gasped and said, “Oh,” a smile spreading over her face.
With his next thrust she pivoted against him and he filled her. And then he began to move in her, meeting her, matching her, waiting, listening for her until she shattered. Only then did he explode deep inside her.
Graciela stretchedon her side and watched a beam of sunlight dance over the carpet. It was surely already late morning.
At the same time fingers tickled her side, trailed a path around to her breast, tapped a message that unfurled warmth from her heart to the overheated spot between her legs. As if having him pressed against her backside was not enough.
Charley had awakened, and it was, by her estimation, based entirely on her woman’s intuition, a good time to question him.
She grasped the hand planted on her breast. “Charley?”
“Mmmm.”
His fingers drifted over her, and she forced her mind back to her mission.
“Whoisthe traitor? We never truly got to that question tonight.”
His hand stilled. His whole body tensed.
A tiny flame of irritation sparked in her. She beat it down. “Are you asleep?” She wiggled onto her back, carefully. The lashings were still a bit sensitive, a good reminder of why she needed answers.
While he gazed at her through slitted eyes, she brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead and trailed a finger over his firm jaw, down to the dusting of chest hair. It was strangely darker than the hair on his head. Not burnished by the sun, she supposed. She tried to move her hand further down.
He gripped her wrist. She smiled.
Once he’d plopped her onto the bed, it had been a true wedding night, one without panic, or pain, or bad memories.
And now they must begin the second day of their marriage with more truth-telling.
“Charley, who doyouthink the traitor is? You must have some idea.”
He dropped her hand and touched her breast. “Oh, I have an idea.”
“I know you do, but, the traitor—”
“You have worn me out.” He rolled to his back.
She curled up next to him and touched him. His shaft sprang to attention. His eyes slammed shut, his lips firmed.
He could not fight this desire, no more than she could, and she rolled atop him.
