A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

No, no, she wanted to protest. I’m a woman of faith and principle. I refuse to be ruled by my passions. That way lies madness.

But then with a single finger, he parted her folds and slipped inside her. Inside her. The feeling was … shocking. Glorious. Incompatible with thought, much less conversation. A hot, restless longing built as he stroked her relentlessly, inside and out. The sensation was not wholly unfamiliar. Sometimes in the night Bel woke with this same dull ache between her legs. And she’d learned years ago that if she rolled over and ground her hips against the bed, first it got a bit worse, but then it got a bit better—until it broke into pieces and mercifully went away.

But it was never like this. Never this bad. Never this good.

Without ceasing his sweet torment, Toby sank to the floor and knelt in front of her, spreading her legs. It seemed wrong, in so many ways: him kneeling before her, her thighs splayed in this lewd posture, the manner in which her most intimate places were revealed to his gaze, to his touch …

To his mouth.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Never this bad. Never this good. It was too much, too much.

“Toby.” She wriggled away from him, but his hand tightened over her thigh. “Toby, please. Don’t you want to take your pleasure now?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” He licked her over and over, so very lightly. And sensation detonated in her each time, destroying her presence of mind. She understood why her mother had gone mad from passion. With each tender caress, he pushed her closer to some terrible brink of sanity. She would shatter apart. She would never be whole again.

“Toby, please.” She forced the words out. “You must … must stop.”

“What must I stop?” he asked, his voice joking. “This?” He licked. “This?” He stroked. “Or this?” He pursed his lips and did something ineffably wicked.

Another little cry escaped her. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yes, I am. Because I know how you love it.”

She did. She did love it. In this insane moment she nearly believed she loved him for it. Because she trusted him so completely. She knew that when he teased her, it meant she was strong enough to bear it.

Proving the point, he took pity on her unease, kissing his way back up her belly. His hand resumed stroking her, inside and out, as he fastened his lips around her nipple. Pleasure built, rolling through her body, making her quiver and writhe helplessly. Bel tensed again. She didn’t like feeling helpless. This all felt so wrong. She’d been fully prepared for Toby to take pleasure from her, but she didn’t know how to handle receiving it from him.

“Let go,” he murmured, kissing his way from one breast to the other. “Don’t fight it. You’ll make it better for me, if you just let go.”

Let go. You’ll make it better for me. His words freed her. She could do this—even this—for him. With a rough gasp, she bucked against his hand.

“Yes,” he sighed, stroking her faster. “That’s it.”

She clutched his shoulder with her right hand, and her left unfurled. The hairpins fell to the floor in a cascade of metallic pings. His hand and lips made wet sounds of suction as they worked her moist flesh. But the crashing roar of her pulse overpowered all; the pleasure overtook all.

And she let go.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Toby held her tight.

In all his life, he thought he would never hear a sound more arousing than Isabel’s hoarse cry of passion. As her climax subsided she slumped against him, spent and breathless. Her intimate muscles were still clenching around his sheathed finger, but Toby’s restraint had reached its limit.

“Forgive me,” he said, withdrawing his hand and lifting her onto the bed. “But I must have you. And it must be now.”

She gave him a groggy nod and a murmured, “Yes.”

Toby scrambled to unbutton his fall before his erection burst right through his trousers. God, he was still almost fully clothed. But then, so was she—and he had no intention of slowing down for even the few seconds it would take to rectify the situation. In fact, he loved her this way. The contrast of her glossy black hair and olive skin against that virginal white lace took him from aroused to fair frenzied with desire.

He worked his trousers down over his hips and positioned himself at her entrance, gathering his control just long enough for one last murmured apology: “I’m so sorry. The pain lasts only a moment, darling.”

He eased into her, a bit. Then a bit more.

She winced. He held still, offering her body time to adjust even though every cell in his own body urged him to drive home. “Better?” He grated out the word.