The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

“Am I doing well enough?”


He took her hand in his and laid it across the damp placket of his trousers, splaying her fingers under him so she could feel the hard ridge beneath. “That’s how well you’re doing,” he told her hoarsely. “So well that the danger is that I’ll spill in my first few thrusts.”

The thought of that caught hold of her, setting her lungs on fire. “Oh?” she heard herself ask. “How do I make you do that?”

His eyes met hers, fierce and intense, and her whole body seemed to melt. “You let me have a turn.”

That sent a shot through her, a bolt of pure anticipation. He’d scarcely touched her since he’d come in the room; now his hands slid down her sides, over her hips.

He set his hands on her thighs. “Back a little,” he said, giving her the barest guiding pressure. She took two steps in reverse and felt her legs hit the bed behind her. And then he stood, lifting her chemise as he did so. It slid over her skin, over her head. He disentangled it from her arms, and let it fall on the ground. She was completely naked.

She should have felt exposed. Off-kilter. But his eyes devoured her with such heat that she felt only…powerful. Wanted. Ready.

“There,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Now that… That is a good idea.” Her whole body tingled. She didn’t know what he would do—whether he would push her to the bed and sink inside her, or touch her all over, the way she’d touched him.

Instead, he tilted her head back and kissed her. It was a long, sweet kiss, a kiss that drugged her senses. A kiss that made her aware of every inch of her skin—of the fact that as they kissed, he gathered her up in his arms, pressing against her. His chest. That hard ridge beneath his trousers. His legs, still damp. He kissed her until every part of her demanded more.

Just when she was ready to scream with a frustration she didn’t understand, his hands swept up her body, cupping her br**sts. She had one brief moment to react—to feel the rough brush of his thumb across her sensitive flesh—before he bent and kissed her on her breast.

“Oliver.” Her hands closed around him. Her knees buckled. “Oliver. God. If what I did to you felt anything like that…”

“Then you’ll spend in a few strokes,” he murmured. “That’s rather the goal.”

He gathered her in his arms and bore her down onto the bed. But he didn’t clamber on top of her as she’d expected.

“Don’t you have to remove your trousers?”

“Not yet.”

“But—”

His hands on her thighs silenced her. It was a warm, insistent pressure, fingers opening up her most intimate places. He knelt between her legs. “Not for this,” he said, and set his mouth to her.

It was utterly electrifying. To have his lips there. As if all the things she’d yearned for he had heard through the tension in her muscle. As if her desire was spelled out with his tongue.

She let out a moan.

He took that as encouragement and spread her legs wider, and then, as she relaxed against him, he slid a finger inside her. His other thumb—his tongue—did something extraordinary, something that made her whole body light up with an unexplainable incandescence. Another finger, stretching her out, then another one. It was too much.

There was no way to understand all that glorious sensation rushing through her. It was as if their bodies held a conversation that whispered along every nerve ending. All thought vanished. What remained was pure light, engulfing her.

She bit back a scream.

When she could breathe again, he’d stood up. He was kicking off his shoes, taking off his trousers, coming back to her. The bed creaked under his weight.

“We can stop here,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She reached out to him. “Don’t you dare.”

She hadn’t seen this part of him before. His thighs were hard—not soft and pillowy, thank God, but tense with muscle. His erection was full. His breath shattered as she reached out, exploring it—that long shaft, hard and yet with that hint of softness to it.

She pulled forward and licked him.

“God, Jane.” He moaned. “Another time, or it really will be three thrusts.”

And then he was bearing her down, spreading her wide again. Rubbing the head of his c**k against her slit, sending shivers down her.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” He pushed inside her. There was a pinch of red pain, so shocking in the midst of her floating arousal. Her hands closed around his shoulders.

Another time, he’d said. But that was too much reality to encompass now. There might not be another time. Just this one. This one time to feel the stretch of her body around his, to feel that pain dissipate, swallowed up by the growing rightness of him. He slid into her, further, then further, and the last hint of discomfort disappeared.

And then there was just him—his weight, his breath, his body bearing her down, joining with her so intimately. His hands, turning her face up to his, and his kiss, warm and sweet on her lips. There was no other time at all.