An Improper Wife Read Online Free PDF

hand.
    A moment passed, and a vice-like pressure squeezed his chest as an unexpected urge arose to protect her—to claim her for his own. He had no business opening his heart to her. Despite the logic, a fissure in his armour-plated shell cracked. She placed her hand in his and he breathed again.
    She moved to his side of the carriage and Taran pulled her close. He kissed her, trailed a hand over her ribs, then cupped a breast, pinching the pebbled nipple until her breath caught and she trembled in his arms.
    In his imagination, they lay in a feather bed next to a warm fire while he filled her with his cock and tasted her pleasure in hot, wet kisses. Tonight they had a rented carriage and stolen touches.
    He brushed her ear with his lips. “Remove your mask.”
    She pushed him back so that she could look into his face. “We have left the masque, but the rules prevail.”
    “Even in the cover of darkness?” He leant across the seat and blew out the lamp. The compartment plunged into pitch black. He sat back beside her. “My hands shall be my eyes.” He removed his mask, set it on the opposite cushion, then reached for hers.
    “My lord, no.” The fear in her voice reminded him of her innocence and he silently swore constraint.
    “I promise, we shall don our disguises before first light.”
    She tensed, but said nothing when, with careful, delicate movements, he unpinned her wig and laid it onto the opposite bench. He slipped the mask from her face and laid it on the cushion.
    Taran cupped her cheek, traced the high arch of her delicate brow, and the length of her nose. Smooth skin, soft as silk, warmed beneath his fingers. Hot breath fanned his thumb as he traced her lips. She flicked her tongue against his skin. Taran stilled. She licked him again, more deliberately this time.
    He pushed his thumb past her lips, into her warm, wet mouth. Her tongue curled around his thumb, mimicking the motion from when she’d sucked the head of his rod in the garden. The sensation rushed into his shaft. He felt the tug as acutely in his balls as in the tip of his cock.
    He growled and hauled her onto his lap. Taran pulled her bodice down and over her arms, releasing the dress in a bunch around her waist. He kneaded the firm globes, tracing circles with a thumb on the soft skin. Leaning her back, he bent and captured one taut nipple between his lips. Moist and succulent, sweet and intoxicating. Her breath caught and she clutched his shoulders. Shivers travelled over her flesh. The carriage was warm, dark, and her throaty gasp of pleasure swelled his cock to an agonising length.
    She moaned, arching into his mouth. Taran kissed lower. He slid her from his lap, then knelt on the floor. Inching her dress down as he swirled his tongue along her belly and around her navel. Sweat, salty, and musky tasting, beaded on her quivering flesh. He inhaled, deeply drinking in the scent of her arousal as well as the hint of perfumed soap.
    “Lift your hips.”
    She did, and he pulled the dress down her legs and tossed it onto the empty seat. He slipped off the right slipper, gently massaging her instep. He did the same with the left foot. He sat back on his haunches and lifted her leg.
    “Are you ready to discover the pleasure of passion?” He sucked a toe into his mouth.
    Her startled cry came in unison with the rocking carriage as it hit a pothole. Taran rained kisses along one leg, then the other. She grasped his forearm. He lifted her hand and one at a time, he slipped each of her fingers into his mouth and sucked them.
    “I am on fire,” she breathed.
    “Wait, my lady, for you are about to learn to fly.”
    He spread her thighs. The heady aroma of her wet pussy enveloped him. He had to taste her. “You have brought me to my knees.”
    He slid his palms beneath her rounded buttocks and pulled her to the edge of the seat. He blew against her mound before pressing his lips against her tender, heated folds.
    “My lord.” Her voice