Lady Myddelton's Lover Read Online Free PDF

his hand, fingers spanning the smooth, pale expanse of her belly, saved from the appearance of impenetrable marble by her golden freckles. Her hand joined his and her fingers twined with his to interlock in a crosshatch of pale and tanned skin running weft and wale, respectively. He reluctantly lifted his eyes away from their hands, up her slender torso to those glorious breasts, topped with taut pink nipples, her mouth, slightly reddened from his kisses, and finally to her eyes. A remarkable shade of green fringed by black lashes, he was shocked to see them glistening with unshed tears.
                  “Aline, I—”
    She interrupted him with a shush, placing her finger on his lips, and he groaned, surging up to blanket her with his body. He dug his fingers into her hair as she angled her face to his, meeting her lips in a violent, urgent kiss. He wanted desperately to plunge himself into her core and thrust, join himself to her completely; the arching and squirming of her body against his signaled she felt the same. However, he wanted this to last, to wring every drop of resistance and mortification from her, until she was comfortable baring her skin to him as she was when composing the letters he valued so deeply during the two years he lingered in Australia after her husband’s death. He was not ashamed to admit he wanted to eradicate, if not the memory of Hugh Myddelton-Thorpe, but his claim on her body.
    He teased her with the kiss, slanting his mouth against hers, his tongue rolling slowly and carefully, simply tasting her sweetness. He grinned when she pummeled her fists lightly against his chest and groaned her annoyance. He loosened his grip on her hair and worked it loose of the pins and combs, tossing aside those infernal “rats” she would use, until her hair curled loosely about her shoulders. He lifted his lips to tug a few locks of her red hair over her breasts, loving the peeps of her pink flushed skin and rosy nipples between the strands. He wound a curl around one of her areolas until it puffed above the skin, and he bent to lick the button-hard nipple, worrying it softly with his teeth.
    He jerked at the rough tug of her fingers on his chest hair, surprised by his increased arousal in reaction to the pain, but he found his control slipping when she parted her legs to reveal the plump, moist folds of her core, covered only by her curling red hair below. He always did appreciate redheads. He touched himself, closing his eyes with a hiss when her fingers joined his stroke, her touch tentative along the sensitive length of his manhood. Her soft laugh brought his eyes to her face, where, despite the rosy spots on her cheeks, she appeared very amused by his reaction.
    “That’s enough of that,” He ground out, and brushed her hands away, catching them above her head in one hand while he used the other to position himself for entrance.
    She was tight and hot, her smallest fluttering movements generating such exquisite friction he nearly came out of his skin. He gritted his teeth, his muscles trembling as he held himself above her, closed his eyes to block her from his gaze so he could calm himself. The score of her nails down his back did little to assist his attempt to make this slow and lasting; neither did the way she lifted her legs to press her knees into his waist, and her huffy breaths speaking her desire for him to begin more than words. Therefore, he obliged her—and himself—angling his hips for one, hard stroke. God, this felt so wonderful! The simple mechanics of love making were so mundane on paper or in his head, but the act of being inside of Aline, of feeling her squeezes and gasps of pleasure, glimpsing the way her eyes widened as he thrust, and thrust, and thrust, were richly and incredibly complex.
    He blinked the sweat dripping from his brow, his aching arms forcing him to grasp her about the hips as he half fell, half rolled over her, thrusting and stroking inside her