Miss Foxworth's Fate Read Online Free PDF

breath and prayed.
    Slowly, she eased the small sleeves off her shoulders, and lowered her bodice, letting her breasts spring free of their covering. She lowered the gown to her waist and stood there, a goddess with cheeks on fire and the loveliest breasts he’d ever seen bared to his eyes.
    He groaned and seized her again, covering them with his own hot flesh.
    Her nipples dug into his body, and seared him as his mouth claimed hers once again.
    They both moaned at the contact, and the kiss turned savage, a needy and hungry thing that pleased them yet left them wanting.
    Philip’s hands stroked her bare back, marveling at the hot silky feel of her naked skin beneath his touch.
    He couldn’t remember ever desiring a woman more.
    But he knew that this was only the beginning. His cock was painful now, thrusting against his breeches and screaming at him to do something, anything, to relieve its need.
    His mouth roamed over her neck and dotted hot kisses down her throat. He continued on, encouraged by her sighs and the fact that she’d tossed her head back to permit him access to her skin.
    He found her breast and unhesitatingly suckled it deeply into his mouth, toying with the rigid bead that topped it and laving it strongly with his tongue.
    She groaned and thrust her hips against his, grinding them now, as if her need matched his.
    Philip Ashton drowned.
    As did Abigail.
    This wondrous sensation of having her breasts worshipped by the man she’d desired from the first moment their eyes met was rendering Abby senseless.
    It had taken a monumental amount of courage to lower her gown before him, and only the incredible heat burning from his eyes had given her the strength she’d needed.
    Now, she was simply ecstatic that she had obeyed his outrageous command and revealed herself to him. The crush of his flesh against hers was a thing to be wondered at—sometime later when her wits returned. For now, she was just going to relish his attentions, like that one, right there , and try to remain standing, when all her intuitions were screaming at her to topple him into the fireplace and savage him with her body. Somehow. She was hazy about the details, but the drive was overwhelming.
    After long minutes or possibly several eons of being devoured by his wonderful mouth, she felt cold air brush her skin as he pulled away.
    Cautiously she opened her eyes and looked at him.
    His cheeks were flushed darkly, his hair mussed, and his shirt framed his magnificent chest which was lightly furred with whorls of soft black hair.
    “Raise your skirt for me, Abigail,” he rasped.
    She stared at his eyes, their irises huge, the gold and blue flecks striking sparks within her.
    “Raise your skirts,” he repeated, his voice hoarse and flooding her with ripples of desire.
    Oh God. She wanted to. She’d never wanted to anything as much as she wanted to lift her hem. Right this second. A voice of caution rang in her ears, only to be shouted down by the thought of her Grandmother’s words. “ And if she does, well then, it’s the right man .”
    She grasped a handful of fabric and tugged.
    Philip was the right man.
    The soft stuff slid easily up over her thighs as she bunched her skirts in her hands. She felt her cheeks heat as his gaze dropped to what she was so readily revealing to him. The brush of the cool air against her skin made her tremble, but she did not stop until her gown was a mere buckled band at her waist.
    She found she could not meet his gaze and lowered her eyes.
    “Look at me, Abigail,” he said, raising her chin with one hand. “Look at me. See how I burn for you. You are so beautiful...”
    He claimed her in a kiss once again, but this time he plunged his hand between them, searching her belly, rubbing her thighs and sliding his hand lower until it was between her legs.
    She felt him ruffle the triangle of hair he found there and dip lower, seeking, spreading, rubbing her soft wet mound until she was whimpering in his