Passion Over Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

jaw line. Mercy, how skilled he was with his hands…
    She moaned and twisted on the bed, the sheets were so finely textured, they felt like silk against her skin.
    His scent enveloped her, his weight pressed her down into the carriage seat. The head of his cock touched her entrance, heated silken steel against her wetness. He put his lips to her temple and murmured something, then he jerked his hips forward—
     
    She woke and panted as eager hunger shuddered through her. Her inner walls clenched again and again, expecting to find his hard girth there. Instead she found nothing but emptiness.
    A deep moan forced its way up from the pit of her belly to her throat. She pressed her face into pillow and swallowed the sound back and it only increased the painfulness of the longing.
    Oh God, it was just too much to bear.
    Careful not to wake Ruth, she rolled from the bed. On weak, shaky legs, she crept across the chamber then slipped into the tiny, dank closet where they kept the chamber pot.
    She reached up for her satchel hung on a peg which contained her most personal items and pulled out that one hairbrush with the long, thick handle. Trembling all over with need, she gripped the handle, appreciating the relief it had given her in the past. The liberty it gave her.
    She prepared to insert the object inside her wet, aching flesh. At the first touch of the cool, smooth handle, her blood cooled considerably. She clutched the brush as frustration beat through her.
    Oh, oh, oh, but she needed the release!
    But what good was this toy to her now? She’d used it several times in the past two weeks to almost no avail. Solitary climax did not satisfy her as it once had.
    His image flashed into her mind, that jet-black hair falling over his forehead, his beautiful eyes darker with passion.
    There really was no replacement for the thrill of having a real, warm-blooded man.
    One specific, warm-blooded man.
    Her hands grew slack on the brush. An achy, congested sort of pressure had already begun to spread through her pelvis. Oh, damn and blast! Damn and blast! It would take forever to fall asleep now. Just last night, she had only fallen asleep as the first pale streaks of sunlight had shone upon her bed.
    And then Charlie had shouted from the next chamber, loudly demanding to know why the pans on the stove were cold and there was no coffee.
    She thrust the brush back into her satchel and hung the bag on the peg. Then she sighed.
    I need sleep. I shall go mad if I don’t get some sleep soon.
    Perhaps she was being too cautious. Her conquest should be all the sweeter for the repetition. She wasn’t a girl now. She could trust herself now. She wouldn’t lose her head or her heart.
    Moreover, what could just one more time with her dark-haired gentleman really hurt? Surely not much more than a pinprick. What grown woman feared risking a pinprick?
    Afterward, she would be able to sleep again undisturbed.
     
    * * * *
     
    The next day, slightly bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, Beth paused at the entrance to the dining hall at City Tavern. This was her last chance to turn back. But why turn back? She could certainly remain in control of the situation with Mr. Grey Sexton. Wasn’t she in control of herself? Of course she was. Taking a deep breath, she entered, expecting to be tossed out at any moment.
    But what gentleman would have the heart to question a widow wearing her veiled hat? Beth had borrowed the garment from a box in the attic. A little out of fashion but serviceable.
    It was shortly after noon and rumbling male voices and the clatter of cutlery echoed in the large room. One side was divided into partitions, a rabbit’s warren of refined, tobacco-scented male privacy. As she passed their boxes, men craned their heads, doubtlessly curious as to what business a woman could have here.
    She heard his laugh and turned toward the windows. In the farthest corner, Grey sat with two other gentlemen, newspapers spread over their table.
    He