This Wicked Gift Read Online Free PDF

doubt
suddenly ashamed, aware that William could make out the dusky purple of her
areolae through her chemise. A shaft of heat rippled through William, and he
could wait no longer.
    Without thinking, he walked forward. His
hands slid   up her waist. She was
separated from him by the thinnest layer of cloth. She shivered as he drew her
toward him. And then he leaned forward and closed his mouth around the dusky
tip of her nipple. Even through her chemise, he could feel it contract,
pebbling under his tongue.
    “Oh!” Her hand clutched his arm
spontaneously.
    He licked that hard tip, as if somehow,
her response would count as real acquiescence. Maybe, if he was good enough to
her, if he brought her to the most trembling peak of pleasure, she would
forgive him. Maybe he could give a hint of truth to this lie. He set his leg
between hers as he tasted her body, and she ground her hips against him. She
was either an incredible actress, determined not to flinch, or she truly wanted
him.
    He let one hand skim down her body to the
edge of her chemise. He pulled it up, up, until his fingers slipped between her
thighs.
    She was not acting. She was silky wet.
There was no space in his mind to encompass the wonder of her desire. He was
lost, sliding his fingers through her curls until he found the spot that made
her arch her back even more. He pinned her against the wall, pressing, tasting,
touching, until she trembled, her breathing ragged. And then he sent her
spinning over the edge.
    She made a high, keening noise as she
came.
    A small sense of intelligence returned as
she looked up at him. She was breathing heavily. Her skin glowed. Her chemise
was rucked up to her waist. Her body   pressed
into his. He could feel her heart beat against his chest, feel her ribs expand
with her every breath.
    He was still dressed. His member was hard;
his body screamed to sheathe himself deep inside her.
    “William?”
    No. He couldn’t fool himself any longer.
This was not some delicate virgin, submitting to his coarse lusts out of an
excess of familial feeling. This was Lavinia. She was robust, and unbreakable.
And for some unknown reason, she was not acting. She wanted him.
    And he shouldn’t take her. Not like this.
    But when he pulled away, she followed.
When he hesitated, she set her hands under his shirt. Her fingers slid up his
abdomen, over his ribs. Any good intentions that might have entered his mind
flared up in smoke, illuminating William’s path to hell. He pulled off his
shirt. The air was cold against his bare skin, but Lavinia was warm, and she
was caressing him. Her hands slid to his waist. Her mouth found his again, and
he could think of nothing but having her skin against his, her flesh pressed
naked under his. He pulled his breeches off and pushed her onto the bed.
    She landed and looked up at him. And
then—time seemed so slow—she lifted off her chemise. Every fantasy he’d ever
had compressed into this one moment. Lavinia Spencer was naked in his bed, lips
parted, eyes shining. He spread her knees with his
hands and leaned over her. He had a thousand fantasies, but only this one
chance. He positioned his member against her hot, wet cleft.
    He should not have been able to think of
anything   except the pleasure to
come, but she looked into his eyes. Her look was so clear, so devoid of guile,
that he stopped, arrested on the edge of consummation.
    You don’t have to do this.
    He didn’t know where the thought came
from—perhaps some long-atrophied sense of right and wrong had exerted itself.
The tip of his penis was wet with her juices. Her nipples had contracted into
hard, rose-colored nubs and she lay beneath him, legs spread.
    The next step would be so easy.
    It was not just her innocence he would
take. Lavinia’s beauty was not a mere accident that arose from the fall of hair
against shoulder, the curves of her breasts, the petals of her sex. No, even
now, spread before him like an offering, she glowed with an