Page 37 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

“Oh.” She wiped her face, furious with herself. Here she was, being enthusiastically ravished by an achingly handsome man, a man who desired her, and she was weeping.

But she wouldn’t give in to fear, or self-recrimination. This was for her, and all the lonely years she’d spent as an unwanted wife aching for companionship, and a forlorn widow who knew only the pleasure of her own touch.

The words in her forbidden books…how they spoke in them…words she’d always wanted to say, but had never possessed the courage to do so. The one time with Arthur that she’d tried, he’d looked so appalled, she’d hadn’t dared to attempt it again.

Yet Desmond wasn’t Arthur. He’d proven that.

“Fuck me, Des,” she said.

She cradled his head and brought his mouth to hers. They kissed deeply, hungrily. With each stroke of her tongue against his, she released more of herself, freed from the bonds of her shame. She reveled in this moment, this pleasure. This man.

He growled into her mouth, approving, as his hand continued to caress her breasts. Only when heavy, warm air touched the tops of her thighs did she realize that he’d used his other hand to gather up her skirts. He skimmed over the flesh above her garters and then went higher.

She gasped as his fingers stroked between her legs, a light but purposeful exploration. He glided over the dense curls on her mound before going lower to dip between her lips.

“Yes?” His voice was thick.

“Yes,” she panted. Then she cried out once more as he delved farther into her, tracing and stroking her slick flesh.

His thumb found her clitoris and circled it. She bowed back as sensation poured through her. He touched her deftly, rousing pleasure in tight, deliberate caresses before thrusting two fingers into her passage.

“Ah, God.” She moaned as she stretched around him.

Deep within her, he found a swollen spot, and his fingers stroked over it, again and again. Pleasure built higher, making her taut and aching and needy. She spread her thighs as wide as she could to give him unfettered access to her body.

“This,” he snarled into her mouth. “This is what you’ve been needing.”

“Yes, Des, yes.” The words were only gasps as she climbed higher. And then, she broke, the climax tumbling over her in all-consuming waves of fire.

He tore his mouth from hers, yet before she could protest, he was kneeling between her legs. He kept one hand deep within her, while the other gripped her thigh with almost bruising force. His gaze was fixed on her sex, his eyes bright, his jaw hard as iron, and the way he looked at her…as though she was the profane answer to every question he’d ever asked…

“This beautiful cunt.” Des lowered his head.

“Wait, wait,” she panted.

He stopped at once. “Stop?”

“No, only…” She swallowed. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never had this.”

“Never?” The desire in his eyes turned to fury. “That fucking husband of yours.”

“Is there something I ought to do while you’re…?” Shyly, she tipped her head down, toward her waiting sex.

“All you need to do, sparrow, is enjoy it.”

Filigrees of gratification unspooled inside of her. She’d never had a term of endearment before.

“And,” he added, “if you don’t like what I do, you stop me. Understand? This is for you.”

“I understand.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging him down. “If you don’t mind…”

He gave a dark chuckle, but then his humor disappeared, and he was all purpose and desire as he lowered his head.

The moment his mouth found her sex, she was lost. He ate at her, lapping and licking and sucking and nibbling. Consuming her. Adoring her. He was a voracious beast as his tongue swirled over her clitoris, and his lips learned her secret topography. All the while, he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of her, fucking her with relentless intent. The clay pots rattled and tumbled to the ground to roll in every direction.

Stop him? She would beg on her knees to have him do this to her for all eternity.

“Touch your breasts,” he commanded between licks. “Your nipples—pinch them.”