Page 82 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

It wasn’t the same as the one on the terrace earlier. That had been a seduction, a taste, and a reminder. This was a devouring, a devastation, a conquering, and she let it happen because fundamentally, in the deepest part of her, she’d always wanted him to conquer her.

The kiss became raw, desperate, feverish. His tongue was in her mouth, demanding a response, and she gave it without hesitation. He pulled on her hair, angling her head back so he could kiss her deeper, hotter, and she could do nothing but kiss him back, tasting the alcoholic sweetness of the Scotch and the hot, masculine flavour that was all him.

This was what had happened in his office months ago—there was too much pent-up need, too much desperation for it to be anything else. But then Isandro, clearly losing patience, pulled his hands abruptly from her hair and gripped the neckline of her nightgown. Then he ripped it straight down the middle.

Wren had nothing on underneath it, and she gasped as the night air moved over her hot, bare skin. He muffled the sound with his mouth, kissing her again, hungry and possessive, as his hands stroked over her skin, tracing her sides, mapping the curve of her hips and thighs, the softness of her rear. He gripped her, his palms hot against her skin, his fingers digging into her a little as he held her against him, pressing her softness to his hardness.

And he was so very hard and so very hot. She could feel the ridge of his cock through the wool of his trousers, pressing between her thighs on the most sensitive part of her. It made her tremble and gasp against his mouth.

He murmured something low and rough in Valdoran that she didn’t understand, and then abruptly she was down on the grass, on her back, and he was over her, straddling her thighs, his hands on the soft ground on either side of her head. His gaze was fierce, hungry, roving over her naked body with such possessive desire that she couldn’t breathe.

‘I have dreamed of seeing you like this,’ he said, his deep voice like gravel. ‘Naked and beneath me.’

She shivered at the raw hunger in the words. ‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered. ‘Please, Isandro.’

‘I knew it.’ He cupped her face with one large hand. ‘You’re desperate for me, too, aren’t you?’

She nodded, biting her lip.

‘Give me the words, little bird,’ he demanded. ‘I want to hear them.’

‘I’m desperate for you.’ The words were hoarse, but she said them without hesitation. This was one truth, at least, she could give him. ‘I’ve been desperate for you for years.’

He eased his thumb into her mouth, letting her taste the salt of his skin, and it was delicious. She wanted more. She wanted to kiss his throat. Taste his pulse. Lick him everywhere.

She didn’t look away as she set her teeth against his thumb, biting down gently, watching his expression get tighter, fiercer, hungrier. He swore and pulled his hand away, leaning down and kissing her once again, his hand reaching to cup one bare breast. She moaned, the heat of his palm scalding against her skin, and when he pinched one hard nipple, she jerked as pleasure knifed through her.

‘I’ll have to savour you later,’ he murmured against her mouth as his hand roved further, over her stomach and down between her thighs. ‘Because I can’t wait.’

Good. It was better like this. Fast and furious, her conscious self overwhelmed and overtaken. Her truth hidden in her own pleasure and lost in his. So she spread her thighs for him, arching up on the grass, letting him touch her, explore the slippery, tender flesh of her sex, his fingers circling and teasing her clit.

She’d dreamed of this too, dreamed of him, his hands touching her, stroking her. She’d touched herself thinking about it, pressing her face to her hot pillow in shame afterwards.

But there was no shame now, not here, not with him. He was her fiancée and this was allowed, and she’d wanted him for so long. Too long.

She grabbed his powerful shoulders as he slid a finger inside her, her nails digging into the cotton of his shirt, arching into his hand. ‘Oh… God…’ she whispered, her lashes falling shut as the pleasure built and built.

‘No,’ he ordered as he slid another finger inside her. ‘Eyes on me, Wren.’

It was a command that she obeyed instinctively, meeting the fierce heat in his gaze. Part of her knew that looking at him while he was doing this to her was a mistake. Perhaps even a grave error, but now she’d made it, she couldn’t look away. His gaze held her pinned as his fingers worked, building her higher and higher, until he changed the angle, then pressed his thumb on her clit, and she cried out, the pleasure exploding into a thousand glittering sparks.

‘Good,’ he murmured as she lay shaking on the grass. ‘My perfect little bird.’

She panted, watching as he undid his belt buckle and then the buttons of his trousers, pulling down the zip. It was going to be too much, after that orgasm, to take him, but she wasn’t going to refuse. She couldn’t. She wanted him inside her and as soon as possible. But…she was naked and he wasn’t, and that was unacceptable.

As he was dealing with his fly, she reached up and pulled on the buttons of his shirt, trying to get the fabric open, to bare his chest. But then he was lying over her, brushing her hands away as he settled himself between her thighs. ‘Look at me,’ he growled. ‘Look at me, Wren.’

She had no choice but to do so as he positioned himself, then thrust into her, the size of him and sheer pleasure of feeling him inside her tearing a cry from her throat.

He felt so good. So right. As if he’d been made just for her.

She couldn’t stop herself from reaching up, cupping his face between her hands, pulling his mouth down on hers, so he was everywhere. Inside her, around her, every part of him against every part of her.

She kissed him as hungrily and as savagely as he’d kissed her, rocking against him as he moved hard and fast. She wrapped her legs around his waist, encouraging him to slide deeper, as she pushed her hands beneath the fabric of his shirt, feeling the hot, oiled silk of his skin, the powerful muscles of his shoulders flexing under her hands.

You’re mine, she wanted to whisper in his ear. I love you and you’re mine.

But those were the words she was too afraid, too cowardly to let slip, so instead she moaned his name, over and over, as the delicious tension inside her began to build yet again.