Page 72 of Her Royal Houseguest

An honourable man would stop there. He had tilted her head to the angle he desired, thrusting into her mouth with hungry demand. If she pulled back, he would, too. If she was anything but desperately responsive, he would stop. But she gripped his arms, drawing him closer.

His kway thickened painfully as his heart pounded a steady beat of desire. He held back just long enough to lock the parlour door.

Then he returned to skim his fingers along her bodice and gently push the fabric aside. The buttons on the back were easy to undo and soon he was able to lift one breast free of constraint.

She gasped when he held her breast in his hand. She let her head drop back as he kissed along her jaw and to her neck. She murmured deep in her throat when he brushed his lips across her shoulder. And then there was a quick whimper when he pinched her nipple.

He remembered the feel of her breasts in his hands. He remembered how she’d writhed in his arms as he bent her over and did as he willed from behind. Now he wanted to look up at her glory as she spread above him.

But first, he needed both her breasts free.

He drew her dress down to her waist. Such beauty with the afternoon sun on her skin. Rose and gold had never looked so exquisite.

He held her lush beauty in his hands, pinching her nipples while she squirmed in his hold. Her eyes were heavy and her mouth open as she felt all that he did to her. Then to her obvious surprise, he settled himself on the floor beneath her. He lay prone on his back as he urged her to kneel over him.

‘What—’ she began but he shook his head.

‘Trust me,’ he whispered.

She did, more fool her. He was not so sure he trusted himself but he did not stop.

He guided her to straddle his hips. He was fully clothed, so he expected to feel her underclothes as her legs spread wide. To his delight, she wore none. As his hands skimmed up her stockings, he encountered bare heated flesh. Just like yesterday. He’d forgotten that detail until now.

‘Are all English women open under their skirts?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But you—’

‘I will keep my clothes on. I swear it.’

She nodded, her gaze dazed because he was kneading her thighs. He felt the strength in her muscles, the flex of toned legs as she spread herself open on top of him.

‘Lean down,’ he said. And when she only came part way, he encouraged her to put her weight on her hands, set on either side of his head.

‘This is unusual,’ she whispered.

‘This is perfect,’ he said. Then he guided her forwards enough so that her breast hovered just above his mouth. He caught the nearest nipple between his lips.

‘Oh…’ she whispered as her eyes drifted shut. She arched, bringing her breasts closer. He felt the tremble in her thighs as she squeezed his hips.

Did she know she was grinding down upon his kway? Did she realise how thin Siamese pants were? That the way she moved on top of him steadily worked the fabric? How easy to slip through the pants opening.

How he wanted it. And it wouldn’t even betray his promise. After all, he would have kept his pants on.

But that was dishonest. His promise had been to keep her virginal. His promise had been to not betray her innocence. And yet—

Ahhh!

He slipped free. Buddha help him, she was there. Hot and wet. And she was moving over him.

She felt the change. Suddenly, her wet flesh pressed against thick hunger. She froze, her mouth open as she looked down on him. He let her breast pull from his mouth as his hands gripped her thighs.

One thrust and she would be his.

He held himself excruciatingly still.

And then she slowly tilted her pelvis. Her wet centre rolled down across his organ. A hot slide that had his hips jerking reflexively. She stopped at full arch with her pearl thrust hard against his shaft.

‘I want,’ she gasped.