Page 54 of The Rogue

Thought of any kind vanished completely as his lips continued on their path, mapping the lines of her body with delicious pauses at points of interest, as he lavished his attention on one breast and then the other. She arched beneath him, revelling in the feeling of his skin against hers, the heat of his mouth on her, those rough hands caressing as he explored her tender flesh.

Henri wondered at her own surprise as he continued down, kissing his way down her body until he parted the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, spreading her open to him. She had enjoyed bestowing her attentions on him, using her mouth to bring him pleasure, but it simply hadn’t crossed her mind that ...

The sound that escaped her throat was like nothing she had heard before. It sounded wild and wanton and illustrated perfectly just how she felt. She felt the soft huff of a chuckle against her overheated skin, and then he pushed her legs wider apart and she found she was only too willing to comply.

She writhed as he held her still with strong arms that allowed her no escape, should she be foolish enough to want to. His tongue explored and laved her, his mouth taking turns to suck at the delicate flesh before returning his tongue to its devilish work. And just when she thought there was nothing that could surpass his wonderfully wicked tongue and the torment it gave; his fingers joined the attack on her sanity and caressed her from the inside. And suddenly there was nothing else, nowhere else to go and a great unnamed force overtook her, power building around the centre of his attentions, enticing, tugging and pulling her into some decadent void, body and soul, until she held her breath, aware of some new precipice she lingered on.

And then she fell. Falling as the world shattered, any grip on reality flew apart and she heard his name on her lips in some distant place, but she was lost and wanted no return, adrift in a sensuous sea where nothing but this mattered.

She came back to herself in increments, blinking, dazed in the soft light of the bedroom, her limbs molten and too heavy to lift. Her eyes fastened on the very male, exceptionally smug man lying by her side. She gave a small huff of amusement at his expression and allowed him to preen. She couldn’t help but feel he deserved it.

“Goodness,” she murmured, barely able to summon the energy to speak aloud.

A deep chuckle rumbled through the bed and a finger touched her mouth, and then it trailed slowly and surely down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, and irresistibly on to recently charted but still unfamiliar territory.

“Miss Morton, I find I am bound to point out to you that goodness had little to do with it.”

She giggled as his curious fingers teased the soft line of skin at the top of her thigh. “That’s as may be,” she replied, trying to scowl and failing. “But I swear if you ever call me Miss Morton again, I shall hit you.”

With a grin he moved, insinuating himself in the space between her legs and dipping his head to steal a kiss.

“Well, I find that suits my plans after all,” he said, his voice low, and his eyes intent on hers. “As I intend to change your name to Sinclair with all due haste.” And then he silenced any words of triumph or joy she might have uttered by claiming her mouth with his own.