Page 106 of Again, Scoundrel

“An asshead,” Violet said, and her laugh quickly turned into a moan as his fingers deftly found and cupped her breast beneath the copious fabric.

“Are you feeling much better? Because the household is asleep. And if your mother arrives on the morrow—”

Violet pulled him closer to her. “She’ll want to sit by my bedside and monopolize my time.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Then you better kiss me now.”

“If that’s what you want, Violet.” His head dipped down to hers. “I’ll always give you whatever you want.”

His tongue played with her lips, and her body answered as it always did. Heat pooling in her belly, shivers vaulting up her spine. But now love swelled in her heart too, and peace flooded her mind.

“Day and night, my love,” he murmured. “Until you tire of me and force me to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said and slipped her hands inside his linen shirt. He was dressed in only his short sleeves, so her fingers could easily find the flat of his nipple and squeeze. “I want you here.”

“Where?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“Violet,” he said, lifting his head and examining her. “Do you like this nightgown?”

Violet glanced down at the high-necked, buttoned up garment. “Not particularly. Why?”

His hands reached for the two edges of it. “Because I’ve wanted to do this ever since Somerville’s dinner.”

He ripped, grinning at the sound of all those tiny buttons hitting the ground.

“Goodbye buttons,” Violet whispered.

“Good riddance buttons.” Alistair slid his hand down between her legs, where she was already hot and wet and ready for him.

“Mmmm,” she whispered. “There.” She bucked her hips against him. “There.”

He pulled himself back to examine her plump, luscious legs and wide hips.

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmured and moved down her body in search of her ankle bone. He’d missed it.

“I have something for you,” he said between kisses as he worked his way up the length of her leg to her aching core. There he licked and sucked and made her come.

It was delicious but not what she wanted. Or not all of it.

“I want you,” she said. “I want you inside me, Alistair.”

He crawled back up the length of her and cupped her flushed cheek in his hand. “I haven’t a French letter, my love. You’ll have to make do with my fingers.” He lightly swept the sensitive nerves of her with his fingertips. “And my tongue.” He deftly nuzzled the tender crook of her neck.

“You are my betrothed, are you not?”

“I am.”

“And you will stay with me until the end of time?”

“I will.”

“Then put yourself inside me. I’m in the mood for copulation.”

“As you wish,” he said and practically ripped his own trousers off in an effort to remove them from his body.