Page 27 of Brigand

She whimpered but it hovered on a sigh. She found the looseends of his shirt. Her hands crawled up his back beneath it, scoring his fleshwith their tender touch. He shuddered and deepened the kiss, questing.

God above. She tasted like honey and whisky and woman. Hecouldn’t get enough. Unable to resist, he let his kisses trail over her cheekto her ear. He sucked her lobe, which caused her to wriggle deliciously beneathhim. His cock, already hard, already ready, throbbed. He nudged it into thesoftness of her belly, mimicking what he would like to do, what he would do.

He fixed his mouth to the delicate skin of her nape andnuzzled her, nipped. She shivered and moaned. She tipped her head to the sideto enhance his access. Her nails dug into his flesh. She clutched him closer.“Yes.” A breath. “Yes.”

Fire flared in his brain as she arched into him, rubbingagainst his straining cock. God, she was responsive. Warm. Willing. And here.In his arms.

Violet.

He shook as he worked the buttons of her frock. He openedthem to reveal her breasts and his breath stalled.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Exquisite alabaster swells tipped with rosy pink buds. Hernipples were puckered, pouting. No force in the world could have stopped himfrom tasting them. He drew one into his mouth, groaning in delight. He couldn’tbear to release her but he had to try the other. Back and forth he moved,suckling one tip and then the other; they swelled, tightened, ruched.

When he grazed one with his teeth and tugged, she wailed andfisted his hair and held him there. “God,” she growled. “Ewan. Yes.”

He would have responded but he was incapable of formingwords. His tongue was busy, his mind bereft of cogent thought.

Well, one cogent thought echoed in his brainpan.

One thought, one urge, one burning need.

He yanked up her skirts, trailing his palm along a velvetthigh. Her lips parted as she realized his intentions, but she did not protest.

His heart leapt into his throat and swelled, near chokinghim with anticipation.

She did not protest.

Everything within him seized when he found her core. Thetuft of silky curls. The warm, sleek entrance to heaven. Everything seizedbecause she was wet. Slick. Ready.

His body pulsed with the force of his heartbeat.

He stroked her lightly. She mewled and shook. His fingerstrembled as he pressed them deeper, found her pearl, that tight knot of nerves,that hard little bundle at the crux of her being.

“Ah.” Her lashes fluttered. Her lips parted. Sweet awetransfixed her features. He dabbed at her clitoris, circled it, teased untilshe began to pant and squirm.

“Do you like this?” A hoarse whisper, words forced throughclenched teeth.

“Yes. Please.”

“Oh, I’ll please you, sweeting.” He doubled his efforts,dipping his head and tormenting her nipples at the same time.

Her frenzy rose, and then it broke. She went rigid thendevolved into a series of shudders and gasps and frantic wails, bathing himwith her warmth.

Good God, she was exquisite in her pleasure. Her head thrownback, her eyes misted over, her lips parted on a whispery sigh. He could stareat her forever. Forever. Until the end of the world.

But he couldn’t.

Need was upon him, and riding him hard. He fumbled with theties of his braes, yanked them down, fisted his cock and set it in place. Herdampness kissed him and he sucked in a breath. Anticipation clawed at him.Hunger raged.

He nudged her, touched her hymen. A thought flickered in hisbrain, the notion that he shouldn’t take her, shouldn’t despoil her, shouldn’tsteal her virginity. But he discarded it quickly as absolute lunacy.

This was Violet. He’d wanted her, wanted this, his entirelife.

Ewan St. Andrews McCloud was a man who took what he wanted—andGod help him, he wanted her. He would have her.

He thrust his hips, sinking in, sinking deep.