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All West knew was that he had to kiss Viola so well that she’d stop trying to make him propose to other women. A kiss to make her see how much he wanted her.
Viola. And no one else.
The best kiss he’d ever given. A searing, unmistakably passionate and possessive statement that he was claiming her for his own.
She was his. The only woman he wanted to kiss.
She twined her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, offering her lips trustingly, sweetly.
Walking through the park side by side was all well and good, and she’d looked so gorgeous by sunlight, but this was what his body had been screaming for.
He didn’t know whether it was right or wrong. He barely knew his own name. He only knew that he had to taste her lips. Make her his.
He slammed the door shut with his boot and lifted her into his arms, carrying her from the sitting room into the bedchamber.
There was evidence of Viola all over her room.Parchment paper filled with scrawled musical notation. A novel open beside the bed. The yellow shawl she’d come to his bedchamber to retrieve.
He smiled against her cheek, remembering that morning. How all he’d wanted to do was pull her down into bed with him and have his way with her.
She was making these little encouraging noises, urging him on, and all he cared about in that moment was pleasing her. Giving her pleasure.
He deposited her on the bed and pulled the white lace cap from her head, running his fingers through her hair until it hung in silken waves around her shoulders. He made quick work of her slippers and outer garments until she was only wearing a thin muslin chemise and stockings with pink ribbons at the top.
“You’re so delicious, Viola. I want to eat you whole.” He lay beside her, holding himself in check. Just a little taste. He eased the chemise down, feasting his gaze on her generous curves. He cupped her full, round breasts, loving the way they overflowed his palms.
As his large hands slid over her sensitive skin a ripple of awareness resonated through her body. He kissed her lips as he caressed her breasts, teasing the nipples to aching hardness.
This. This is what I want. What I’ve always wanted.
Kiss me harder. Take more.
She arched against him and her hands, which had been clasped behind his back, broke free andexplored him, finding the rich texture of the hair at the nape of his neck, the corded muscles of his throat, the marble-hard muscles of his biceps.
She tugged at his shirt and it came free of his trousers and she slipped her hand up, over his taut abdomen, through the hair on his chest, over his heart.
All the while he kissed her, she kissed him, and they moved together, back and forth.
His hand squeezing her breast, his other hand wrapped around the back of her neck.
He moaned softly when she brushed her thumb over his nipple, mimicking what he was doing to her. Well, it seemed the right thing to do.
He lifted her on top of him, cradling her against him, drinking deeper, taking more, his arousal pressing against her belly.
He trailed kisses down her clavicle, making a melody of it, teasing her.
She bent backward, wanting his lips on her flesh. The points of her breasts.
Still he teased, kissing around her nipples, until she wanted to scream.
And then. Oh, and then...
His lips closed around her nipple, wet and hot, giving her what she desired.
It was perfect. It was... she had no words left. Only feelings.
He kissed first one nipple, then the other, sucking with his lips, and tugging so softly with his teeth, only the slightest pressure but it brought every nerve in her body alive with a new song, a new melody.
She shifted her weight, instinctively opening her thighs and rubbing against his arousal.
