The Officer’s Temptation Page 2
He tightened his grip around her waist and bent his head to hers. His lips brushed hers, and he felt her mouth open beneath his, pliable and warm. Her mouth was honey-sweet, and he pressed his tongue against her lips, drinking in the taste of her. She responded with a small moan, pressing her body against him as she arched her back. Her tongue darted across his lips, and he found he could no longer ignore the desire rising within him. His fingers curled against her scalp, bunched in the silky fabric of her gown. He kissed her again, more deeply, feeling drunk off of the sensation of her lips against his, her tongue sliding beside his.
Even with the distraction of her kisses, her breasts were no longer a distraction he could ignore. He pulled his mouth from hers, and kissed the skin of her neck. She spread her hand against his chest, and he felt her fingers working against the buttons of his waistcoat.
He pulled his hands to her shoulders, pushing down the short sleeves of her white dress, exposing all of her shoulders. He traced his fingers against the skin, soft as a rose petal, and across the tops of her breasts. He pulled his hand over them, gathering them in his hands, and felt her nipples stiffen underneath the thin fabric. She didn’t seem to be wearing anything underneath the dress. He pulled his thumbs over the small pricks, and was rewarded when her breath came at a gasp.
She bit her lip and he dropped his arm to her waist again, kissing her over and over while she pulled at the collar of his coat. He shrugged it off. It fell unheeded to the floor.
“I don’t know what this is, Arabella. God help me, I can’t seem to stop.” It was so hot in the room. He felt as if his whole body were flushed. Every bit of him was burning with desire for her. For this woman he barely knew. This woman who had appeared out of nowhere only days before. Who was married to another man.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she said, pulling open the last buttons of his waistcoat. That too, fell to the floor, quickly followed by his cravat. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling up the long ends of his shirt. He helped her raise it over his head, but then she was back in his arms.
He trailed a finger down her neck, back to her breasts. Her skin was hot and alive beneath his touch. He could feel her pulse under his hand, beating heavily against him, reminding him of the batting wings of a bird. His hand dipped below the collar of her gown, taking a soft handful of her flesh, and as he brushed his fingertips against her nipple, he drew out another moan from her pink lips. Her eyes closed as her she arched her neck backward. “Please don’t stop.”
“What about your husband?”
She kissed his mouth hard, let her body rest against his. “I don’t care about that now. Do you?” Her hips pressed against his, and he knew that she must be able to feel the hard pressure of his longing against her hip. He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her up into his arms, then backward, settling her against the low table behind her.
“No.” More kisses, and then he drew her white dress up over her curving legs. She shuddered, but did not stop him as he ran his calloused hands against her velvet flesh, up higher across her silky thighs. Reaching the tops of her hips, he paused, slowly traced his hand to the side, over her soft mound of flesh and silken hair. She was wearing no undergarments at all, and he quickly found the center of her molten heat. She was wet, and radiating desire for him.
The thought was intoxicating. He wanted to explore her body with his mouth, his hands, his manhood, every part of him that lived.
“Arabella,” he whispered.
She pulled him close, ran her hands over the stiff muscles of his back, under his shirt, and over the muscles of his buttocks. As her hands roamed, he quickly pulled at the buttons and flaps of his trousers, letting himself free, taking himself into his hands.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded, trained on his face and she arched her back, as if to encourage him. He didn’t need another invitation, and with one deft motion, he steered his cock between her waiting thighs.
He groaned as he entered her hot center. She was a woman wed, and no meek virgin. She was hot and ready for him and slipping into her was like slipping into a hot bath.
She moaned softly and he quieted her lips with a kiss, stilling himself within her as her tongue slipped around his. His hand wrapped around the back of her head as she wrapped her legs around him in welcome. Marlowe’s heart seemed to be beating faster than it ever had before as her scent flooded his nose. The music of her gasping voice beside his ear, the slick press of her lips, the strength in her fingers as she wrapped them around his arms.
Slowly, he rolled his hips towards her and she rocked back with the motion. They barely breathed, clinging to each other in the heavy air. He felt beads of sweat roll across the muscles of his chest. “Marlowe,” she whispered, clutching him tightly as they rocked together. She was more than he had ever dreamed, this moon goddess with the silver skin. He kissed her neck and wrapped his fingers in her hair as they pressed together over and over again.
He was beginning to lose himself in her, and so forced himself to slow his rhythm and lifted his head from her lips. He pressed his hands against her shoulders as he moved in her. “I want to see you,” he said, pulling at the flimsy fabric of the gown. “All of you.” He had to, in case he never had another chance. The sight of her naked beneath him would sustain him for years.
She nodded, and he reached around behind her, undoing the buttons that lined her back. The fabric slid off her shoulders and chest. He withdrew from her slowly and she gasped as he pulled himself out of her inch by inch, his slick member slowly emerging from between her legs.
With his arms around the small of her back, he pulled her against him, sliding her off of the table. The gown tumbled down her body like a silken waterfall. He gasped at the sight of her bare skin, every curve uncovered and bathed in the purpling evening night.
He took a breath in admiration. She was no Diana, he thought as she stepped out of the puddle of cloth. No, she was not the goddess of the hunt at all. She was Venus, her skin as pearly as sea foam, her lips as fresh and sweet as spring.
She clasped him, and they fell together to the floor, knees pressing against soft carpet. Marlowe ran his hands up and down her body, across the smooth planes of her stomach and the soft rise of her breasts. He had never had such a visceral reaction to a woman before. He was entirely under her spell.
She pulled him down, lying on her back beneath him, and shifted, opening her legs, so that he was sheathed inside of her again, melded to her hot flesh. They rose and fell together against the soft rug, hips sliding together faster now, in a wild rhythm.
He could feel the immense pressure building in him as he bent his forehead to hers, drunk on the sweet sensations of her body. She was gasping, raking her hands across his back, and with no warning, he felt the incredible pull of her release, the smooth muscles inside of her clenching against him as she whispered his name. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, yanking him deep into her core as she climaxed.
He panted, releasing himself with her, waves of pleasuring rippling through his body. He felt transported, carried away into a different world, where he was nothing but he, here with this woman who was only what she was. Two people, joined together in the half-light of a dying sun.
She was mostly shadows now that the sun had all but set. She stilled beneath him, her slender arms encircling him. Her lips now felt cool against his cheek as a bead of sweat rolled down his brow. He rolled beside her, and scooped her into his arms, where she fit more perfectly than anyone had before.
“What are we going to do?” she asked. He gently pulled a damp curl from her face, and kissed her sweetly on the forehead.
“I don’t know.”
More from This Author
For more juicy good reads, visit my website: scarlettlarouge.com
Archive.