Page 24 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
He blew warm air over her. Then he raised his head and looked at her again. “I am dying to taste you. I’ve been dying to taste you.”
“Evan, what are you doing?” she asked, suddenly panicked. Men did this to women? She didn’t think they did.
“I am loving you, Angela.” He pressed his face against her most intimate part, actually putting his face right there. Then he lifted his head and traced a fingertip over her folds. “You are so beautiful here. You have the most perfect cunny.” He lowered his head and flicked his tongue along her folds. “You taste so good.” He licked deeper into her cleft, deeper into the entrance to her. “You taste like honey and spice. I love your taste and your scent.”
He licked her again, his wet tongue like liquid fire everywhere he touched it to her throbbing, aching flesh, and with each touch of his wicked, wicked tongue, she gasped. Gasped at the wonder of it. She had not dreamed of this. Ever.
He continued to circle her nub with his tongue, and pleasure pulsed through her, stronger and stronger. She clutched his head, thrust her pelvis at him and pulled at his hair, all the while she heard herself moaning and pleading with him never to stop, though her voice seemed to be coming from a distance.
Everything within her drew tighter than she could bear and then released into what seemed to her to be a spinning kaleidoscope of pleasure. She came back to herself slowly.
“I am sorry, love,” he said, already in the act of parting her legs. “I can’t wait. I’ve got to be inside you.”
Limp and weak, she could only moan and part her legs.
At the touch of his cock at her entrance, her sex clenched hungrily.
“Oh per favore...”
He thrust into her.
There was a moment’s discomfort. Only for a moment and then, the most exquisite pleasure-pain radiated up through her belly and outward through her body.“Molto Buono...superlativo!”
She had screamed the last as he increased the tempo of his thrusts.
He was chanting something over and over. Maybe he was saying she was tight? That it felt good? She only partly comprehended him as she clung to him and climaxed, screaming as the waves of pleasure came harder and harder, her inner walls clenching his flesh over and over and over.
He inhaled sharply and then groaned. His body shook against hers. Then he fell off to the side before enfolding her in his arms. “My love,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.
It was the last thing she remembered before sleep overtook her.
Chapter Eight
After spending several weeks of nights in bed with Angela, hours of shared pleasure and intimate talks, Evan still hadn’t been able to get her to relax and trust him enough to discuss the real reason for her visit to England.
And this was his one duty. His task.
His superior, Mr. Abney, would be in Brighton for a few days so that Evan could report to him what he had learned about Angela.
He had tried. That was when he had the time in between bedding her as often as humanly possible for the two of them and the necessary basics like eating, sleeping, and bathing. But when he asked, she still kept telling him nonsense about having come to England to find distraction and to have fun. She could have done all of that without crossing the Atlantic.
Her eyes glistened with unusual brilliance in the candlelight. Tears. Evan’s heart rate increased. He’d been plying her with wine all evening, hoping to get her intoxicated enough for her to let her guard down and give him an honest answer.
He turned to her. She held her half-empty wineglass to her lips, kissing the rim but not drinking at the moment. She studied her lip print on the glass. “You have the most wonderfully delicious wines.”
“Angela, why did you come to England?” he asked, then he grimaced inwardly. He was supposed to have warmed her upwith more conversation, not just blurt it out like that. But he’d been distracted by watching her lush, red lips pressing the glass so suggestively. Was she doing that on purpose to make him think about kissing her or think about her kissing him in places she had yet to kiss? Was she distracting him so that he wouldn’t ask her the question? Ridiculous. She didn’t know that he was going to ask. Perhaps she guessed?
He held his breath, willing her to answer completely this time. Once he knew the real reason she was in England, this thing would be over one way or the other. And then he could decide how best to protect her. At that thought, he blew out the breath he’d been holding.
Protect her?
Wasn’t this all about protecting Britain from a possible industrial spy? Well, it certainly started that way. But things had changed since then.
Yes, he’d protect her. God, yes. He wasn’t going to turn in the woman he’d fallen in love with. Never.
Astonishment fell over him. Yes, he was in love with her. Yes, he’d do or give up anything to protect her, even from the consequences of her own willful actions. She was more precious to him than anything else in life. His life would be meaningless without her. Yes, he’d even give his life for her if it came to that.
As it turned out, ironically, the wine they had drunk this evening had wrung truth from him and not just Angela. But would she tell him finally, fully, what he needed to know?
