Page 58 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
And then his finger was back inside her. Not just one, she realized, but two. She felt stretched by him. Opened in a way that only a man could do.
She tightened in reaction, wanting to pull him deeper, to squeeze him harder, to…
She couldn’t think.
She couldn’t breathe.
It was too much, this stroke and thrust.
Flashes of sensation.
Lightning between her eyes.
Inside. He was inside her.
Yes.
Oh!
The sensations collided.
They burst together in her mind and her body as she cried out.
Such pleasure.
Such amazing sensation.
Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
Chapter Eleven
Bastards lie. It’s in their nature. Just as it is with gentlemen, and ladies, andchildren.
Bram had alwaysloved watching a woman in the throes of passion. He loved seeing if her nose wrinkled, hearing if she grunted or moaned. He liked the undulations of her body and the special way her breasts puckered. Did she shiver within her pants or thrust forward with the arch? Did her body flail wide or shrink into its pleasure?
These were the things he liked knowing, and with Bluebell it was no different. So when her eyes widened in shock and her arms flew wide, he grinned and watched with greedy eyes.
His fingers were pushed deep inside, enjoying the hard fist of her body around his fingers. Two inside her, and the others held back shallow because of her maidenhead.
Except when she orgasmed. He was so enthralled by the sight that he simply held on, his fingers pushing deeper to feel every contraction, every gasp and shudder that went through her body.
Including the rip of the membrane.
He didn’t understand what had happened at first. Things were moving so explosively around him. She was wild in her completion, and his blood was pounding with her every shift and moan. But eventually, she had to quiet. Eventually, her body stopped its contractions, and she caught her breath. Eventually,he looked down at his hand and saw the blood. That was when he realized what he’d done. That he hadn’t intended to rip her hymen wasn’t relevant. He’d meant it when he said he wouldn’t take her virginity. And he hadn’t. Not really. Except…
Jesus.
Her maidenhead was ripped. By his fingers.
He looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her body still giving tiny pulses that made her belly flutter. Her head was lying against the high back of the chair, and a languid smile played about her lips.
She was utterly beautiful.
And she was no longer a virgin.
With shaking hands, he pulled out of her. The basin was right there, so it was the easiest thing to do to wash his hands and then wash her. There wasn’t much blood anyway.
She hummed, deep in her throat, when he stroked her thighs with the cloth. She let out a murmur of delight when he pressed a kiss to the inside of her leg. And she whispered a word of thanks when he pulled her skirt down to cover her modesty, though he mourned the lost view.
