Page 112 of Harpy of the Ton
He opened his eyes, which shimmered silver in the firelight.
“I want to worship all of you,” he said. “Tasteall of you.”
He drew in a labored breath, as if fighting to control himself. Then he pushed her back until she lay on the blanket before him.
She reached for the top of her stockings, running her fingertips across the scarred flesh at the top of her thigh.
“No,” he said. “Leave them on.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. Did he find her scars so repulsive that he wanted them to remain covered? She turned her head aside, but he caught her chin and coaxed her back.
“Bella—there’s no shame in revealing your body to me.”
“B-but my scars…”
Recognition rippled across his gaze, and he sighed.
“Sweet Bella, I’ve no wish for you to cover up your scars. They’re part of you, and every piece of you is beautiful.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the top of her stocking, peppering her puckered flesh with tiny, open-mouthed kisses. “Beautiful.”
His voice was a low rumble reverberating through her body, and the moisture swelled between her thighs. But when she tried to squeeze them together, to ease the ache, he caught her legs.
“Oh no, love,” he said. “Let me look. I like lookin’ at your stockings—their softness over those lush thighs. And I like nothin’ more than to look atyou—my woman—all pink and sweet, when I’ve parted them thighs.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “A man could go mad for wantin’ with that scent of yours. All woman, you are, my Bella.”
He flicked his tongue against her flesh.
“Oh!” she cried. “That tickles.”
He kissed her thigh. “Doesthattickle?”
“No.”
“How does it feel?”
“Hot,” she said, as the heat inside her center swelled, “a-and wet.”
“Are you wet for me, woman?”
“I-I don’t know…” Her breath caught in her throat as he nudged her thighs further apart, moving the trail of kisses further up her leg.
Her body jerked with the need to ease the ache, but he held her firm, his huge hands grasping her thighs, while he moved closer to the source of her need.
“I believe my woman is ready for me.”
His voice whispered through her curls, and she lifted her head to see him kneeling before her splayed legs, his head of dirty blond hair between her thighs. Never before had she seen anything so wicked, so wanton.
Sodebauched.
“Lawrence…”
Overcome by shame, she whispered his name in a soft plea, and her voice caught in her throat. Then he looked up and met her gaze, his eyes filled with raw hunger.
The hunger of a beast ready to take his female.
Her shame at her nudity warred with the baser instinct to submit, and for a moment, they stared at each other. Then, at length, she caught a flicker of something else in his gaze, a spark of tenderness.
And love.
Closing her eyes, she lay back, yielding to him.
