Page 77 of Lord of Temptation
“Because it makes me feel alive. I never know what adventures await over the horizon.”
“But your brother has reclaimed his title. You don’t have to keep wandering.”
“I enjoy wandering, Princess.”
Moving her hand aside, he came to his feet and drew her up until her hips were pressed against his. “What we encountered tonight was rare. I don’t know why they were skulking about the docks, although I’ve sent Jenkins out to have a word with the two who are sprawled on the ground—if they’re still there. If my uncle were alive I’d suspect him of sending them to do me harm. But he’s long gone. I suspect you and I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But let’s not let it dissuade us from our purpose in coming here. If anything, let it make us appreciate that wearehere.”
His mouth blanketed hers. Images and thoughts of lurking rapscallions, blood, danger, fear all melted away as his eager hands and hungry lips quickly carried her away on a tide of pleasure. She could hardly credit her wantonness. It seemed to take so little effort on his part to have her desperate for what they could share.
With unbridled haste, their clothes were in a discarded pool on the floor and they were on the bed in a feverish tangle. She thought she would never tire of the velvety warmth of skin against skin. It seemed, since she now knew his body so well, that all should be familiar and yet she always discovered something new: a small mole on his left hip, toes that weren’t quite straight, a tiny scar just above his elbow, bronzed flesh above his hips, ivory below.
His body hinted at tales that she suspected he would never tell. He might say that the past didn’t matter, but if he truly believed it, why not talk about it? He revealed bits of himself like the flowing tides. He would give her an inkling of what his life had been like and then he would retreat.
But here, in his bed, when they made love, he held nothing back. He touched her with reverence, worshipped her, taunted her, mollified her. Each time they came together, she became bolder—exploring every inch of him, marveling at the various textures. She ran her hands over him with abandon while relishing his doing the same to her.
He flipped her onto her stomach, grabbed her wrists, and carried her arms above her head. Provocatively, he moved her hair aside.
“Tristan.”
“Shh.” He kissed his way along her spine while she emitted languid sighs. He nipped her backside. “You have dimples you know.”
“When I smile? I think not.”
He laughed. “No, here.” Releasing his hold on her wrists, he planted a kiss just below the small of her back, first on one side, then the other. “I like them.”
“Is there anything about the female form that you don’t like?”
“There’s nothing aboutyouthat I don’t like.” He flopped onto his back before gathering her close and easing her over him until she was straddling him, her hair forming a curtain that enclosed them until all they could see was each other. Plowing his hands through the thick strands, he brought her mouth down to his and kissed her thoroughly. Oranges and brandy. She could taste neither without thinking of him. Tart and rich. Seductive.
But then everything about him was.
He bracketed her hips, lifted her up, adjusted his position, and brought her down, stretching her, filling her. She scraped her nails over his chest, watched his eyes smolder, before leaning down and running her tongue around a nipple. She nipped at it.
He groaned, low and long. “You are a witch.”
One with power that she’d never considered she might possess. She began rocking, and now she was the one to moan as the center of their joining reawakened to pleasure. So good. So good. The reality of it was always so much better than the memory. Each coming together never seemed to be quite the same. The intensity caused her entire body to curl in on itself, to strain outward, to cavort inwardly. She always wondered how she would survive the sensations, and yet she did.
From her position above him, she had a clear view of the tension radiating through him. It served to spur her to greater heights. Cupping her breasts, he kneaded the pliant flesh, scraping his thumbs over the sensitive pearls that had hardened with his touch.
Snaking his arm around her, holding her in place, he sat up and captured her mouth, hungrily exploring as though he’d never kissed her before. She scraped her fingers into his hair, careful of his fresh wound. His chest brushed against her breasts, titillating, increasing her pleasure. The musky fragrance of their lovemaking rose up around them.
Then they were both crying out, arching back, clinging to each other as sensations tore through them. Spots of color danced behind her eyelids. When she opened her eyes, it was to see his taut jaw, his fiery gaze. She kissed his forehead, his chin. He sank back onto the pillows and she collapsed on top of him.
She thought it likely that she would never move a muscle again.
Stretched out, one arm behind his head, Tristan watched as Anne wandered his quarters, picking up items, setting them back down, moving on. After nearly destroying him with their lovemaking, she’d donned his shirt. He enjoyed the way it left so much of her legs bared, legs that had squeezed his hips and thighs as she’d carried him to new heights. “Didn’t you have enough of examining my things when you were here before?”
With slumberous eyes that caused his body to tighten, she glanced over at him. “I looked but I didn’t touch.”
He arched a brow in disbelief. “You didn’t touch anything?”
“It felt as though it would be invading your privacy.”
“And it doesn’t seem so now?”
“Now I don’t care. Now I want to know everything about you.”
“Didn’t you get enough with your infernal questions last night?”
