Page 42 of Bedding his Innocent Mistress

His laugh tickled her heart. “I like you drunk on sex. I want to keep you that way.”

And he was inside her again, and she was lost, cresting on a wave, high on an ocean that was somewhere, out there, nowhere she’d been before, no familiar landmarks of her life, just him, her, and this swelling of feeling.

*

She must have slept again, because she woke.

And he was there beside her. Beautiful man-beast, sleeping, peaceful, and still somehow, savage.

She propped up on an elbow.

Her body silently complained. Every single muscle had been pushed into service.

It was breaking every rule she’d made, and she was pretty sure it was the last thing he’d want, but she wriggled across the enormous bed, and pushed his arm aside, so that his body was open to her, and she lay down beside him, her head on his chest, her curves matched to his.

And she slept, with him.

The whole night through.

CHAPTER NINE

IT WAS THE SOUND of the shower that woke her.

She blinked her eyes open, and stretched in the bed, her gaze dropping to the window overlooking the Thames.

And she sighed.

Physically she felt as though she’d both run a marathon and been massaged for days, inside and out. It was blissful awareness. Every muscle twinged, but she was liquid too.

Her eyes dropped to the bedside table and, with a small flicker of curiosity, she reached for her phone.

Nine o’clock!

Ivy hadn’t slept in like that in years. Not since she’d been a teenager and Nanny Anderson had finally retired, leaving Ivy free to raise herself, more or less. She stretched again and flicked through the news app for a moment, a

familiar burst of pleasure and pride mixing inside of her when it worked seamlessly, quickly and the articles covered broad, well-written content.

But it was only a cursory look.

Because there was a magnetic force at work, and while Rafe was in the bathroom, it was pulling her towards him.

She stepped out of bed, rolling her neck and then padded across the room. She poked her head around the door, the sultry good morning she’d about to issue sticking in her throat.

He was the epitome of brooding masculinity. His back was propped against the wall, his legs spread wide, so that she could fully grasp their trunk-like strength and the impressive sign of virility that had pleasured her all night long. Higher still, his muscular chest, covered in sparse, dark hair, and his face.

Brooding.

Lost.

And not in a good way.

His expression was thunderous.

She opened her mouth; but what could she say?

As if hearing the words stuck inside of her, his eyes lifted to hers and the dark emotions were gone.

“Join me.” A command, still rumbling with something she didn’t quite understand.

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