Page 66 of A Recipe for a Rogue (The Beautiful Barringtons 5)

The sting was starting to abate, though she still felt... stretched. Full. It wasn’t unpleasant.

He pulled back a few inches and then thrust hard inside of her. This time, Rosalind instinctively raised her hips.

Torrington smiled down at her, curls in a riot around his features. He had one that was completely silver. The hunger that had etched his features only moments before softened to longing. The sort that made Rosalind’s throat grow thick and her fingers tremble where she touched his skin.

Each stroke was slow. Sensual. Punctuated with his mouth pressed to hers. Or by the quiet nonsense he whispered in her ear, some of it in French. Her body clasped his tightly, but Torrington’s pace didn’t change. His hand moved to where they were joined, brushing and searching, finding the spot which gave her the most pleasure.

Rosalind’s legs wound around his waist, fascinated at the way the gold in his eyes gleamed down at her with so much unsaid emotion. When he found his release, Rosalind held him tight, seeing the truth of his feeling for her in his eyes before he lowered back to her neck, breath rough and uneven.

Rosalind’s own climax thundered through her. A low shuddering of pleasure which spread out across her limbs. Like dozens of stars shining before her eyes.

That horrible dark fear tried to invade Rosalind, but she wouldn’t allow it. She’d promised herself, just for tonight, not to consider the future.

Torrington kissed her cheek, nose nuzzling into the warmth of Rosalind’s neck. It was a lovely feeling to have the hairs of his chest chafe against her nipples while Torrington still pulsed inside her. He fell to the side, keeping her close, the rapid beat of his heart hammering beneath her cheek.

“Are you still angry?” The question rumbled from his chest.

Was she? It was hard to tell with his naked body lying next to hers, knowing he’d made her dinner and the Sun King’s tart which she suspected was beneath the last uncovered plate.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

Torrington stood and went to the sideboard, where a pitcher sat.

Rosalind couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was more splendid out of his clothes than in them. So much better than anything she’d imagined alone in her bed at night.

He brought the pitcher along with a napkin to her side. Dipping the napkin in the water, he carefully pressed the cloth between her legs, dabbing gently. “Better?”

She nodded. “You made the tart, didn’t you?”

“I did. Do you want your dessert?” His eyes caught and held hers.

Rosalind took a shaky breath. “Just to be clear. Are you asking about the tart or something of a more sexual nature? I find that many things you say sometimes have a different meaning.”

He laughed, a sound Rosalind adored more than any music she’d ever heard. “True. Very clever, Lady Torrington. But I am referring to what lies under the silver dome.” The curls tilted in the direction of the covered dish. “But I must warn you, I am likely to change the meaning of many things without notice.”

“Duly noted.”

Torrington pulled on his trousers then picked up the tray and carried it to Rosalind. She was still sitting on the rug, bits of lace strewn around her. The nightgown was made for seduction, not durability, it seemed. He retraced his steps, picked up her robe, and held it up. “For all the good it will do. I’ve already seen everything.” He winked at her.

“You’ve put on your trousers—”

“Which I’m happy to remove with only a word from you. However, I suppose it’s better if you have no distractions when you taste the tart.” With a flourish, Torrington took the dome off the tray, revealing the dessert.

Rosalind’s hands raised to her mouth to keep from screaming in delight. “It’s beautiful.”

Crisp, perfectly cooked layers of fluffy pastry and brandied cherries were formed into a tight, elegant rectangle, all dusted with sugar. The smell alone made Rosalind’s mouth water.

Torrington handed her a spoon. “Once you break into thebaiser du ciel, you’ll see. Go ahead.” He watched her, smiling as she dipped her spoon, breaking the sugared crust. A thick, creamy custard laced with a layer of cherries spilled out along with a stripe of—

“Chocolate.”

“Yes. Taste it.”

Rosalind’s eyes widened. It wasn’t the same as the chocolate he’d used while makingpain au chocolat. It was... exquisite. Richer. Darker, with hints of cinnamon, and something else she couldn’t place. The mix of brandied cherries, chocolate, and the custard, which she recognized asthecustard, was so unusual inside the pastry crust.

“It was first presented to the Sun King, according to rumor, just as you see it. A flaky pastry crust layered with cherries and powdered sugar. He was unimpressed until one of his mistresses”—Torrington paused in thought—“I can’t recall which one, decided not to wait for Louis to sample the dessert. The surprise is when you break it open.”

“It’s marvelous.” Rosalind licked her spoon.

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