Page 71 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“By distracting you.”

“Your scheme worked. I’m extremely distracted.”

Ripping his shirt over his head, he threw the cloth at the floor, then lunged, catching her around the waist and pushing her back onto the bed. His mouth found hers. Her lips parting, he slid his tongue into her mouth, caressing hers, and drew out a moan.

Caressing the soft swell of her breast, his fingers drew a sensual pattern over her skin, then slid down her body until they reached the waistband of her trousers, stopped by the fastening. Breaking the kiss with a growl, he sat up and used both hands to undo her pants.

“Never had to take off men’s trousers before.”

“I find them to be quite comfortable.” She wriggled as he drew them down her legs.

His mouth pressed to her ankle, sending a tremor up her leg. Following the same path as the tremor, his mouth moved along her skin, nipping and kissing.

“I’m sorry for the bruises,” he murmured, pressing his lips to each one as he traveled up her body.

She sat up and grabbed his face, pulling him close.

“You didn’t know.”

“I still want to make amends.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

Grinning, he leaned forward, forcing her to lay back, and pressed the softest of kisses to her lips, then he dragged his mouth over her chin and along her jawline caressing her skin until she writhed against him, need flooding her body.

When he reached her throat, one hand glided down her torso, propelling delightful shivers through her limbs. Sliding his hand between her legs, he dipped into her center. She cried out, lifting her hips to his hand. His finger moved over her nub, and she cried out again, her body responding to his wicked caress.

“Please,” she begged, barely recognizing the guttural cry echoing off the cabin walls.

Covering her lips with his mouth, his finger dipped into her, performing a slow rhythm of torture as he stroked, his tongue and fingers moving together. She clawed the sheets in desperation, lifting her hips to his hand, but he refused to yield to her demand and continued his deliberate pace.

Alana bucked against him, her body winding tighter and tighter as her release neared. Her fingers digging into the mattress, she exploded, her head jerking back as she screamed, vibrating against his hand.

He sat back, shed his trousers, tossing them aside, then pushed her trembling legs apart and pressed his hard length against her. Fisting himself, he eased into her warmth, sheathing himself in one stroke, then leaned forward and recaptured her mouth.

His tongue slid across hers, sending shivers cascading through her limbs. Withdrawing, he eased backward, then thrust forward again, his hips adopting a demanding tempo as he drove into her, his own urgent need apparent.

Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them above her head. His free hand skimmed down her side, wrapped around her leg, and pushed her knee toward her chest, plunging deeper. She moaned, tilting her head back, and his pace quickened.

“I don’t know your name,” he ground out, his breath short.

“Alana,” she managed, her body arching as though electrified. She was going to rip apart.

“Cedric.”

Thrusting roughly, his mouth closed around her nipple, his teeth biting down, and she screamed out, grinding her hips against him and matching his harsh pace.She was so close.Her arms jerked in his grip, and unintelligible cries poured from her lips as the orgasm crashed through her.

He drove into her trembling body, burying himself again and again as he drew out her pleasure. The hand clenching her wrists tightened, squeezing as he slammed into her, driving deep. His voice overpowered hers as he released.

Collapsing on top of her, he sighed, his limp body pinning her to the mattress. She found the weight oddly comforting.

“We’re going to do that again.” His muffled voice came from her shoulder. He rolled off her and onto his back, then slid his hand across the mattress and grabbed hers. “Just as soon as I get my strength back.”

“May I ask you a question?” Alana’s quiet voice caused him to sit up, a strange emotion passing over his face.

“It depends on the question,” he replied, his tone guarded.

“Do you regret your actions?”