Page 82 of The Danger of Desire

“You were saying?” she teased. She rather liked having him athermercy for a change. Sliding her fingers down his taut belly, she unfastened his breeches and reveled in the way the bulge beneath them thickened at her touch.

But before she could go any further, he brushed her hands aside so he could undo the rest and shuck breeches, drawers, and stockings in one fell swoop.

Leaving him naked at last.

She drank her fill. My oh my. Sothiswas what a man looked like beneath his clothes. Much hairier than she would have expected, not to mention more... sculpted. And his... cock... was sticking right out, the impudent thing.

When it bobbed under her gaze, she grew a bit embarrassed to be caught staring at it and dropped her gaze lower. That’s when she caught sight of a scar that ran about six inches down one of his well-wrought calves to his foot.

With her heart in her throat, she bent to trace the deep groove. “What’s this?”

He tensed. “Nothing.”

“Clearly not nothing.” She stared at it. “It looks awful. It must have hurt terribly.”

His breath grew heavy as he pulled her up from the floor. “I stepped on an oil lamp while in the cellar as a boy, and the glass shattered, slicing my leg.”

“Good Lord! How deeply?”

“Deep enough.”

“What were you doing in a cellar?”

He shrugged. “You know how boys are—always getting into trouble and going places they shouldn’t.”

Something about the sudden darkness in his eyes told her there was more to it than that, but before she could ask for details, he reached up to unbutton her shift.

“Enough stalling, wife,” he said hoarsely. “Now it’smyturn to see what I barteredmyfreedom for.”

Twenty

Warren had only a moment to congratulate himself on avoiding the subject of his scar before Delia slipped off her shift and drawers, and his every sense went on high alert.

Damn. She was even more beautiful than he’d imagined—skin as smooth and silky as cream, breasts like two custards topped with juicy cherries, and a jet-black thatch of hair covering what he knew from touch to be a delectable quim.

But best of all were the loveliest full hips he’d ever seen in his life. God help him. She was a work of art.

As she flushed under his gaze, he circled her so he could get a look at the rest of her plump arse, and the minute he saw it, he knew he was in deep, deep trouble. With her hair spilling sweetly down to frame it in raven curls, it was absolutely exquisite.

“Bloody, bloody hell.”

She went rigid. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a damned thing.” He gave in to the temptation to fill his hands with those two perfect globes of flesh and took his time squeezing and molding them. “You, my dear, have the bottom of an angel.”

The tension ebbed from her. “Do you make a practice of looking at angel bottoms, sir?”

He was tempted to say that her arse exceeded the best of any woman he’d ever seen, but no point in reminding her of his less-than-stellar reputation. “It’s a figure of speech. And one you amply deserve.”

“ ‘Ample’ being the operative word,” she said dryly.

“I like ample.” Rubbing up against her, he let her feel the length of his hardening cock against that pretty bottom. “As perhaps you can tell.”

“You like everything,” she murmured.

“On you, I do.” He reached around to fill his hands with her bosom next. “I like these.” Continuing to knead one pert little breast, he slid his other hand down to fondle her shamelessly between the legs. “And this. You’re a feast of pleasures, dearling.”

As he slipped one, then two fingers inside her, she gasped. “And we both know you like feasting.”