Page 53 of The Pleasures of Passion

Reward? The audacity of the man! “You deserve no rewards, you scoun—”

He cut her off with a kiss so thorough that her argument melted away, and she gave herself into his hands. Oh, how magical they were! One took over fondling her damp breast, while his other continued to delve through her curls until he found her slick flesh.

Then he teased and rubbed her down there like the reckless rogue he was.

“You’re so warm for me, sweeting,” he whispered against her lips. “And so damned wet, it’s hard for me to bear.”

Feeling wild and shameless, she cupped his arousal through his trousers. “Yes, I can see how hard it is.”

He jerked back to gape at her. “You’re not the Bree I used to know.”

Because he brought out the wanton in her. Lord only knew why.

She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Does that . . . bother you?”

“Are you out of your mind? Not one whit.” With a knowing look, he thrust his hips against her hand. “Show me what you’ve learned while I was gone.”

Not this, to be sure. Reynold had never encouraged her to explore him, so doing such . . . wicked things felt enormously freeing. Because she’d been curious. She’d always wanted to feel and stroke and explore, but Reynold had seemed disapproving of that idea.

Niall was downright eager for it. He swiftly unfastened his trousers and drawers so he could draw her hand inside, then returned to making her insane with his own hands.

So they explored together, finding each other’s most sensitive spots, relishing each other’s soft responses.

And hard responses, too, for the more she caressed him, the firmer and thicker he grew, until his member was sticking out of his trousers like a hound sniffing out its pleasure.

“I want to be inside you, sweeting,” he growled against her throat, which he’d just been tonguing. “Now. I beg you.”

“You’re . . . already . . . inside me,” she teased.

“Don’t be coy. You know what I mean.”

She did. And she wanted him inside her, too. Which was odd, since she’d never really enjoyed the act with her husband, so she doubted she would enjoy it with Niall, but . . .

He cupped her face in his hands. “Do you want me or not, my wanton wench?”

No one had ever called her a wench. Or a wanton. She rather liked it. It fed her urge to rebel, to let him take her right here against the tree.

“Because if you don’t want me—” he went on.

“I do.” When an expression of pure raw hunger filled his face, she added, more softly, “I’ve always wanted you.”

“No more than I wanted you.”

Catching her legs behind her knees, he dragged them up to encircle his hips, so he could slide inside her.

She grabbed his shoulders. My word. It was so . . . intrusive. Rigid.Good. It felt exquisite, even though it had been over a year since she’d done this. She knew from experience that the feeling wouldn’t last and the exercise of lovemaking would grow tedious, but for now, this was enough.

“God, you’re tight as a virgin,” he ground out.

He drove into her up to the hilt, and she gasped. She didn’tfeellike a virgin. There was no pain, no awkwardness. It even seemed natural to let Niall take her up against a tree, probably because she had loved him once.

But not anymore. She stifled the very thought. She couldn’t let herself be that foolish again. It always hurt too much when it was over.

“All right?” he asked.

The question took her by surprise, especially since she could feel the strain in his muscles as he held her in place. In her experience, men didn’t care whether the woman was . . . comfortable. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said hoarsely. “Because I couldn’t let go of you now if my life depended on it.”