Page 29 of To Steal a Lyon’s Heart (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #85)

“I cannot leave you with any doubt. I can show you I love you not only with words, but with my hands, my mouth, and other parts of my body.”

Daisy lit up like a firework. She could feel a certain manly part of his body right now, against her inner thigh.

“Show me,” she whispered.

He took her mouth, and he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer to the edge.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said against her mouth. “I will claim your heart, your body, and your soul. They are mine to keep. You will never doubt me again.”

She wouldn’t dare.

She wound her arms around his neck, their chests crushed together in the heat of their embrace. He scooped her hips against his, and his hard body pressed against hers. Her skirts would go no higher.

She didn’t know what to do but let him lead. He explored her mouth with his tongue until it felt like he was drawing her breaths from her. Daisy clung to him, her body wild with the need to writhe and squirm, searching for sensation. He pulled her tighter, lifting her off the chair.

“Sam!” she cried out in warning. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

He nuzzled her neck as he lowered to his haunches, settling her on his lap. “Mm, I love the sound of my name on your lips. Never call me Alston again. I feel nothing but you in my arms, Daisy. Just pleasure. No pain. Nothing exists beyond you.”

Oh, how she wanted that to be true, but she was overly aware of her capacity to hurt him, and the room, the empty hearth, and the door that surely someone would knock on at any moment.

He pulled at her skirts, adjusting her, and the feel of his breeches, the fabric and buttons under her bare thighs stole the last of her wits. She forgot about everything but the hard ridge in his breeches.

She knew, in theory, what she was feeling.

Growing up in the country, she was aware of the difference between males and females and how those parts interconnected for breeding.

But he was not a bull. He was a man, and the way his hardness hit every sensitive nerve at the apex of her thighs was a revelation she could have never imagined.

Every shift and movement sent dazzling sparks of pleasure down her legs.

Daisy squirmed, unable to resist the delicious friction that tantalized and enthralled her.

“Yes, Daisy,” he said into the bend of her neck, where he placed hot kisses over her skin, teasing and tasting with his tongue.

This. She was starving for this. Touch, desire, frantic need. She had never known she was missing it until right now, with Sam laying the path for her to walk—no, run—into this new world of passion, need, and reckless desire.

His hand reached under her skirts, cupping her bottom, and he molded her to his length, nudging her hips in a rhythm she quickly took control of. The tension in her belly tightened, her eyes pinching shut as sparkles filled the black void and spread throughout her body.

Something amazing was happening to her. A transformation. It spread from her lower abdomen, through her torso, her arms, her legs, her muscles flexing in anticipation, working toward a precipice.

“Let go, Daisy. I can feel your need. Shatter for me. Let me love your body with mine.”

Daisy wrenched out a moan, her lungs filling with a tight breath as the crest broke, and she fell into a state of heavy bliss, her limbs trembling as euphoria unlike anything she’d ever felt pulsed through her body.

He held her down on his manhood, grinding against her, his breathing fractured and quick.

“Daisy,” he groaned, saying her name like an oath, a prayer, a promise. He buried his face in her shoulder and grunted, thrusting hard into the softness of her body that was now slick between her thighs.

“Sam,” Daisy whispered, her own voice raspy and sultry in a way she’d never heard it before. He gasped, his hold on her tightened, and his head slung back. He panted for breath, wincing with each inhale.

“Sam, your rib!”

He smiled. “I don’t give a damn about my rib right now.”

Daisy shook as the fever in her flesh faded. She studied him and the sated, relaxed lines of his face.

He straightened and Daisy moved to get off, but he held her still. “Where are you going?”

“We’re on the floor,” she said.

He came up to his knees, lifting her.

Daisy squeaked. “Sam! I am certain you should not be lifting me!”

He set her bottom on the chair, pushing her skirts back, and cool air touched her inner thighs and the damp place between. He looked down at her. Daisy held her breath and looked down. She’d seen her own body, but she’d never seen a man look at her body the way Sam did.

He touched her—there—his knuckles grazing her flesh. Just the brush of his fingers made her want more. She shivered and her thighs tensed. It felt so good. Sensitive, but good.

He slid a finger in a circular motion and then slipped it inside her body. She clenched around him, the sensation shocking her. He moved his finger in and out of her. Her legs trembled, spreading open for him.

Daisy wanted to close her eyes, to dissolve into nothing but feeling and enjoy this moment. He pushed another finger inside of her, and the stretching, full feeling stung a little. She tensed, her legs snapping inward.

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured. “I promise. It will only hurt a bit at first.” He groaned. “You are driving me mad. I want to taste you.”

Daisy snapped to attention. “What?”

“I want to kiss you and taste you at your very core.”

“Is that done?”

“Only by people who like to enjoy sex. I’m sure there are plenty of prudes living miserable lives who would never conceive of such a thing, but that will not be you and me. I will have every inch of my wife.”

My wife.

Her legs melted open again. Those were the loveliest words he’d ever uttered. Daisy had been waiting forever to be a wife, to be wanted.

“You’re so delicious I came in my breeches. That’s how much you make me hunger for you.” He slid those two fingers in and out slowly. Like he’d said, it didn’t hurt as much now, but the firm outline of his manhood in his trousers was far larger than his fingers.

He kissed her there. Right where he’d been playing with his fingers, he licked her, pressing his tongue to that sensitive nub. Everything he did with his wicked tongue was like pure heaven. Daisy fell back into the chair.

He scooped his arms under her thighs and pulled her closer, his mouth vibrating while he groaned and teased her with his tongue. Her body clenched, the hollow where he moved his fingers in and out suddenly feeling ignored.

“Sam,” Daisy gasped.

He pushed his fingers back in, and the conflicting motions of his swirling tongue and dragging fingers ripped a cry from her throat.

“Delicious,” he murmured. “Nectar of the gods.”

Her legs shook, perched over his shoulders, and she couldn’t look away from his pale golden head, drinking from her between her thighs.

That feeling came again—the locking of her muscles, the shivery tension that took over her body, the tingling and sparking delight.

Daisy held her breath as she crested that mountain again, the sensation of falling and heaviness taking over.

“Sam,” she whispered softly, utterly spent.

“There is no better sound than my name on your tongue when I’ve pleasured you with mine.”

Daisy watched him with heavy lashes.

He stroked the hard line of his—what did he say before? Cock? The wet spots still stained his breeches. He caught her watching him.

Her lower stomach tugged at that.

He winked. He set her legs down and covered her with her skirts. He stood, hands on his hips and looking down at his cock straining his breeches.

Daisy didn’t have the energy to blush.

“I don’t think I have trousers in here yet.” He held out his hand and helped Daisy sit up. Daisy stood, her legs like soft butter. She fixed her skirts before looking up at him with a question in her eyes.

He cupped her cheeks. “Was it too much too fast?”

Was it? No. Maybe? The physical intimacy was exquisite, but the other things, like ending her betrothal, terrified her. The door to this chamber couldn’t stay locked forever. They had obstacles in their way.

“What happens now?”

“We’ll marry. But we’ll have to speak to Blakewood and Amelia and tell them the truth.”

Daisy would rather eat a live fish. Not that she was afraid of her brother—he could be reasoned with.

It was her parents and Lady Claystone she feared.

Her father already disliked Lady Claystone, though he hid it for her mother’s sake, but her mother would be crushed and embarrassed.

Daisy couldn’t imagine what Lady Claystone might do.

She didn’t want to think about it right now, not when her body still sung with beautiful pleasure because of Sam.

“You didn’t ask me to marry you,” Daisy teased. “You just assumed I would.”

“Cheeky wife,” he quipped. “Are you implying you don’t want to marry me?”

She did want to marry him. More than anything. How could she explain these worries?

He sobered when she hesitated. “Daisy, do you want to be my wife?”

“Yes,” she said. That was the easiest question to answer. “But I’m afraid we won’t be allowed.”

His eyes hardened. “You let me worry about that. I beat death. Cliffton and his wretched mother will be nothing.”

“And Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” Daisy asked.

“I’ll handle her, too. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m not about to give you up. You’re mine. They’ll have to kill me to take you from me,” he said, his words sharp as steel. “What is living worth if I can’t have the woman I love?”

Daisy’s whole body filled with light at his words. “Sam, I... I love you.”

He smiled. “Then it’s settled. We’ll marry, we’ll defeat our enemies, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

“It’s that simple?”

“No. It will be a fight. But you’re worth fighting for.”

And that was when Daisy truly knew she loved him. He spoke all the words her heart yearned to hear. He knew how to love her the way she’d always needed to be loved.

He kissed her lightly, and then there was a knock on the door.

“My lord?” Petrov said from the other side.

Daisy buried her face in his chest.

“I hope you have breeches for me,” Sam said.

Daisy wanted the floor to open and swallow her.

“The trunk in your dressing room has a pair,” Petrov replied.

Sam kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you let him in, and I’ll change.”

“He can’t see me in here!” Daisy whispered.

“He can. He is trustworthy and discreet.”

Daisy frowned. “How many women have been in your room?”

“None, and this room hasn’t seen a woman since my mother lived here, barring the occasional maid. Now this room will have a new countess. You.”