Page 67 of The Language of Love

She blinked up at him through lust-hazed eyes. When had they stopped kissing? When had she rolled onto her back?

His lips moved down and down, tracing the modest neckline of her gown.

This is wrong, Annis.

She vanquished the chiding voice with a single thought: I don’t care.

Henry’s slick, hot tongue darted beneath the worn cotton of her bodice, caressing the top of one breast. Her body arched beneath his, her fingers digging into his granite shoulders.

Annis had never been intoxicated before, but it must feel just like this. Who would have believed that kissing could bring such full-body pleasure? Each caress of his lips and tongue sent honeyed fingers of delight to every part of her—especially the part that throbbed, ached, and demanded—

She startled when his hand settled gently over her pelvis, the combined span of his fingers and palm easily encompassing her from hip to hip.

“You’re so small—so dainty,” he said, his voice marveling, his touch feather-light.

And then he caressed her, softly, at first, but with increasing boldness.

Annis’s response was almost primal, her body undulating and rocking against each rhythmic stroke.

“God, Annis.” A shudder racked his enormous frame, and he pushed his fingers between her clenched thighs, cupping her sex firmly over the thin fabric of her gown. “I want to touch you here—to give you pleasure. Tell me to stop.”

Annis opened her eyes and found him staring hungrily, desire pulsing in his swollen, bottomless pupils, his lips slick and reddened. She snaked a hand around his neck and pulled him down, claiming his mouth with a savagery that stunned her. Although she was clumsy and their teeth clicked together, his chest rumbled with low, encouraging sounds, and he opened wider, inviting her to explore.

Through the fog of sensory bliss, she became aware that he was lightly caressing the seam of her lower lips, the tip of his finger teasing the sensitive bud—but never quite hard enough—until she was grinding herself against his hand, greedily chasing her own pleasure

Suddenly, both his mouth and hand disappeared.

Annis whined. “Henry.”

“Shhh, darling,” he murmured. “Part your thighs for me.”

Scorching, incinerating heat licked over her skin at his wicked command—a command her body jerked to obey even as her mind pulsed with shame at her behavior.

Her body won the struggle with embarrassing ease and Annis opened for him, her hips pressing up with a wantonness that made his chest rumble with an approving purr.

Cool air caressed her calves as he lifted her skirt and petticoats, his fingers grazing lightly over her thick stockings, up over her knee, lingering where inexpensive cotton met bare flesh, skimming her inner thigh with slightly calloused fingers.

“Annis,” he whispered. The word sounded almost like a prayer as he delved into the damp curls at the apex of her thighs. He stroked her swollen lips with his thumb, not exerting enough pressure to part her folds, not touching that part of her that throbbed with need.

Desperate with desire and stripped of all pride, she opened wider for him, until her hips ached.

“So eager.” His voice was harsh and smug and his thumb tormented her, his too-insubstantial caresses forcing her to behave like a harlot, until she was bucking and thrusting against his hand.

He gave a low, wicked laugh and claimed her mouth again, his kisses rougher and deeper as he pressed a thick finger between her swollen folds.

Annis moaned into his mouth when he circled the engorged, sensitive nub with his thumb while another finger stroked her slippery sex, lingering over the entrance to her body.

He broke their kiss, his breathing ragged. “You’re so wet for me, Annis.”

His words sent a lightning bolt of desire straight to her core, and she abandoned the vestiges of self-control and pushed against him, gripping his shoulders to get better leverage as she rode his hand.

His blunt finger prodded boldly at her opening, entering her with one thrust.

A mortifying mewl slipped out, and she bit her lip hard enough to flood her mouth with the metallic tang of blood, her hips helplessly jerking to the rhythm of his pumping.

“Yes, such a good girl, Annis,” he praised.

Just when she’d adjusted to the thickness inside her, he murmured against her skin. “Can you take more?” A second finger teased and stroked her slick skin, not breeching her until she nodded.