Free My Fair Mistress by Tracy Anne Warren

honey dripped over rough bark. “Open your eyes,” he commanded, “and see how exquisitely God has fashioned you. You’ve nothing of which to be ashamed, dear lady, nothing at all.”
    Despite her reluctance, she obeyed, startled yet strangely mesmerized at the sight of her breast filling his broad palm, her skin so very pale against the darker bronze of his own.
    “See how you fit?” he said, caressing her slightly. “You are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
    A sharp gasp of pleasure fell from her parted lips as he brushed his thumb across her nipple, followed seconds later by a tiny moan. Round and around he went, drawing lazy, utterly wicked circles over her areola.
    “Do you like that?” he inquired, continuing to rub her in leisurely, tantalizing, delectable strokes.
    Unable to speak, she answered with a nod, her body suddenly restless against the sheets.
    “What about this? You must let me know if it’s not to your liking.”
    Before she knew what he intended, he bent and took her breast into his mouth. Her head rolled against the pillow as he drew upon her, suckling deeply, his tongue teasing and tormenting her in ways she’d never imagined possible.
    Squeezing her hands into fists at her sides, she fought to stem the tide of whimpers that rose into her throat. But that became a complete impossibility when he captured her nipple between his teeth and bit down ever so gently.
    A raw cry tore from her lips.
    He smiled against her sensitized flesh, then gave her a few more licks before moving on to lavish her other breast with the same kind of devastating attention. Threading her fingers into the thick silk of his hair, she pressed him closer, urging him to seek out exactly the right spots.
    Wet heat pooled between her legs when he did, a hungry, empty ache throbbing in her core that cried out to be filled. She couldn’t recall ever wishing to be filled so intimately before, but Rafe did things to her—magical things—that made her burn with longing.
    As if he knew her thoughts, her desires, he reached down and grasped the hem of her petticoat, inching it upward over her thighs.
    Instinctively she tensed, glimmers of old memories returning. But he soothed her, quickly making her forget everything else as he blew a light stream of air across her engorged nipples, a sensation that set her atremble. Kissing her quivering belly, he trailed his hand along the inside of her thigh and began to play.
    She could barely think as his touches and kisses continued, her sense of place and time ceasing to function. He dipped his tongue into her belly button and sent a flash of heat through her middle. Growling against her flesh, he murmured soft, sensuous words of praise. Then the stroking hand between her thighs went higher and before she knew what he meant to do, he slid a long, very male finger deep inside her.
    A fresh rush of wetness gathered low, her body embarrassing her with its uninhibited response. But Rafe didn’t seem to mind as his hand moved, finger stroking in and out, and in and out, and in and out again. When he added a second finger, she nearly forgot her name, enraptured by the sensation of him working within her and the escalating need she didn’t fully understand even now.
    Led by her own powerful yearning, she spread her legs wider and let him do as he wished, her breath sighing between her lips in harsh, gasping pants.
    “That’s it,” he murmured, increasing the rhythm of his hand. “Let it go. Let yourself go. Feel it, Julianna. Simply feel it.”
    Tossing an arm over her face, she obeyed, giving herself over to the pleasure.
    And merciful heaven, what pleasure it is! she thought.
    Suddenly, a pressure rose within her. She bit her lip to hold back the moan, but he wouldn’t let her keep in the sound, urging her to cry out, to scream if she needed.
    And then, just when she thought she couldn’t bear even one more second, when her body was awash with flame and fire and mind-numbing need, he