Free My Fair Mistress by Tracy Anne Warren Page A

curved his hand, flicked his thumb and sent her winging over the edge.
    Her back arched, her spine rising off the mattress. Blinding delight took her in its grasp and shook her in a merciless grip, leaving her weak and whimpering.
    Long moments passed before her mind settled and she could catch enough breath to speak. “Oh, dear God.”
    He laughed and shot her a smoldering look. “I don’t know that God had anything to do with it, but you’re very welcome all the same.”
    She stared, then smiled, a giddy rush of pleasure still glowing inside her. “And you are very wicked.”
    “So I have been informed. Shall I be wicked again?”
    Before she could agree or disagree, his fingers started moving inside her once more, stretching her, filling her, making her crave again in ways she was helpless to resist. He held her completely in his thrall, dependent on his every touch, needful as she’d never been needful in her life. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but in seconds, he reawakened her desire, her senses swamped by a passionate longing she could do naught to control or deny.
    Without slowing his rhythm, he slipped an arm behind her back and drew her upright. Then he was feeding again at her breasts, suckling intently as if she were a feast and he could not get enough of her delectable flavor.
    Shuddering, she gave herself over, her entire focus narrowing down to Rafe.
    Rafe’s hands.
    Rafe’s mouth.
    His body cradled her close as he drove her toward a pleasure so intense she wasn’t sure she could bear it. Then, as before, he sent her soaring, cries of completion wringing from her throat as she quaked in his arms.
    Raising his head, he claimed her lips, suddenly savage in his purpose and demand. No longer afraid, she met him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, drinking from his open mouth with the same ferocity with which he drank from hers. He kissed her in a way that called for her total surrender, and she gave it.
    His breath echoed harshly from his parted lips when he broke away, his eyes hot and glassy with passion. “Let’s get you out of the last of your pretty things before I’m tempted to rip them off your body.”
    She gasped at his blatant remark but did nothing to deter him. Reaching out, he loosened the petticoat ties at her waist, then peeled her thin skirt and silken shift up over her head and arms.
    His gaze intensified as he swept his eyes over her exposed body, naked now except for her sheer stockings and beribboned garters. She crossed her arms over her breasts, her sense of vulnerability returning together with an all-over blush.
    But Rafe would have none of it, leaning forward to gently pry her arms loose and lower them to her sides.
    “No hiding,” he admonished in a stern yet tender voice. “You have nothing that needs the least concealment, my dear.”
    She swallowed and met his gaze. Reading the honest admiration and undisguised passion glittering in his beautiful green eyes, her anxiety slowly eased.
    Maybe he truly does like what he sees, she realized, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
    He smiled back, deep grooves appearing in his cheeks that quite literally made her toes curl and a swooping sensation clench inside her belly.
    Her nipples tightened.
    He captured one between playful fingers as he leaned upward to give her a slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss. She sighed and sank deeper into his embrace. Long moments later, he thrust his fingers into her hair, little silver pins popping in every direction.
    “Oh!” she exclaimed as her long tresses tumbled like a dusky waterfall across her shoulders. Wrapping a handful of her hair around one wrist, he buried his face in it and inhaled, his eyelids falling closed with obvious delight.
    At length, he raised his head, his voice pitched to a grave whisper. “Help me off with my clothes.”
    Her breath caught in her lungs at his request.
    Did I hear him correctly? she questioned.
    From the intent, smoldering expression on