Free [Cornick Nicola] The Last Rake in London(Bookos.org) by The Last Rake in London

slid over the curve of her belly and paused at her pubic bone and she caught her breath on a sound that was part-sob, part-moan and moved her hands to cover herself. Jack laid the scissors down and forced her wrists back to her side, then took the remaining cloth in both hands and ripped it straight down the middle, pushing it aside to expose her body to the light and to his gaze.
    Air touched her bare skin, hardening her nipples to tight peaks, caressing the tight, secret place between her thighs that ached for fulfilment. Driven beyond frustration, Sally kicked off her stockings, then rolled over and grabbed Jack’s shirt, pulling him violently down to her. Something tore. She felt his skin, warm and hard and a little rough against the palms of her hands. His mouth was on hers, bold, possessive. His hand went to her breast, his lips and tongue following to nip and lick and taste her there. Sally writhed on the bed, arching under him. He tossed the shreds of her underwear aside, shrugged out of his own clothes and straddled her hips, pinning her down.
    She was so utterly lost and adrift in a world of unfamiliar sensation that when the moment came she had forgotten that there was something she had not told him. He was not being careful because he did not know he had to. He took her with one, hard thrust and she felt the resistance from her body, felt him push past it so that he was buried deep inside her and then, when his mind caught up with his body, she felt him go very still.
    It hurt. It hurt quite a lot, enough to pull her out of the deliciously warm and sensuous world she had been wrapped up in. She winced and he shifted slightly and that was painful too. She felt anxious, disappointed, and unsure how her pleasure could have melted away so quickly. He raised one hand and pushed the tumbled hair back from her face and his fingers were gentle against her cheek.
    ‘Sally?’
    Sally closed her eyes for a moment of pure mortification. All those wonderful, mindlessly exciting sensations had died completely now, leaving her feeling nothing other than embarrassment and extreme discomfort. How could she still be entwined in such an intimate embrace with this man— a man who was a virtual stranger —and feel nothing but awkwardness?
    ‘Must we talk about this now?’ she said beseechingly.
    A smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we don’t need to talk now.’
    ‘Good.’ She tried to move away from him, intending to get up and find her clothes—any clothes—anything with which to cover herself, but he followed her movement, still keeping himself inside her. It made her nerves prickle with an echo of the excitement that had possessed her so recently. Despite herself, she shivered.
    ‘Jack—’ she said.
    ‘You didn’t want to talk.’ He shifted her more closely beneath him, sliding deeper into her. To her shock, her body responded, rocking against him. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat and bent his head to her breasts, sucking her nipples, sliding within her with slow, deliberate strokes, his skin slick against hers until she started to feel heat pooling low inside her again and her body twitched and shook with a need that was a shocking, dazzling, exquisitely unbearable revelation to her. He was so high and hard within her, the demand of his body on hers was absolute, and she felt overwhelmed with the sensation and she screamed aloud and felt her mind reel and shatter into tiny pieces. She felt Jack shudder and collapse beside her and she lay still, breathing hard, in awe and astonishment.
    Jack rolled over and turned up the lamp. His face was dark, the expression hard, and her heart missed a beat.
    ‘And now,’ he said politely, ‘we talk.’
     
    Jack propped himself on one elbow and looked at Sally Bowes. On the floor beside the bed were the scraps of her underclothes that he had cut from her body. The scissors glittered on the side table. The sheets were tangled and Sally