Free Addicted by Charlotte Featherstone

his veins, Lindsay could imagine Anais on her knees, loving his cock with her mouth. He wanted to see that lovely pink mouth taking in his thick shaft. He wanted to see it glistening from her wet mouth and pulsating with the urge to spend freely along her full, high breasts.
    “I don’t need anything to facilitate my mind, thank you. Furthermore, neither do you,” Broughton lectured. “Have you seen enough?” he asked, suddenly sounding perturbed. “You look as though you’re about to fall asleep.”
    “Mmm,” Lindsay smiled, feeling languid and relaxed. He could fall asleep, right in Anais’s arms—and he would, tonight, as a matter of fact, right after he had thoroughly made love to her. Tonight he was going to take her home—to the divan that was filled with pillows. He would carry her, his odalisque, off to his harem. He was going to disrobe her, licking, devouring her for hours.
    He had planned it all, right down to the valentine he hadwaiting for her and the way he was going to propose to her. He thought about holding her in his arms as she lay spent from her release. He imagined himself leaning down and kissing her softly as he asked her to marry him. But then the image of plunging into her open, waiting body took hold. He could see himself thrusting deep inside, claiming her and watching her lips part in pleasure. He would sink into her again and whisper his proposal. Yes, definitely that, he thought, feeling his cock thicken. He would propose as he was filling her with his body and as she shuddered in release. As he spent his seed inside her, she would agree on a husky pant that she would be his wife.
    “My lords?” a soft and feminine voice demurred.
    “No, no thank you,” Broughton grunted, stiffening beside him.
    Lindsay opened one eye, peering down at a pair of ivory breasts that were spilling from the bodice of an exquisite beaded top—a houri’s bodice he thought, taking in the gold shimmer of the silk cording that edged her overflowing bodice.
    “Try it, Raeburn, old boy. A Turkish delicacy,” Wallingford taunted from across the room as his evening’s entertainment slipped her hand down the front of Wallingford’s trousers.
    Lindsay opened his other eye and saw that the houri held a silver tray before him. He looked up into her eyes and saw them gleaming. He had seen those eyes before, but where, he couldn’t quite remember.
    “Come, Raeburn,” Wallingford jeered. “Have a taste. The Greeks have their grape leaves, the Turks their Passion Lips.”
    With a shrug, he reached for the pale yellow circle that resembled a poppy seed cake.

    “I think you would find the red more to your liking,” the houri purred seductively.
    “Very well,” he said, taking a red cake from her tray. He popped it in his mouth and chewed the tough texture. “Bloody awful,” he mumbled to Broughton. “The Turks may keep their Passion Lips. I’d take a grape leaf any day.”
    “That girl looks very familiar,” Broughton said thoughtfully as his gaze followed the houri’s progress through the room.
    “Perhaps she will look even more familiar as the night progresses?” Lindsay asked with a grin.
    Broughton shot him a disgruntled look. “May I remind you that I’ve been courting Miss Thomas?”
    Lindsay shrugged and looked away. As far as he was concerned, Rebecca Thomas was no damned good for his friend. There was something about the girl he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but that unsavoury feeling was there nonetheless. He had never cared for Rebecca. She was manipulative and uncaring. Calculating coldness was always blatant in her eyes. Furthermore, he did not care for the way the conniving Rebecca had wormed her way into his gentle Anais’s friendship.
    Anais, he thought, searching through the thickening smoke for the clock. “Well, then, I’m off,” he said when he saw it was nearing midnight.
    “And where are you going?” Broughton asked as he stood, straightening his already