Free Her Wicked Sin by Sarah Ballance Page B

known so fully. But he brought it out of her. Demanded it.
    He nudged apart her thighs, and though she was nearly overcome with shyness, she allowed him. She remained unsure in those final seconds if she had taken complete leave of her senses, but regretted it not once—not even as she wondered when faced with his lustful girth how they could possibly join.
    He did not leave her to wonder long. Without the help of his hands—which were occupied in propping himself over her—he maneuvered against her opening. Lydia gasped at his solid presence, eliciting from him a smile full of questions. She nodded her acquiescence.
    At that, he nudged within her, his restraint undisguised. His face contorted until she wondered if she had somehow injured him, but before she could express her concern he lowered his head to suckle her breast.
    Lydia, still agape at the fulfillment he built inside her, cried out at the nip of his teeth over her wonderfully tight bud. He denied her all chance of recovery, embedding further inside as he continued to bite and suckle any skin within reach of his mouth. She grew hotter with every foray, and as the pressure inside her rose, he drove deeper and harder until he had seated so fully there was nothing between them but the furious slap of moist skin. They could grow no closer, yet the hunger built and demanded more.
    She fisted his hair, dragging him closer, finding his tongue and stroking it with her own. Her need grew feverish, her hips acting of their own volition. And then something inside shifted, inciting the sensation of falling with a kind of pleasure she had never known. From deep within, he rocked her with a deep shudder that gave way to spasms, each surge filling her anew. Again and again he thrust, pumping thickly, driving to her core. She wanted him to propel against her until the stew burned and the neighbors beat down the door, even as his kisses grew more thorough, offering their own sweet fulfillment. Still, she wanted that they would never part.
    And it was then, as she lay there in the most perfect haze, the unwelcome truth crashed upon her.
    It mattered not how indelibly Henry brought her to fruition or how wholly they joined.
    The man who affected her like no one else could not be hers.

Chapter Seven
    Lydia lay wonderfully in Henry’s arms as the first rays of morning light softened black to gray. The hearth was quiet, the fire having died during the night, but she did not mind the chill. It made sweeter the warmth of his embrace.
    She traced a fingertip the length of his forearm, regret edging into her heart—not for what they had shared, but for the undoing she knew would come. She was but a small and unexpected part of Henry’s journey, and his ties to his family were far too great for him to sever. It was a quality most endearing, but it would also mean an end. Lydia wanted to find contentment in their time together, but already her chest ached at the thought of being without him. She had been alone for a long time, but Henry did not merely fill her space. Her space inextricably belonged to him, and though remarriage was expected after the loss of one’s spouse, she could not imagine giving herself to another.
    Henry stirred, peering at her through half-lidded eyes. His dark hair stood wild over the pillow bere, contrasting brightly even in the dim light. Far below the covers he began to tease her with long, light strokes. “You should be warned,” he murmured. “It will take very little to incite the proof of my desires.”
    “I would consider that an invitation rather than a warning,” she said, winding her fingers with his.
    “I might like that,” he replied, turning to nuzzle her neck. He had no sooner touched his lips to her skin when the sound of a nearby wagon breached the walls. The noise, which soon rounded the house to the rear yard, rang too close for a mere passerby. In short time, horses whinnied greetings to one another.
    “Someone is here,” Lydia