Free The Earl in My Bed: A Forgotten Princesses Valentine Novella by Sophie Jordan Page B

the words never made it past her lips. His mouth crushed hers and her protest died in her throat.
    There was no resistance. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling his head closer, deepening their kiss and parrying her tongue with his. He backed her up until she bumped the bed.
    He broke the kiss and her eyes fluttered open. Her chest rose and fell with each savage breath that shuddered free of her lungs. His eyes glittered at her in the dark. He gathered her nightgown into two fistfuls against her hips.
    In a single, swift move, he pulled the nightgown over her head. The room’s cool air rushed over her body and she shivered.
    “Do you want me?” he said, breathing against her temple, stirring the fine hairs there.
    She managed a strangled sound, a gurgled affirmation. Want him? With every fiber of her being.
    His big hand cupped her bottom and lifted her high against him, nestling her against his prodding erection. He rounded the curve of her bottom, sliding lower, fingers teasing, probing her entrance and tearing a sharp gasp from her throat.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Seeing just how wet you are,” he rasped against her neck.
    Then she was falling. His body came down over hers, surrounding her, pinning her to the bed. Instinctively her legs parted wider, allowing him to settle deeper against her.
    His hands cupped her face, held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Their mouths fused together, a hot, wet melding of lips and tongues, of nips and long, deep kisses.
    His hands moved, slid over her. She let herself go, reveling in his mouth, his hands on her naked body. He pulled back, and she moaned in disappointment, watching his shadowy form as he shed his clothing. And then he was back. She sighed at the delicious sensation of his skin against hers.
    He took her hand and moved it between them, guiding it to his manhood. An incredible sense of freedom, of power, seized her.
    “Touch me,” he drawled in a voice she hardly recognized, so deep and guttural. Harsh with need.
    Her hand closed around his hard length. Her breath came faster. He was bigger than she had imagined. The skin softer.
    His groan emboldened her. A shudder ran through him and vibrated within her as she pumped her hand over him—slowly, carefully at first, then in long, firm strokes that made him breathe harder. She rubbed her thumb over his tip, delighted at his low groan, at the bead of moisture that rose up to kiss her thumb and coat the head of him.
    Releasing him, she shoved hard at his chest. He fell back on the bed. She hovered over him for a moment, wishing she could see the magnificence of his body. She traced the ridges of muscles along his stomach, the outline of each rib. The overwhelming, scandalous urge to taste him overcame her. Just as he had tasted her breasts, she wanted to taste every inch of his body.
    Tentatively, she dipped her head and tongued his navel . . . before licking her way down a thin line of hair leading to that part of him that made her belly tighten and clench in anticipation.
    She stopped, perched uncertainly over him. The rasp of his breath filled the air, encouraging her. As if he knew what she was contemplating, he pleaded, “Taste me.”
    Taking him in one hand, she placed a soft kiss at the tip of him.
    “Paget,” he choked in a voice she had never heard from him. Vulnerable. Lost. Totally at her mercy. It thrilled and aroused her, emboldening her as nothing else could. Slowly, she dipped her head and licked him.
    His body jerked almost as if in pain.
    She quickly released him. “Did I hurt you?”
    In response, hard hands clamped down on her arms. Before she could draw a breath she was on her back and he was between her thighs, spreading her wide for him.
    “I can’t wait, Paget.”
    “Yes,” she gasped, tilting her hips up for him in an instinctive move.
    Then he was there. Big and hard, easing into her. She panted at the sensation of him stretching her, filling her. He