Free The Flighty Fiancee by Evernight Publishing

shrieked
with frustration. But he wasn’t done with her, not even close. She
turned her head and was shocked to see him bending over her and
licking his way along her buttocks!
    “Bartholomew….”
    Around the rounded crease of each one and then to
her surprise Bartholomew spread her ass cheeks apart and licked all
the way from hole down to her nub and then back up again. India
dropped her head against the rug and despite wondering if it could
possibly be right to do this found herself lifting her ass into the
air. Encouraging more.
    A new pressure assailed her then, so different and
yet so right, and India realized one hand had left her buttock and
something was pressing against her.
    She bit down on her lip as his thumb—she thought it
must be that—pushed into her. “Oh God.”
    Should he be doing that? Was it normal? India didn’t
know and in truth she did not care. She wanted it, she liked it and
Bartholomew was happy to give it to her. “You like that?”
    “Yes, oh God yes.”
    It was indescribable and India automatically arched
back against it. Bartholomew laughed, lifted himself and plunged
his shaft back inside of her. The dual pressures filling her,
tormenting her were almost unbearable. And then a tiny niggle of
pain made itself known, but like the bite on her breast, India
liked it, welcomed it. She could feel herself clenching around him.
The sensations building all over again and she cried out, wetness
flooding her.
    “Mine,” Bartholomew yelled. “Mine.”
    He pulled his thumb out and grasped both her hips
again, pounding into with a force that made her ears ring and her
eyes water. India could do nothing but clench her hands around the
rug and let him take her.
    “Mine,” he yelled again.
    Wrapped in a bubble of perfect pleasure India could
not, and did not disagree.
     
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    Bartholomew stroked his hand over India’s hair, his
whole body in a state of utter contentment. She felt so soft in his
arms, so right. He wished he’d done this a year ago. Don’t know
how I held out for so long.
    He took a deep breath and held her close to his
chest, wondering where the sudden tightness had come from. His
heart felt so full, almost like it was straining to break through.
The feelings he’d felt all season now rising to the fore, making
themselves known with shocking force.
    “Bartholomew?” she whispered, her words muffled.
    “Are you okay?” he asked, concern filling him.
“You’re not hurt?” Tell me I didn’t hurt you.
    She shook her head. “No, of course not.”
    He sighed in relief. Loving India had come
completely naturally to him, with none of the hesitation or
awkwardness bedding a virgin should have caused. They fit .
And he’d been so excited, so desperate for her. He hadn’t even
paused to wonder if he was going to fast.
    “I’m sorry if I rushed you, or scared you,” he said,
wanting, needing to reassure her. “The first time is always
difficult.”
    “You didn’t.” She sat up, shaking her fiery curls
out around her shoulders. The action created an instant erection
and Bartholomew ran one finger down the curve of her back,
marveling at how smooth she felt.
    “You’re sure?”
    “Of course,” she said. “I would have told you if I
didn’t like it.”
    Satisfaction filled him and he traced the line of
her shoulder blade. Was it too soon to fuck her again? If anyone
could take it then it was her. His flighty fiancée had a dirty side
and Bartholomew’s cock twitched at the idea of biting down on her
other breast with equal force.
    “I should go to my room,” she said, interrupting his
musings.
    “To our room, India,” he corrected. He’d be gentle
with her, take it slowly this time—until she asked otherwise. Until
she begged him to fill her to the hilt. He imagined all the things
he had to teach her, all the different ways he wanted to touch and
felt his heart race.
    Gathering up her clothing India shook her head. “No,
Bartholomew. I