Free Cheryl Holt by Too Hot to Handle

“Yes, you are; now let me up.”
    “No.” He planted his hand on her lovely bottom, and his phallus was ecstatic.
    “You’re being a bully.”
    “My normal state.”
    “I can’t abide your acting like a tyrant.”
    “I don’t know how to carry on any other way,” he asserted.
    “You could learn another way.”
    “Why would I want to?”
    “Because your manners are atrocious.”
    “We’ll get along better once you grasp that my every wish should be granted.”
    “Despot.”
    “Emily?”
    “Yes.”
    “You talk too much.”
    “So I’ve been told.” She shifted about, trying todislodge his hand, and the motion was tremendously stimulating. “Lord Winchester?”
    “If you call me Michael, I’ll release you.”
    She studied him, expecting a trick. “Swear it to me.”
    “I swear,” he fibbed.
    “Michael,” she intoned, “will you please let me up?”
    “No.”
    “Ooh! You despicable, lying rat!”
    She started to wrestle in earnest, grappling and shoving at him, but to no avail. It was becoming difficult to hold on to her, so he rolled them, pinning her to the back of the sofa, with himself stretched in front to block any escape.
    “Emily?”
    “What?”
    “Hush.”
    She went still but watched him warily. She was nervous as to his intentions—and her own—and she confessed, “You make it impossible to behave.”
    “Have I asked you to behave?”
    “No, but one of us needs to keep a clear head.”
    “Why?”
    “So we don’t . . . don’t . . .”
    He wiggled his brows in naughty invitation. “Succumb to ardor?”
    “Well . . . yes.”
    It was a nightly game they played, with both of them tiptoeing around their obvious attraction. He flirted and cajoled, while she would nearly relent, then panic and flee, so they hadn’t been able to move from the spot where they were entrenched.
    “Have I furnished you with any indication,” he queried, “that I want you to be strong and resist me?”
    “No.”
    “Then why persist?”
    “We can’t keep doing this,” she said. “It’s sinful.”
    “According to whom?”
    “To everyone that matters.”
    “Not to me, and I’m the most important person of all.” He assessed her, his heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. “Give over, Emily. You want this to happen as much as I do.”
    “How could I
want
it,” she inquired, “when I don’t have any idea of what you mean to do?”
    “Your body knows. Let me show you what you need.”
    Though he was eager to forge on, he wasn’t positive what he planned. She was a respectable gentlewoman, with whom he dare not romp lest he had marriage in mind, which he didn’t. Was he set to ruin her? Could he?
    The blatant answer was no.
    Though his reputation was the worst in London, he never dabbled with innocents. There were too many wicked, willing courtesans who would perform any deed for a price, so there was no need to expend the effort or create the scandal that would arise should he cavort with the wrong female.
    He couldn’t decide what was best, but he wasn’t about to let her loose, so he kissed her. She was too shocked to object, and he seized the advantage. His lips were melded to hers, her soft breath coursing across his cheek, his tongue in her mouth. Initially, she was stunned by the intimate contact, but as his arms folded around her, she shook off her stupor and joined in the embrace, kissing him back with a relish and exhilaration he’d not imagined before meeting her.
    The moment was thrilling and exotic. Instantly, he craved more from her than she could ever confer. An absurd swirl of yearning rushed through him—for camaraderie, caring, and companionship, but sex, too. Sex that was so stirring he couldn’t fathom what it would be like.
    Why was he so attracted to her? With each passing minute, his fascination was more extreme. Why couldn’t he curb the reckless infatuation? She incited him beyond all sane reflection, and he was overcome by the notion that if he