Free Winning Lord West by Anna Campbell Page A

hardness against her belly.
Interest sparked anew, although surely she’d received her measure
of delight.
    When he stroked her slick cleft, she raised
her knees. She didn’t expect
more of that transcendent pleasure, but she didn’t mind. She
wanted West inside her. She wanted to offer him a share of the
delight he’d given her.
    His back tensed under her hands, then with a
smoothness she hardly believed, he thrust inside her.
    “West,” she gasped in shock, opening her eyes
wide. He looked powerful and intent—and strained. At last she saw
how the leisured seduction had tested his control.
    He rested on his elbows and looked down at
her. “Am I hurting you?”
    Helena wriggled, feeling him settle inside
her, hard and purposeful. “No.”
    “Not too big?”
    A smile tugged at her lips. How flustered
she’d been. How silly. Right now, she felt magnificently full, as
though he laid claim to every inch. “Perfect.”
    He kissed her again. After they’d married,
Crewe hadn’t been interested in much beyond his own relief. He
hadn’t wasted time on kissing.
    She’d missed out.
    “Hold on.”
    With uncharacteristic obedience, she clutched
West’s broad shoulders. His skin was hot and satiny against hers.
His masculine musk imbued every breath she took. Instinctively she
tightened.
    His eyes darkened, and a muscle flickered in
his hard cheek. “Merciful God.”
    She tugged at the damp strands of hair at his
nape. “Good?”
    “Damn good.”
    This time she contracted on purpose, and
exulted in his shudder. Giving West pleasure was a pleasure.
Perhaps he hadn’t been quite as unselfish with her as she’d
credited. She arched up to bite his neck, and he shuddered
again.
    “You’ll kill me before you’re done,” he
grated out.
    “At least you’ll die smiling.”
    Her eyelids fluttered in bliss at the slow
glide away. When he slid inside again, she rose to meet him,
bringing him deeper.
    Helena’s wordless encouragement broke some
last bastion of his will. He began to move with inexorable purpose.
She thrilled to his male power. His breath escaped in soft grunts,
and his muscles turned hard and hot as granite under a noonday
sun.
    With luxuriant enjoyment, she ran her hands
down his long back to his firm buttocks. How she loved West’s
possession. She felt like the only woman in the world.
    Astonishingly, as he pursued that relentless
rhythm, a now familiar response fermented in the pit of her
stomach. The sensation spread, flooding her with heat. By the time
his control frayed, she trembled on the verge.
    He surged up hard and fast. The tendons on
his neck stood out in relief. His grip on her hips turned
unyielding. On a great groan, he plunged one last time.
    She dived into the fire, closing hard around
him. This response was deeper and purer than the first time. As she
crashed out of the mundane world into the brilliance of the sun,
West stayed with her. Her fingernails scored his shoulders, and she
arched toward him in shaking, incoherent delight.
    “Damn it, Hel,” he bit out.
    As she
quivered in helpless rapture, he held her beneath him. Then
with another rasping groan, he wrenched out, and pumped his seed
onto her naked belly.

Chapter Seven
     
    West rolled off Helena and slumped facedown
in the tangled sheets. He gasped for air. She’d been the answer to
a dream—better than a dream. Damn it, he’d come so close to
spilling himself inside her. He’d never taken the act right to the
edge like that before. Withdrawing had nearly killed him.
    The magic of Helena.
    “West?” she asked in a threadbare voice
beside him.
    “Nggrrr,” he managed. If she expected a
coherent conversation after that thunderous ride, she overestimated
his stamina.
    “West, talk to me.”
    God help him, the woman really wanted a chat.
When at last he managed to shift, he was surprised he didn’t creak.
He’d given her everything he had. He never wanted to move
again.
    Exhaustion weighted his limbs, but the need
to