Free The High Sheriff of Huntingdon by Anne Stuart Page A

She jerked, arching off the bed in silent protest, but he s i m p ly pushed her back down, holding her shoulders p i n n e d against the rough mattress as he put his mouth where his hand h ad been all too briefly.
    She’d never paid much attention to her body before. Her breasts had simply been there, small, in the way, with no earthly use since s h e ’ d never intended to marry or bear children. Alistair’s mouth on her breast was an astonishing revelation of feeling so overwhelming that she wasn’t sure she could bear it. His mouth pulled at her, hotly, wetly, h is tongue circling h e r nipple, and she felt it grow hard in his mouth, felt her other breast tighten in sympathetic response, and she made a low, helpless sound of protest.
    He lifted his head to look down at her, and there was no denying the cool triumph in his eyes. “I thought it a little extreme myself,” he said, his slightly labored breathing the only sign that he was moved by her reaction. “But there’s hope. The prophecy goes on.” And he touched the tip of his tongue to her other breast through the thin cloth, dampening it, teasing it, and Elspeth found she was clutching the heavy velvet beneath her, fisting it in her hands to keep from touching him.
    “Does it?” She couldn’t even manage a pretense of calm. Her voice came out in a quiet gasp.
    He s a t back, staring down at her, a n d his sleekly mus cled chest was rising and falling more rapidly now. “Yes,” he said, reaching to the high neckline of the thin chemise. With one deft yank he tore it open, ripping it down the middle from neckline to hem, pulling it away from her pale white body, exposing it to the moonlight and his cool, deceptively dispassionate gaze. “In thunder, rain, brought right again,” he said, and it took a moment before she realized he was still quoting the prophecy. “And all shall be as God’s design.”
    “God’s design?” She watched him, wary, waiting. “You think God has bl e s s ed our union?”
    “Or the d e v i l. It m ak e s little difference to me.” He reached out and took her heavy silver cross in his hand. “Is this supposed to protect you from the likes of me?”
    “It’s failed.”
    “Indeed.” He yanked on it, and it broke free, to dis appear in the tumbled bedclothes. He leaned forward and put h i s mouth hard against hers, his body pressing against her undressed one, pressing her into the warmth of the bed, s ett l i n g between her long legs. She searched for one la s t defense, one trace of p rid e , of self-discipline or pro tection. None remained as s h e released her grip on the bed beneath her and put her arms around his neck, slanting her mouth beneath his, kissing him back.
    His chest was hot, sleek, and strong against hers, his arms muscled and t i gh t with self-control. H e slid his hand between their bodies, between her thighs, and her shock thi s time w a s even more intense. As was his determination, his fingers threaded through the thick tangle of hair, touching her, pressing against her, sliding deep into the damp, throbbing heat of h e r. She tried to tighten her legs, but he would have none of it. He was strong, more th an she realized, and very determined, and he broke the kiss, p a n t i n g slightly. “Don’t fight me,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
    She stared up at him, baffled, her mouth tingling, her body trembling with fear and longing. “Why not? I thought you e nj oyed hurting.”
    He cursed then, a low, foul curse that made her flinch. His eyes were mesmerizing, watching her. “Do I terrify you, then?”
    She wanted to say yes. And yet if he left her now, sent h e r back to the convent, she would be very willing to die.
    She just managed a smile. “Do I terrify you?” she countered in a rough whisper.
    He shook his head, more in wonder than denial. “You astonish me,” he said. And sliding down the length of her body, he shocked her still further by putting his mouth bet ween