Free A Wicked Lord at the Wedding by Jillian Hunter Page A

vulnerable flesh.
    He lifted his brow, the superior male not only calling her bluff but reasserting his dominant place. Her gaze surveyed his nude body, a source of inspiration if ever she needed one. He had certainly risen to the challenge that she offered him. She pondered her next move, although his musky scent and overwhelming maleness certainly distracted her from cool strategy.
    He levered onto his elbow, his face smug. “If you’d rather I take the initiative—”
    With renewed determination she slid down between his outstretched thighs and raised onto her forearms beneath his erect staff. Her veins tingled in warm anticipation. She might not possess a wealth of sexual experience, but she had a keen memory for detail, and a maiden she was no more. She’d had ample time to reflect upon the few things he had taught her.
    And what she lacked in knowledge, she made up for in all the lonely hours of her imagination. Still, she would have liked a little time to reacquaint herself with the sinuous grace of his body—and its uninhibited response—to her beguilement.
    “Please,” he said, dropping back onto the bed with a moan. “Eleanor, please, for the love of God,”he said, rough breaths interspersed between each utterance. “
Please
.”
    “Is that please as in yes or in no?” she asked with the eagerness of one who enjoyed her wickedness more than was wise.
    “Yes—as in I will go down on my knees to thank you every day for the rest of my life. Please take me in your mouth.”
    He shook, from his shoulders to the calves of his legs, his hard body responding dangerously, inviting her efforts to arouse him. All that strength at her command.
    It was tempting to misuse this temporary power.
    But why not? A license to lust. And if she pushed him too far—a provocative thought. She had a wildly excited husband at her command. She was willing to pay what ever price he demanded in return.
    Her tongue darted like a flame. She licked her way from his tight sac to the heavy purple knob of his sex. His hips jerked. His muscles relaxed, then tightened again. He knotted his fingers in her hair and tugged, not hard enough that she felt pain, but so that she understood he wanted more.
    “Have mercy on me, madam.” His voice rasped pleasantly at her nerves. Revenge might be more sweetly served than she’d hoped. “Don’t make me spill into your mouth on our first night in bed together.”
    She raised her gaze in acknowledgment, conceding nothing, holding his gaze for a satisfying moment. At his burning look she lowered her head to resumeher campaign until she sensed he would break. It was then, at the moment she sensed victory, his body taut, dangerously still, that he suddenly caught her beneath her arms and threw her gently onto her back.
    “You’re overpowered,” he said simply.
    “You—”
    “Time to give the devil his due.”
    Her heart pounded, as if seeking to escape from her chest. In a simple act of unfair domination she had become his captive. Or had she? True, his large hands had locked around her wrists like shackles.
    But she had to admit there was certain advantage to having provoked Sebastien to this point. They could have been two strangers who had met at the masquerade.
    No confidences had to be shared.
    No promises made. Tomorrow they might be estranged again.
    Tonight they belonged to each other.
    “How can you be more beautiful than I remembered?” he mused, his husky voice warming her all over. “And even softer.”
    “I’m not as soft as I look. Not anymore.”
    “No?” He swallowed. “That’s all right. I’d rather you didn’t break easily.”
    She wanted to ask him to reveal more of what he felt. Instead, she allowed a moment to pass. “Your body is harder,” she whispered. “I might have bruises all over me in the morning. And I noticed a few linesaround your eyes. Not many, but … they are becoming.”
    “If you find them so,” he teased, “then I won’t fret the next