Free Between A Rake And A Hard Place [Pirates of London Book 2] by Emma Wildes writing as Annabel Wolfe

evidently that was a misconception because at the moment not only was she about to be irrevocably ruined, but she had insisted upon it.
    Her father would be furious.
    Her Aunt Rose would swoon.
    Society would whisper, and disdain her.
    She didn’t care.
    Christopher’s mouth touched hers again, firm and persuasive and her breast tingled where he cupped it through her scandalous dress. His thumb smoothed her nipple through the material and the sensation was…delicious.
    His lips moved to her ear. “This will be better done if we are both naked.”
    “I will have to accept your word on that.” Her voice was oddly breathless, his weight balanced on top of her enjoyable even with both of them fully clothed. His body was hard—one part of him was very hard indeed if the rigid length she could feel pressed against her was any indication—and intriguingly different from hers. Cassandra looked into his crystalline silver eyes and said, “Whatever you wish.”
    “My sweet, lesson one, never say that to any man.” His grin was boyish and he kissed the tip of her nose.
    Boyish? Fancy that. The intrepid Christopher Ives who scaled high walls effortlessly and retrieved damsels in distress with a remarkable aplomb, momentarily seemed more like lesser mortals, and maybe even a touch vulnerable.
    “What is lesson two?”
    “I’ll show you.” He shifted, sitting up to take off his Hessians, and then removing his shirt. Just as efficiently he divested her of her gown, the gleam in his eyes almost searing in intensity when he saw her in the nearly transparent shift. “Beautiful,” he murmured, urging her back on the bed so she lay supine, his long fingers going to the bow of the ribbon at the neckline. “I need to see these again. I must admit my entrance into that room back at the palace left me with a memory that seems to have been etched permanently in my brain.”
    Maybe it was that he’d seen her stark naked before that made it less embarrassing when he tugged the satin bow open and exposed her breasts, his hands smoothing back the material and then moving to cup and fondle, cradling the weight of each one in his palms. “Perfect.”
    She hardly thought she was perfect, but if he thought so at the moment, she would accept the compliment, especially with his long fingers doing such wicked things.
    Not quite as wicked as when he leaned forward and licked her right nipple and then—most scandalously—took it into his mouth.
    The pressure and the licentious swirl of his tongue made her gasp out loud and her fingers threaded through his hair, the silken texture a contrast to the heat and strength of his much larger frame and muscled strength. He did equally wicked things to the other breast, tasting and teasing, and before she even realized it her chemise was eased down over her hips and completely discarded.
    His fingers slid between her legs. “I am glad the sultan never touched you. Please tell me this isn’t about gratitude.”
    It wasn’t.
    She wasn’t sure how to define it, but gratitude had nothing to with it. Especially with how he was touching her now, the gentle stroking making her breath catch in her throat. The intimacy was shocking, yes, but also pleasurable in a way she never imagined.
    “No.”
    He stilled. “No?”
    “I meant no, it isn’t about gratitude.” Her eyes were half shut, the whisper of his breath warm on her cheek.
    His smile was slow and extraordinarily mesmerizing. “Good. I want this to be about the attraction between us and nothing else.”
    That declaration gave her pause, but before she could decide how to interpret it, he touched her again, parting the folds of her sex and doing something interesting with the tip of his finger. The jolt of sensation made her gasp.
    “That’s it.” The words were said in a husky voice. “Let yourself feel. Sexual interaction between a man and a woman is about instinct and not intellect. I want you and you want me, and we will both get exactly