Free Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature by Susan Johnson

tissue flagrant, her silken passage sleek with readiness, every nerve in her body poised for that resplendent moment of penetration.
    How could he stand there so calmly when he’d had that towering erection since Stewart Warner’s? How could he possibly remain so cool when she was frantic with lust? She wished she could say, No, I won't; do it yourself. And if she wasn’t nearly crazed with a sharp-set need to feel him deep inside her, she might have.
    “I guarantee you’ll like it,” he said into the sudden silence, as though he knew what she was thinking.
    “I can offer you the same guarantee.” But her voice was breathy, her gaze lifting reluctantly as though she were loathe to look away from the object of her desire.
    “I wasn’t doubting that for a minute,” he pleasantly observed, as though they were discussing something ordinary and mundane. “There’s something about you, Miss Attenborough. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life. And if you really like pillow books, I’m more than willing to try all forty-eight positions tonight.”
    With a sharp cry of protest, she abruptly climaxed, the thought of experiencing forty-eight positions with that magnificent cock buried deep inside her pushing her inflamed senses over the edge.
    “Jesus,” he breathed, reaching out to steady her as the orgasmic turbulence shuddered through her body. “Jesus Christ...” Moments later when she stilled, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Her eyes were tightly shut, tears seeping from under her lids, and he chided himself for goading her. He had no idea why he’d done what he’d done; he wasn’t ordinarily so churlish. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, with genuine regret, gently placing her on the coverlet. “I’m really sorry.”
    Her eyes opened. “That wasn’t very nice,” she whispered with a hiccupy little sniffle. “That incomplete, stupid . .. nothingness.” Her pout was fretful, although the pique in her eyes was deliciously sultry. “You owe me.”
    He smiled, her pouty demand unutterably charming, her unabashed ultimatum tantalizing as hell in his current state of horniness. “Allow me to oblige you, Miss Attenborough,” he murmured, stripping off his coat, beginning to unbutton his waistcoat. “I can see you require compensation.”
    With such a delectable promise and the beauty of his smile, she was assuaged and the bed was lovely, soft, soft, unlike his magnificent erection—pleasant thought. “I will expect a little extra effort from you this time.”
    He laughed and tossed his waistcoat aside. “Will I be graded?”
    “Of course. In any number of areas.”
    “Ah ... a connoisseur of pillow books, I forgot. Then I must live up to your exacting standards,” he said with a grin, disposing of his shirt and tie.
    “My experience with pillow books is not empirical, I fear.” “Fortunately, mine is,” he noted, kicking off his shoes. “Perhaps I can widen your horizons tonight, Miss Attenborough.”
    She smiled. “How lovely. I just adore learning new things.”
    He stopped in his unbuttoning of his trousers, unused to such girlish delight in the boudoir. “Perhaps we can both learn new things tonight,” he murmured, gazing at the lovely Miss Attenborough gracing his bed. She was one of the more voluptuous women he’d had the pleasure of mounting. She was by far the only one he’d ever felt this curious passion for—quite separate from lust. “Would you like to look at some pillow books while you’re waiting?” he asked, because he’d prefer not thinking about passion separate from lust. It was a decidedly outre sentiment in his life, and not one he cared to contemplate.
    “I don’t plan on waiting,” she said, firmly. “I believe you owe me a debt on that score. Speed is my only requirement at the moment.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “I’m only referring to your disrobing. Speed is not a criterion in