Free Jo Beverley - [Malloren] by Secrets of the Night

be no lip kisses.” Instead, he bent to kiss her nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth.
    With a choked cry, Rosamunde went limp, but when it seemed he might stop, she clutched him to her. He laughed softly against her mouth-wetskin. “I fear your husband is not just neglectful, but ignorant, my sweet.”
    Digby? Digby should have been doing things like this?
    He’d squeezed her breasts sometimes, but she hadn’t liked it. He’d certainly never done the things this man was doing. Now, he was working the same magic on her other breast.
    Assailed by sweet sensations, she laughed softly, recognizing a natural force, greeting it as a birthright long denied. He looked up, warm eyes smiling as if her laughter gave him genuine pleasure. Then he touched the important place at last, delicately, almost questioningly.
    In answer, she spread her legs, but he didn’t cover her and enter her. He just stroked her there. Without pride or dignity, she clutched him, silently begging. For the first time in her life she truly wanted a man inside her. It was an extraordinary need, an aching hunger, an instinct, almost, that could not, must not be denied.
    He just touched, and stroked.
    “Now,” she commanded. “Do it
now. Now
!”
    His eyes flashed heated humor. “Are you sure?”
    It wasn’t a serious question, and she didn’t even try to answer. He grinned and moved over her.
    Though braced for it, she didn’t feel squashed or smothered. She even relished his weight in the cradle of her hips and raised them, seeking. As if in direct response, he guided himself slowly into her.
    At last.
    She relished every inch of it, but then, startled by the fullness of completion, she cried out. Laughing, he put his hand over her masked mouth. “Hush. No matter how safe you think we are, we can’t have you screaming and yelling.”
    Rosamunde put her own hand over her mouth, because for the first time she could imagine screaming and yelling. She’d cried out the first few times Digby had claimed his rights, but that had been from pain, and after the first time, she’d tried to suppress her noises because it hadn’t been his fault. That pain had stopped, but in the years after, she’d never made any kind of noise except the occasional grunt if he squashed her.
    Now, she braced herself for the pounding thrusts, commanding herself stay silent.
    It didn’t happen.
    He was back to her breasts again, nibbling and sucking and moving only slowly inside her. Now her hand served to stop pleas for more, for quicker, for harder.
    Now
!
    She mustn’t interfere. She couldn’t afford another failure like Digby’s recent efforts. She couldn’t help but move her hips, however, feeling his so hard against her. How different it was without a round belly between.
    How tightly he filled her. She supposed that Digby filled her, too, but with all the bouncing and pounding she’d never been so aware of it as now when she felt the friction of his slow movements, as she flexed her own hips in synchrony with his.
    She stared up at him, looming over her, many inches taller than Digby, and broader. Perhaps it should be frightening to be so overwhelmed, but it wasn’t. Instead, she felt sheltered. Cherished. At home. A creature safe in its burrow, lovingly tended.
    Sliding her spare hand up his muscled arm to his broad shoulder, she silently thanked him for precious gifts. But then, caught by a startling pang of need she dug her nails in his flesh. He grinned, eyes afire, and thrust once, hard.
    And she arched, lifting him off the bed, counting her own hot pulse pounding through her flesh like a drum, reveling in her liquid need tight around him. He coiled down and sucked at her nipple so hard it should have been agony, but it made her cry out against her hand and arch up harder, like the hard thrusts she’d expected from him.
    And this time he met her.
    At last he met her need for need, urgently, powerfully driving her back down where she wanted to be. Beneath