Free Seduced At Sunset by Julianne MacLean Page B

barely
twenty. Though I remember their faces so clearly.”
    He took another deep breath and held her close for a long
time. These questions made him feel weary. Thankfully she asked no more after
that—though after a while, it appeared she had something else in mind...
    Drake let his eyes fall closed when she began to lay soft
kisses on his chest. He was glad for the distraction. Soon his body warmed with
renewed desire. Her lips were soft and moist, her breasts lush and full as they
brushed against his torso. A few minutes later he was stiff as a mallet,
aroused by the sounds of her breathing, the sensation of her hot lips on his
stomach.
    She rolled to straddle him, and her long hair fell forward
around his face. She kissed him hard, and he reveled in the sultry scent of her
skin and hungered for the salty taste of her womanhood.
    Cupping her soft fleshy backside in his big hands, he
lifted her up and set her down on his raging erection, which lay flat on his
stomach. He wanted to plunge himself deep inside, feel her writhe above him
with ecstasy, but she slid lightly over him, stroking her slick self on his
throbbing length, teasing him into a state of barmy, primitive lust.
    He was, quite frankly, surprised that he was ready to go
again so quickly after that explosive orgasm, which had left him so thoroughly
bushed. But those lips of hers... those soft breasts that filled his palms so
perfectly... He couldn’t resist the desire. His need for her, this very
instant, was irrepressible. It took his breath away.
    There was no explanation for the intensity of it. They had
only just met. Why should she be so different from other women he had taken to
bed?
    Perhaps because he had revealed so much of himself in a
very short time. It was odd, how she understood everything—his boxing,
his grief over losing his wife, his need for privacy from the public. In a way
it felt as if she were his mirror image in female form.
    Bloody hell, he couldn’t think about it anymore, for she
had taken his shaft in her hand, raised it up, and was now sliding down over
him, cloaking him in a slow, hot rush of sensation and passion.
    He flipped her over onto her back, and made love to her
with everything he had.

     

     
    Drake returned home at dawn, exhausted, for he and Lady
Charlotte had stayed up all night. They were like two wild animals in the
darkness, desperate to make every moment last, to squeeze the most pleasure out
of each stroke, each kiss, each earth-shattering climax.
    He was quite certain he had never performed like that
before. He had never known himself to be capable of such endurance. With
Charlotte, his desires had been insatiable, his strength relentless. Afterward,
he had come home to collapse on his bed and had slept for ten hours.
    It unnerved him that he wanted her again the very instant
he opened his eyes. She was the first thing he thought about, and he wondered
what he should do about that. Arrange to see her again? Or try to resist the
urge until the desire tapered off—for he felt in danger of becoming
obsessed. He had only felt like that once before in his life. Many years ago
with Jennie. The frenzy of his passion had driven him to propose in a matter of
weeks, because he simply had to have her and possess her in every way. Ten
months later, she was dead, and he fell into a hellish vortex of grief that
lasted many years. The only place where he could dowse his agony was in the
boxing ring. And so... The Iron Fist was born.
    But he had buried that part of himself when he left for
America, and the last thing he wanted to do was return to a dangerous passion,
which he feared had been awakened last night—in that jewel of a hotel
room with Lady Charlotte of Pembroke Palace.

     

     
    “My word, you slept late today,” Adelaide said when
Charlotte finally emerged from her bedchamber and walked into the drawing room,
where her mother was having tea. “Are you feeling unwell? I was getting
worried.”
    Charlotte