Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

brushing his palm lightly over the fullness of her breasts.

Daisy's eyes shut as quivering need raced downward.

"Don't move," he whispered, kissing her gently on the mouth. Striding swiftly to the door, the Duc opened it, took a tray from Louis, thanked him and nodded his dismissal simultaneously. Locking the door after it closed, he placed the tray on the bedside table and returned to Daisy. "Take your hair down now," he quietly said, taking off his suit jacket, drawing up a chair and sitting down beside her.

The velvet couch was soft, cushioned in down, engulfing her in its sensuous luxury. She was reclining against the high tufted arm, her legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, her arms raised already to do his bidding, the rounded curve of her breasts lifted high.

And he watched as she slowly pulled out the small jeweled pins holding her hair in place, watched the heavy coils of her hair slip over her shoulders, slide delicately over the olivine green of her dress. Putting out his hand, he took the hairpins from her, moving his chair closer so he could reach more easily. When she'd removed them all, he deposited the handful of sparkling pins on the table beside the couch. Turning back, he reached out, touched the heavy black silk of her hair, stroked it, let it slip through his fingers, swept it downward to cover the rise of her breasts.

"This is mine," he said, holding a sleek length of her hair in his palm. "You're mine," he added, brushing her lips with the curling end of her hair. "I've missed you," he murmured.

"I've felt deprived…" Arching her back slightly as tingling anticipation raced down her spine, her breasts rose provocatively. "… of everything."

He smiled, her meaning clear. "I'm here now to see that you're no longer deprived."

"I like the sound of that." Her fingers slid the top button of her olivine silk bodice free.

"You look… professional," the Duc murmured, intrigued by the number of small jet buttons yet to be undone, "in that mannish cut."

Daisy's dress was severely tailored, in a silk faille that was heavy enough to restrain the mounded exuberance of her breasts. With long sleeves and collar and cuffs in black velvet, it had almost a military look.

"This is my court persona."

"In contrast to?"

"My personal life."

"Which is being… exposed now." Each button sliding free further opened the bodice front, her satin skin, the lace of her chemise, the alluring curve of her breasts slowly unveiled.

"For you," she said with a seductive smile.

"Only for me," he murmured, the barbaric ring instantly apparent. He smiled. "Forgive me. My droit du seigneur comes to the fore with you. Do you want help?"

Daisy shook her head, almost finished slipping the faceted jet buttons free. The dress top opened like a jacket, the gown composed of skirt and bodice, and she slipped it off slowly, aware of Etienne's intense gaze. Tugging the tight cuffs over her hands, she leaned forward to pull it free, her breasts almost spilling over her chemise top. And the Duc shifted in his chair.

She handed it to him with a small smile, as if he were her waiting valet, and he tossed it on a nearby chair without looking, his gaze intent on her. "Your breasts are larger already," he said, sliding his fingers over the pliant flesh, across the sheer mauve silk of her chemise.

"They feel… motherly," Daisy said on a sigh of pleasure, the sensation of his fingers vivid and acute. "I can feel the air on them like a blanket… any touch or change of temperature"—her eyes held his for a moment—"like now."

"Do you mind being pregnant?" She looked beautiful, radiant, her gleaming hair trailing in arabesques over the smooth curve of her shoulders, her slender athletic arms languidly disposed on the back of her couch, her voluptuous form fecund in its splendor.

"I'm luxuriating in the state," she replied with a smile, stretching like a cat against the soft dark green velvet, her breasts swelling in luxury over the lacy top of her chemise. "And you promised to indulge me."

"Absolutely," he murmured, his arousal obvious as he sat beside her. "My promise on it."

"You must take your clothes off then because I haven't seen you in months and I'm impatient."

"We're talking speed here?" The quirk of his brow was sardonic.

"Definitely." Her voice matched the sultry promise in her eyes.

Pulling his cravat free, he draped it over the chair arm, unbuttoned his vest and shirt swiftly, sliding them both off in a single shrugging motion, and dropped them on the floor with the careless disregard a lifetime of servant-filled homes allowed. He unbuckled his low boots next, kicked them off, and pulled off his silk stockings bearing his monogrammed crest. When he stood to take off his trousers, Daisy's gaze focused on his fingers unbuttoning the fabric stretched taut over his arousal.

He looked up for a moment, grinning. "Tailors never consider amorous situations—damnable number of buttons." Although there was no hesitation in his strong, lean fingers, their task accomplished with dispatch. His long muscled back turned to her briefly as he stepped out of the fine gray wool, the crisp cotton of his monogrammed underwear coming off with the same smooth movement.

He was beautiful as she remembered when he stood before her a moment later, dark as an Arab, powerful and elegant both in line and limb, his erection so large, she said on a small caught breath, "I forgot—"

"Let me refresh your memory then." The light in his tropical green eyes, amused and knowing, an arrogance, too, implicit in his tone. There had been too many women to miscue that breathless comment. He knew what he looked like aroused.

"I should resent that tone."

"Perhaps under less dramatic circumstances you could afford to," he softly replied, sitting on the couch beside her.

"There's drama in ravenous desire?"

"In a manner of speaking. Actually," he added with a wicked grin, "It outranks any other form by a wide margin. Feel my heart."