Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

And taking Daisy's hand in his, he placed it over his heart.

She could feel the racing beat, strong and thudding beneath her palm. "You're emotionally involved then." There was pleasure in her smile and lush teasing in her voice, her delirium echoed in the tripping beat of his heart.

"Oh, yes." he whispered, lifting the green silk of her skirt. Slowly pushing up the diaphanous mauve of her petticoat, he ran his hand up her silk-stockinged legs to the lace garters circling her thighs.

"You have a great number of undergarments on," he said with a smile, sliding a garter down her leg, "for someone who wants to hurry. You're shielded against invasion."

"My day clothes. We came home so late from court."

"Even drawers," he noted with a sidelong look of ironic query. "I remember when you made a point of not wearing any." He was untying the bow at her waist and drawing the lace-trimmed garment down over her hips.

"Now that you're here," Daisy murmured, feeling him lift her to slide them off, "I've reason to discard them again."

"So you can always be ready for me?" He stroked the silky hair between her thighs.

"Yes…" she whispered.

His fingers slipped downward to glide over the luscious liquid evidence of her wanton need, his fingers gliding sleekly inside, invading gently, deeply, and she moaned as rich luscious splendor inundated her senses.

"You are ready," he murmured.

She was always ready with him, she thought, like a houri whose hours were devoted only to her master's pleasure. It always astonished her how erotic sensation was stimulated by his presence: his touch, his beauty, the sound of his voice. His smile could make her forget completely who she was or where she was, make her heedless of her carefully cultivated independence, make her feel like a docile possession. She smiled at her personal enthusiasm.

"When you touch me, kiss me, want me—I'm completely abandoned, meek, and compliant, as if I must do what you ask or…"

"Or?" he softly prompted, his fingers gently stroking her slick hot sweetness.

Her eyes were half-lidded against the heat coursing through her body, an exquisite throbbing urgency spiraling up from his expert touch. "You won't…"

"I will, though," Etienne whispered, his proficient fingers bringing her nerve endings very near to orgasmic release. "And I understand." He knew what Daisy meant because his need for her had inexplicably altered his life. And if someone had told him six months ago he'd meet a woman who would do this to him, he would have scoffed.

"I can't wait," Daisy breathed, pulling him toward her, her hands on his shoulders strong, urgent.

And when he moved over her, to satisfy her passionate need, she touched the swollen pulsing crest of his erection, her fingertips gentle and guided him into her honeyed warmth. He filled her slowly, penetrating in measured degrees until his entire length was deep inside her. Then slipping his hands under her hips, he slid her down so he could invade a fraction more. And when he thrust forward that small extra distance, Daisy cried out in ecstasy.

"Welcome home," he murmured.

They made love in a fevered tempestuous haste the first time on the green velvet couch before the fire because it had been too long for both of them. And it was over swiftly.

"You embarrass me," Etienne said, short moments later, breathless and panting, his long black hair swinging forward to frame his face as he looked down at her. "I'm like an unchecked schoolboy."

He lay lightly over her, the crushed volume of her silk skirt and petticoats, buoyant, smooth and heated on their skin, a magical dissolving tenderness pulsing through their senses.

"I'm coerced by the same unbridled eagerness… so we're matched," Daisy murmured, touching the full sensuous curve of his bottom lip, the diminishing waves of sated passion balmy and sweet.

"I'll make it up to you." He was serious and teasing at the same time.

"A man after my own heart."

"Greedy woman."

She smiled in a delectable languid way. "So I'm not absolutely perfect."

But she was, he thought, like a man in love would think.

He carried her a short time later to the bed, placed her sitting on the edge and finished undressing her. Untying the ribbons gathering the décolletage of her chemise together, he pulled it over her head while she dutifully lifted her arms to his murmured command.

Smiling up at him as he reached for the buttons at the waistband of her skirt, she said, "I'm all sticky."

"We'll have to remedy that. Now be good and sit still," he ordered because she was stirring slightly on the bed, "while I finish undressing you and then I'll wash you."

"It doesn't feel… displeasing." Her voice held a sultry insinuation.

His faint smile took on a wolfish cast. "How does it feel?"

"Like there's a hot part of you still inside me."

"Clever child," he teased, dropping a kiss on the fullness of her bottom lip. "You noticed."

"Kiss me here too," she softly said, touching her tingling nipples. They were still distended and stiff as though her body was ardent yet, ready for love.

"Let me undress you first or we'll never manage to get the rest of your clothes off."

"How can you sound so reasonable and look like that." Reaching out she stroked the rigid length of his arousal. He was hard again, as enormous as though he'd not climaxed short moments ago.

"Someone has to be reasonable," he said with a grin.

"Why?" Coquettish dark eyes gazed into his.

"Because I want to get rid of this damnable interfering skirt and these petticoats. This waistband is too tight," he added, the button reluctant to be dislodged.

"I'm beginning to add an inch or so, here and there."

He gazed at her for a moment, desire, affection, an odd contentment in his eyes. "A pleasant thought," he murmured. "You need a new wardrobe then. Tomorrow."

"We can't do everything tomorrow and I may not want to get out of bed tomorrow."

"A gratifying possibility," he said, his voice hushed for a moment. "The next day then or we'll have someone come out