Regency Rogues: Stolen Sins. Julia Justiss

in one giant leap, and pushed against him, wanting the exquisite caress of those fingers to slide deeper, to the very core of her.

      But he took his time, progressing deeper ever so slowly, each minute a new bit of flesh igniting as he touched it. When at least he’d penetrated to the depths of her and began a slow advance and withdrawal, advance and withdrawal, she was sobbing with arousal.

      But he would not be hurried. Only gradually did he increase the rhythm, and when his thrusting fingers finally reached a rapid tempo, she shattered in a climax so intense, she lost all sense of who and where she was.

      When the earth had settled, the stars realigned, and the ability to breathe and speak returned, Maggie gazed up to see Giles watching her, a slight smile on his lips.

      She smiled back, tried to lift a finger to trace his lips, and couldn’t quite manage it. He caught her hand and kissed it.

      ‘That was—glorious,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’

      His smile widened and he made her a little bow. ‘Your humble servant is pleased to serve.’

      She shook her head at him. ‘But it’s not right.’

      His smile vanished. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘That was the most erotic experience of my life—and you are still completely clothed.’

      He grinned again. ‘What would you have me remove?’

      ‘Nothing! Not yet. But if you will pour me some restorative wine—there should be a decanter on the table over there—I will endeavour to do the removing.’

      ‘I like the sound of that. But remember—the breeches stay on.’

      She gave him a long, slow smile. ‘So did my shift.’

      She saw him catch her meaning in the widening of his eyes and sharp intake of breath. Bounding up, he soon located decanter and glass, poured a generous amount, and offered it to her.

      She sat up and took a long swallow, then handed him the glass. She could see the erection straining against his trouser flap as he carried the glass back to the table, and another spiral of anticipation and delight whirled through her.

      She stood, unhooking her skirt, stepping out of it and tossing it away; she didn’t want its clinging length to get in the way of what she planned. When he came back to the bed, she motioned to the place she’d been seated and said, ‘Sit, please.’

      He promptly complied, then looked up at her. She could see the rapid pulse beating at his temples and smiled, pleased at this evidence of his heightened desire.

      She stood before him and began untying his cravat, slowly unwinding and removing the broad band of linen, then folding it neatly. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to heighten anticipation with delay. After flicking back the edges of his shirt, she moved her hands to massage his shoulders and bent to kiss his bared throat.

      He sighed when her lips contacted the rough skin, then groaned as she licked her way to the hollow where the pulse beat strongly. Massaging still, she kissed up his throat to nibble his jaw, evading his mouth when he tried to meet her lips, and continuing to lick and nip from the jawline up to his ears, his cheekbones, across his closed eyes, to his brow and into the hairline.

      Reaching down, she lifted his arms and pulled the shirt over his head. She stepped back a moment to admire him, all muscled shoulder and strong arms and broad chest, where the flat nipples puckered.

      He hissed between his teeth as she slowly ran a fingernail over each one.

      Lifting her skirts, she bared herself to the waist, watching his face as he watched her. He opened his lips, an inarticulate mumble, and she placed a finger over his mouth to forestall any protest. Then she sat down on his lap and straddled him, her naked torso pressed against his trousers.

      She felt his member leap as she wound her legs around his back and rocked her hot, moist, naked centre against his fettered erection. With a gasp, he cupped her bare bottom and pulled her closer. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him hard, rubbing her breasts against his bare chest while he picked up the rhythm, thrusting against her.

      He must have been as ready as she had been, for after half-a-dozen such thrusts, he turned rigid in her arms, gasping into her mouth as his completion swept over him. Kissing him still, she followed him down as he collapsed back on to the bed, his chest drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged.

      Rolling over to cuddle beside him, she pushed the moist hair off his brow and stroked it, waiting for his breathing to steady and slow, aglow with more peace and contentment than she’d felt since… She pushed her mind back from the thought. This moment was for enjoying now, without tarnishing it with sadness from the past.

      At length, with a groan, he pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘Thank you, my sweet. Although if we hadn’t made this…unusual bargain, I should have to apologise for…reaching the finish line so quickly.’

      ‘No matter. Shall we rub down the horse and prepare him to race again?’

      His eyes lit. ‘Absolutely. Although for safety’s sake, I should do the “rubbing”.’

      ‘Absolutely not. When I serve, my service is complete.’

      She walked over to the dressing table, poured water in the washbasin and returned with it and a soft rag. He stayed her hands when she attempted to unbutton the trouser flat.

      ‘It will be all right,’ she told him, going down before him. ‘I promise, my knees shall not leave the floor.’

      ‘If you’re certain.’

      ‘I am.’ Pushing his hands aside, she plucked open the buttons and pulled the flap free, exposing his spent member. Gently and carefully she washed it with the rag, then the upper part of his legs and his belly. Once he’d been cleansed, she began pulling the rag slowly over the exposed skin. She bent down and blew a breath over the dampness, watching as he shivered, the little hairs on his stomach standing on end.

      Pleased, she moved the damp cloth back to his now-stirring member. Up and down she stroked, alternating the soft caress of the rag with a long exhale over the tightening skin, bending closer each time, until her lips were almost but not quite touching him.

      She looked up, into blue eyes locked upon her. ‘Does this please you?’ she whispered.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Tell me. Tell me what you like.’

      He smiled slightly, picking up the game. ‘I like having you stroke me. I like feeling your warm breath on my cock.’

      At the words, she felt her own nipples tighten and the moist heat build between her legs. She bent and licked the hard velvet tip, which jerked under her ministrations. He gasped, his hands clutching the bedclothes, his arms rigid.

      ‘Do you like that?’

      ‘Yes. I love having your tongue on my cock.’

      ‘Good.’ She bent forward again and grasped him with one hand, holding him steady as she took him in her mouth, slid him in and back out.

      ‘Do you like that?’

      ‘Devil’s breath, yes! I could live for ever inside your mouth.’

      She leaned forward to suckle him again. Oh, what a wonder he was, all hardness and sinew, silky tip and satin shaft. She loved the taste and feel of him, loved the groans she elicited as she licked and suckled, laved and stroked. After a few moments, he dropped the bedclothes and clutched her shoulders, thrusting with her as she took him to completion.

      As he fell back on to the bed, limp, she returned the basin and refreshed the wine glass. She was sitting beside him, sipping from it, marvelling at the power and beauty of sensual pleasure, when he stirred and opened those incredible blue eyes.

      And smiled at her.

      Her foolish heart expanded and she smiled back, a smile of