The Bastard: A Steamy Scarred Hero and Wallflower Love Story (The Masqueraders Book 3) by S.M. LaViolette & Minerva Spencer

Author:S.M. LaViolette & Minerva Spencer [LaViolette, S.M. & Spencer, Minerva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Sixpence Press
Published: 2022-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

John needed to slow down, but the smell and taste of her had driven him beyond reason within seconds.

He'd never wanted to bed a virgin, but the realization that he would the only man to penetrate, possess, and enjoy her body inflamed him. His cock, already hard, throbbed painfully at the heady thought.

It was too heady.

If he held her soft, shapely body against his, he would lose control and take her too quickly, too roughly.

This was a singular occasion, and he meant to savor it.

His gaze moved from her flushed cheeks and plump lips to her hair, which she'd braided into a heavy rope that hung over one slender shoulder.

“I want to see your hair down.”

Her delicate nostrils quivered. “Don’t you ever say please?”

“Rarely,” he admitted, amused by her tart question.

“Perhaps you might do so when you speak to me.”

His eyebrows rose, and he took a step toward her, aroused by the way her breathing quickened, her eyes widened, and her dark nipples tightened against the fine cotton of her gown.

He laid a hand on her supple waist and leaned in close. “Please take your hair down, Cordelia,” he whispered into the fine hairs at her temple, smiling when she shuddered. It was the first time he'd said her name out loud, and he liked the sound and taste of it.

She made a soft gulping sound and took a small step away from him before she unwound the thick coil. It was not, as he’d believed, one braid, but three, twisted together, and the reddish-brown froth of curls fell to almost her hips when freed.

John reached out to run a hand through it, glad that he had six fingers to feel more of it. It was remarkably silky and thick.

"What is this color called?" he asked gruffly, lifting a loose curl to his face to inhale her scent.

"Er, I suppose it is closest to chestnut."

It wasn't like any chestnut he'd ever seen—either the nut or the horse—and it had vibrant yet subtle streaks of gold.

John wanted to see it against her naked skin.

The gown she wore was long-sleeved and high-necked, buttoned up to her chin and unlike any women's garment that he’d encountered. He was accustomed to either the cheap cotton shifts of women of his class or the easily accessible gowns of working girls. This was white and felt lighter than air, as if it had been spun from clouds.

And there were buttons—a horrific bloody number of them—and they were almost too small to see.

The fabric over her breast was rising and falling with small, rapid jerks and he glanced up at her.

“Are you frightened?”

“A little.” Her eyes looked enormous and she appeared vulnerable with her hair down. She did not look like a competent, staid spinster aunt who spent her days watching over her nieces; she looked like a girl at her first bedding.

Her eyelids fluttered as he stroked his hand through her curls.

"Do you like that?" he asked.

She nodded.

He continued his gentle caressing, using both hands to

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