What Ales the Earl by Sally MacKenzie

Author:Sally MacKenzie
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-05-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Yes.” And just like that, she went from melancholy to desire—desperate, consuming, urgent desire. Her body had waited nine long years for a man’s touch—for this man’s touch. It could not wait one moment longer.

She wrapped her arms around his back, flattening her breasts against his warm, naked chest.

That wasn’t enough. She slid her hands down to pull his arse—unfortunately still cloth-covered—against her. Oh! The long ridge of his cock, trapped behind his fall, pressed into her belly.

“To bed, Pen.”

Yes!

She was delighted to hear the lust in his voice.

Fortunately, the room was so tiny, the bed was only half a step away. She collapsed onto it and reached for him. “Hurry.”

He did not hurry. Instead, he stood there and looked at her.

“God, Pen, you are so beautiful.”

She hadn’t thought she could feel any more desperate, but she did. “Harry, I’m going to die. I need you now.”

He smiled, though his expression was a bit strained. He must be feeling at least some of the need she felt.

“Soon.” He pulled off one of her shoes and then carefully untied her garter.

She arched up, wanting his fingers higher, but he laughed and slid his hands away, pulling her stocking down over her knee and calf and ankle and off her foot.

She was panting, her body open to him, begging him to come inside. “Harry, you’re torturing me.”

He grinned. “Yes, but it’s a good sort of torture.” He blew on her damp nether curls as he untied her other garter.

“Nooo.” She moaned and arched up again, but again he moved back, his hands sliding the other stocking off.

“I promise the reward will be worth it.” He carefully laid her second stocking next to her first.

“I’ll be dead by then.”

“No, you won’t.” He sat on the edge of the bed. He still had his breeches on.

All right, she would help him. She reached for his fall—and he caught her hands before they could touch the fabric.

“Harry!” She pulled back, but he wouldn’t release her.

“Patience, Pen.”

How could he talk of patience?

Ha! He hadn’t spent all these years alone. He’d likely had any number of lovers.

“You don’t understand. It’s been Nine. Long. Years.” Not that she’d thought much about carnal relations during that time. She’d had no interest in such matters when she was pregnant and a new mother, and then later she’d been too busy—and tired and worried—to care about bed play.

She closed her eyes briefly. No, that wasn’t it. The painful truth was no man had ever moved her to passion the way Harry did. When he’d left Darrow, he’d taken her desire with him.

Now that he was here, it came flooding back, threatening to drown her.

“I’m begging you, Harry. I need you. Now.” She tried to lean closer to him, but he wouldn’t let her. “Hard and fast.”

Ah, she saw the heat spark in his eyes. He was going to—

No, he wasn’t.

“Trust me, Pen.”

She wasn’t good at trust. Trust meant giving someone else control. That was too risky. It was better to rely only on herself.

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