The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(25)

“Yes, men who subjugate with brute force. Do you handle your horses this way, as well? Do you beat them into submission?”

“Do you truly wish to know how I would handle a rogue horse, Vesta?”

There was a new look in his eyes, one she had never seen before. It was somehow dangerous and exciting. She licked her lips and swallowed as she backed her way across the room. “I think you’ve already demonstrated.”

He advanced on her, slowly, calmly, deliberately. “Pray disabuse yourself of that notion, my pet, for the crop is never my method of choice.”

“No? Then what is your method of choice?” she asked. Vesta found her heart racing and her breath coming faster. This was not the Hew she knew. This was a decidedly more dangerous version. He made her stomach flip and her blood race through her veins, a sensation Vesta liked very much. He had backed her against the wood paneling, his arms braced on either side of her, trapping her in between. Vesta’s breath seized as the sexual tension flared, alive and pulsating between them.

“I have found only one effective way of dealing with a recalcitrant mount,” he said, dipping his head so his deep blue eyes bored into hers. Vesta forced her breath out slowly even as her heart rate accelerated.

She swallowed hard. “And that is?”

“By riding it to exhaustion.”

“Then, Captain Hewett DeVere,” she whispered. “Do your worst.”

***

They stood as if carved of marble just watching each other breathe, the current of mutual desire swirling around them, pulling them deeper into its perilous depths. Hew’s heart slammed against his chest as he fought to regulate his breathing. His entire body had gone rigid, every muscle tensed with physical awareness of her. He couldn’t fathom what devil had made him speak so indecently to an innocent girl, but he’d never before experienced such strong emotions as Vesta seemed to ignite. Then she once more dropped the gauntlet.

His mouth came down on hers without any thought or care beyond the deep-seated need to finally subdue and conquer this slip of a girl who had challenged, defied, and thwarted him at every turn. But her lips met his with the same challenge, the same defiant passion with which Vesta did everything. She met him hungrily, fiercely, and boldly seeking. When he probed her lush lips, she parted willingly, eagerly seeking his tongue with hers. Twining and tangling, slick and sliding, their mating of tongues sent jolts of rampant sensation to his groin.

She looped her arms around his neck with a sigh, pressing her lush mounds against his chest and kissing him more deeply, as if engaging her very soul. He felt himself growing thick and hard. She felt it too, for her breath hitched, and then her pupils flared with the knowledge of his arousal. He broke the kiss and lowered his hands to cup her breasts through the thin linen of her shift. Caressing the hardened peak of her nipple with his thumb, he watched her respond.

Vesta gave a soft moan and arched into him with boldness. He lowered his head to her breast, licking the shadow of nipple through her shift and pulling it into his mouth, smiling to himself when she cried out and clutched his head. But it wasn’t enough, he had to have more. So much more. He tugged at the ribbon bow that secured the loose garment, and it slithered from her shoulders, baring for his pleasure the lovely, white mounds of femininity he’d only glimpsed but had continued to fantasize about. She made a low, supplicating sound.

He lowered his head at her urging, kissing and licking the silky skin he had only dreamed of, and Hew felt himself slipping irretrievably deeper into the black vortex of desire. She reached for him, cupping his straining cock through his breeches, giving it an experimental squeeze, and Hew thought he would go mad.

No, rather than vanquishing the foe as he had strategized, he found himself surrendering to the powerful lure of pure lust from which he no longer desired escape. After years of practicing ironclad self-restraint, he was ready to give himself up to the carnal desire he had so long suppressed and to experience what he’d withheld from himself for twenty-eight years.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Vesta thought she hated Hew after he’d spanked her, but it only took the first brush of his lovely lips to divert her from the sting of her bottom. He was so big, strong, handsome, and honorable...and altogether delicious. And he wanted her. She could see it flickering in the depths of his beautiful, blue eyes; she could feel it thick of the air surrounding them, his desire for her and hers for him. She wanted nothing more in the entire world than to surround herself with Hew.

He stroked her lips with his tongue, and her own darted out to meet it, making her stomach flips commence. He smelled wonderful, pungent of sea air, shaving soap, and the unmistakable and unforgettable essence of Hew. How she wanted to drink him in with her entire being. She was unashamed when he untied her shift, too preoccupied with thoughts of what he intended to do to her and how badly she wanted to please him. She had never been touched in this intimate way. His hands on her bare flesh were warm, yet soft and rough at the same time and then his mouth! Dear heavens! Kissing him made her head spin, but then when he suckled her breast, the pleasure of it nearly sent her into transports. Dearest, most darling, delectable Hew.

He kissed her again, deeper, pulling her closer until she felt the hard ridge of him against her belly, and she had the overwhelming need to touch it. She pressed her palm to his sex, and his eyes fluttered. She squeezed, and he groaned. His reaction to the smallest attention filled her with a mad yen to do more, to hold it in her hand, to caress and stroke as she had seen him do. She knew he was uncomfortable, for he had confessed as much.