The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(38)

Everything was ready. Anna skittered to the mantelpiece and fiddled with a candle. What was she doing here? This was a silly plan that would never work. What had she been thinking? There was yet time to renege. She could leave this room and find the carriage—

The door opened.

Anna whirled and froze. A masculine shape loomed in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. For a fraction of a second, she felt fear and stepped back apprehensively. She couldn’t even tell if it was Lord Swartingham. Then he entered, and she knew by the shape of his head, by his stride, by the movement of his arm as he took off his coat, that it was he.

The earl laid the coat on a chair and advanced toward her in his shirt, breeches, and waistcoat. Anna didn’t know what to do or say. She nervously pulled her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear with the crook of her little finger. She couldn’t see his expression in the dim candlelight any more than he could see hers.

He reached for her and took her in his arms. She relaxed at the movement and lifted her face, expecting his kiss. But he didn’t kiss her lips. Instead, he bypassed her face altogether and laid his open mouth against the curve of her neck.

Anna trembled. To have waited so long for his touch and then suddenly to have his wet tongue tracing the tendon of her neck down to her shoulder was both shocking and wonderful. She gripped his upper arms. His lips ran back and forth on her collarbone, his hot breath raising goose bumps on her skin. Her nipples puckered against the rough lace on her gown.

He slowly pulled down one shoulder of the loose nightdress. The lace caught and dragged over her nipple almost painfully as her breast was exposed. His breathing grew deeper. He shifted his hand from her shoulder to slide a callused palm over her nipple. Anna caught her breath and exhaled raggedly. She’d not been touched by a man there in over six years, and then only by her husband. The heat of his palm almost burned against her cool breast. He rubbed his wide hand back and forth, taking his time to measure her with the span of his fingers. Then he caught the nipple in the crook of his forefinger and thumb and squeezed; at the same time, he bit gently down on her shoulder.

A jolt of exquisite pleasure lanced through Anna, traveling all the way to her woman’s mound. Her belly tensed with excitement. She ran her fingers over his arms, pressing and rubbing, wishing desperately that she could feel his skin under the layers of clothes.

His hair was slightly damp from the mist outside, and she could smell him: sweat and brandy and his own unique male musk. She turned her face toward him, but he pulled his head away. She followed. She wanted to kiss him. But he suddenly pushed down the other shoulder of her gown, distracting her. Without her breasts to hold it up, the gown fell to her feet. She was nude before him. There was a moment when she blinked and began to feel vulnerable, but then he put his mouth to her nipple and licked.

She started. A low, hoarse sound came from her throat.

He licked her other nipple like a cat. Slow, languid strokes that rasped over her nerve endings. He made a sound almost like a purr, furthering the illusion that he was a big predator savoring the taste of her skin.

Her legs shook and she felt weak. She was surprised to find she couldn’t stand. What was this feeling taking over her body? This had never happened before. Had it been so long that she could no longer remember what lovemaking was like? Her body—her emotions—felt foreign.

But he was supporting her now, even as her legs collapsed beneath her. His mouth never leaving her breast, he picked her up and laid her on the bed, and her thoughts scattered. He ran his hands down her bare sides, and taking hold of her thighs, he parted them widely. He settled his hips against her as if he had every right. His manhood lay on her feminine flesh, and he ground down in small circular motions so that her inner lips parted. She could feel him, big and thick and there.

The trembling spread throughout her body.

He made a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr. He seemed to relish his position and her helplessness. He continued to rock against her, and he sucked her nipple into his hot mouth. He pulled hard, and she arched up against him frantically, almost dislodging him. He did growl then as he turned to suck her other breast. At the same time, he moved his hips up fractionally to bear down on her. She arched again as a whimper escaped her lips. But this time he was ready and did not let her shift him. He ground more firmly on her sensitive flesh. He pressed her into the mattress and dominated her with his weight and strength.

She was caught, unable to move, as he relentlessly pleasured her. He didn’t let up, cramming against her inexorably with his hard loins as he sucked and sucked and sucked at her wet nipples.

She shuddered, unable to control herself. Waves of pleasure flowed from her center toward the tips of her toes. Little ripples followed, and she gasped as pieces of herself seemed to fly apart. For an ecstatic moment, joy overwhelmed her anxiety. He rocked against her nonstop, but in soft, slow brushes now, as if he knew her flesh was too sensitive to handle a firmer contact. His hands flowed in long sweeps down her sides, and he feathered openmouthed kisses against her aching breasts.

She didn’t know how long she lingered in a half daze before she felt his fingers harden, and he reached between their bodies to unbutton his breeches. It was a tight squeeze, and every movement of his hand nudged the back of his knuckles into her wet woman’s place. She squirmed wantonly against his hand. She wanted more from him, and she wanted it now. He rumbled a dark chuckle. Then he drew out his hard flesh and guided himself to her entrance. She could feel heat from the head as he nudged his manhood against her softness.