Authors: Strictly Seduction
Before Brock could respond, Maddie reached for his shirt and pulled it from his breeches, then over his head. She placed a series of soft kisses upon his neck and chest. Her tongue flicked across a suddenly sensitive nipple. He could not hold back his groan.
“
What do you say, Mr. Taylor?” She writhed deliciously beneath him. Brock felt desire claw at his belly.
Using his last shred of coherency, he muttered, “You’re certain you won’t mind the railroad?”
Maddie slanted her mouth across his, opening beneath him like a flower to the morning. Brock could not resist her invitation and took complete possession of her mouth.
Long moments later, Maddie broke the kiss. “I won’t mind. Your gesture was noble. The fact that you were willing to give it up at all tells me you love me.”
“
I do,” he murmured and took her mouth again. “I love you very much.”
With a hand between them, Brock did his best to remove his uncomfortably tight breeches. Laughing, Maddie helped him.
“
I love you, too,” she whispered. “Does it make you ache to know I want to take every inch of you inside me and make love with you until you can no longer see straight?
“
Definitely,” he groaned, tugging his breeches down past his knees, his ankles.
Maddie grabbed them and tossed them across the room. “So do I win the wager? Or can you resist me?”
Brock slid inside her, a slow, slick homecoming. Maddie gasped as she held him tight. Nothing had ever felt more perfect as having Maddie as his wife, his friend, his lover...his everything. He had never felt this close to forever. He intended to hold onto it always.
“
Resist you?” he murmured as he eased a gentle kiss on her mouth. “I won’t even try.”
About The Author
Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times bestselling author of nearly 30 sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances for multiple print and electronic publishers. She lives in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her "free" time, she enjoys reality TV, reading and listening to an eclectic blend of music.
Shayla has won or placed in over a dozen writing contests, including Passionate Ink's Passionate Plume, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Reader's Choice Awards. Romantic Times has awarded her Top Picks, a KISS Hero Award and a nomination for Best Erotic Romance.
A writing risk-taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every book.
Look for Gavin Daggett, Duke of Cropthorne's story "Strictly Forbidden" Spring 2012!
The Brothers in Arms series
HIS LADY BRIDE
HIS STOLEN BRIDE
HIS REBEL BRIDE
Also from Shayla Black
The Wicked Lovers series
Available now:
WICKED TIES
DECADENT
DELICIOUS
SURRENDER TO ME
Coming soon:
BELONG TO ME
“
Wicked to Love” novella
MINE TO HOLD
The Doomsday Brethren series
TEMPT ME WITH DARKNESS
“
Fated” novella
SEDUCE ME IN SHADOW
POSSESS ME AT MIDNIGHT
“
Mated” novella, HAUNTED BY YOUR TOUCH anthology
ENTICE ME AT TWILIGHT
Coming soon:
EMBRACE ME AT DAWN
Visit www.shaylablack.com for more!
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT ONE WICKED NIGHT
Curling one of his hands behind her neck, he held her yet closer, giving no quarter. Their kiss deepened, turned urgent. Desire for something she could not understand ripped through her body like liquid fire.
He toyed with the tresses lying against the back of her neck. Wrapping his fingers around them, his palm cradled her head as he continued his thrilling exploration inside her mouth for a long moment. Then he pulled away.
Denial and regret slammed her hard. What must he think? But instead of retreating to the other side of the carriage, he edged closer, nipped at her bottom lip, taking it into his mouth. He sucked on it, returned it, then drew it in once more. With a small moan from her throat, Serena melted into heaven.
Again, he plunged into her mouth, coaxing hers to mate with his. And she discovered rapidly that she liked it. A great deal, in fact. She moaned again.
Suddenly, he returned her moan with one of his own, its low-pitched sounds resonating through her body, causing her breasts to tighten, tingle. A sudden ache to be touched, slowly, thoroughly, by him and his hot, capable hands assailed her.
As if he heard her inner thoughts, he curled his hands around her shoulders, caressed her collarbones . . . then cupped her breasts.
She gasped at the heat of his touch as his mouth captured hers again. Through the rose silk of her gown, his thumbs swept across the aching nipples, molding her flesh within his grasp.
He lifted his mouth a fraction, panting. “Another kiss?”
Without thought or hesitation, she gasped, “Yes.”
Serena met him as their lips collided again. As she had hoped, his tongue scorched back into her mouth. Lucien gripped her sides, his hands sliding down her waist. A moment later, after hearing the rustle of silk, she felt a draft of cool summer air under her skirt—and his hand on her thigh.
She halted, frozen, awash in emotion and uncertainty, even as she realized this was the very thing Cyrus wanted her to do—allow a stranger to seduce her. Yet such an act countered all her beliefs.
But God help her, she wanted this man.
The rough pads of his fingers skimmed deliciously across her knee. His palm drifted up beneath her chemise to cradle her hip. He held her closely, his fingers caressing from her waist, down to her female mound. He caught her response, something between a whimper and a moan, with his mouth.
He worked magic with his touch. Any thoughts she might have had, he burned away with the heat of his onslaught. She clung tighter, her fingers beginning a tentative journey up the surprisingly hard ridges of his chest, to the top of his shoulders, finally to sink into the luxurious thickness of his inky hair.
“
That’s the way, sweetheart,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck, leaving a hot path of tingles where his warm breath caressed her skin.
His voice, foreign and suggestive, dashed her back to reality. Mercy, she was allowing a stranger to touch her in the most familiar ways. His kisses, his touch, were a dark temptation that would lead her down her mother’s path to pure sin.
She pushed at his chest. “I hardly think—”
“
Do not think, love. Feel,” he encouraged, his lips looming closer.
“
You said just one kiss,” she reminded him.
“
Why stop now?”
“
I should not be here, not like this.”
He clutched her arms. His green eyes, powerful when filled with desire, were doubly potent when filled with desperation. “I need you. You help me to forget. Please,” his ragged whisper entreated. “Do not push me away.”
His jagged plea stilled her tongue. How many times had she needed a human touch during her times of grief? Too many to count.
On the wings of her silence, his lips blanketed hers again, his tongue penetrating. In seconds, he caught her up in the cyclone of returning desire, whirling her up in its vortex.
His hand returned to her thigh. This time he did not linger to caress the flesh, but parted her legs with a gentle nudge, then sought the core of her femininity.
Cyrus had touched her there once or twice and had roused only embarrassment. Lucien’s touch awakened an entirely different emotion. His hands were skilled and determined. Her insides melted.
His fingers whispered across her innermost thighs, his palm cradling her mound, rubbing the sensitive center of her desire. She writhed with an instant, blinding burst of heat.
Slowly, torturously, he pressed his fingers inside her. Without thought of restraint, she gasped, tilting her pelvis up to his hand.
“
Oh, yes, you are so sweetly wet,” he whispered, his lips an inch from hers, his breath coming hard and fast. “God, I want you.”
His mouth covered hers again. His thumb massaged the very bud of her need, his fingers still withdrawing and entering.
Desire poured in from all regions of her body; her head fell back. He held her neck with one palm, arching it up for his mouth.
The ache within her grew to something intense, excruciating, coursing through her like a heated flash flood. It built inside her, eradicating all thoughts, making her feel as if the only living part of her body lay below her waist and above her knees. She heard the soft, mewling sounds coming from her throat, but could not stop them. Mindless to all but his rousing fingers within her, Serena arched against his hand.
The coach jerked to a stop. Vaguely, she heard the footman step down, toward the door enclosing them in privacy. With a curse that burned Serena’s ears, Lucien withdrew his pleasure-giving hands and smoothed her skirts in place.
Still aching and disoriented, she hung back.
The footman opened the door, illuminating their intimate cocoon with silvery moonlight. Lucien stepped down and faced her. A roguish smile that held a measure of unexpected tenderness curled his lips upward. “Come inside my house, sweetheart. It will be heaven. I promise.”
Table of Contents
About The Author