Improper Arrangements Read Online Free

shattered the spell that had fallen over us?
    He bent his head and closed his mouth over my left breast, something so unexpected that I flinched, just a little. Drawing my nipple deep into his mouth, he circled and flicked at it with his tongue, pulling away for a second to admire the engorged pink crest. Then he took it into his mouth again, sucking and licking and nipping, his left hand moving on my other breast in much the same fashion. My skin was so pale against his sun-darkened hands, so soft compared to the beautiful abrasion of his beard.
    And then his mouth was on mine again, his lips hard and bruising, his fingers caught tight in my hair, pulling my head back so fiercely I almost cried out. He was breathing heavily, and the hot rush of it against my face was thrilling and faintly alarming.
    He reached down, skimming over the curve of my breast and the indentation of my waist, grasped my right hand, and held it to the front of his breeches. A decent woman would have resisted, would have snatched her hand away.
    I would not. I could not.
    I let my hand rest on his erection, confined so closely in his breeches, and then I tightened my fingers over it, squeezing gently so as not to hurt him. He groaned, the sound so low and sensual it was closer to a purr, and thrust his groin into my hand.
    I had to see him, had to know this part of him for myself. I pushed his braces off his shoulders and scrabbled at the front of his breeches, finding the buttons that fastened their fall front, and undid them with shaking fingers. He wore nothing beneath. I dragged the garment low on his hips, out of the way, and took him in my hand.
    He was smooth, solid stone come to life, moving and pulsing and blazing hot. I closed my fingers, marveling at how something so hard could also feel so velvety smooth, almost delicate. Tightening my grasp, I felt ridiculously satisfied when he let out a moan of pleasure.
    “I love the feel of your hand on my cock. Much more of this and I’ll come all over your hand,” he muttered against my ear. “Is that what you want? Or do you want more?”
    More , I thought. Definitely more. But my throat had gone dry, and when I opened my mouth to answer, no words came forth. So I looked up, met his stern, questioning gaze and nodded.
    It was all the encouragement he needed.
    He pushed my skirt and petticoats up to my waist, leaving the wires and tapes of my fashionable crinolette to dangle uselessly. “Bloody thing,” he grumbled, pulling at the ties that fastened it about my waist. They were knotted securely, but that was no impediment to a man in a hurry. He snapped them with one quick jerk of his hand and lifted me free of the collapsing cage.
    “Much better. Now I can get close to you.” As if to illustrate his words, he pushed me hard against the door, letting the entirety of his body press against mine.
    He drew back fractionally and reached between my legs, through the wide opening of my drawers, and covered my woman’s mound with his entire hand. His fingers curved low, and after giving me scant seconds to grow used to the feel of his hand on my sex, he pushed one finger inside me, then a second, moving them about in the most delicious fashion. When he pulled them out they were wet, and he used the moisture to draw a silken path from my opening to the little hidden place above.
    He traced a circle around and around the spot, never quite touching it, though I pushed and wriggled against his hand and sighed endless, silent entreaties.
    “Not yet. I want to be inside you when I make you come.”
    I thought he would carry me to the bed, or at least lay me down on the floor, but instead he pushed my legs wide, bent his knees, and drove his member—his cock, as he’d called it—into me, then and there.
    “Wrap your legs around my hips,” he ordered, his voice hard against my ear, and as I did so he pushed even deeper inside me. Then he straightened his legs and pinned me against the door.
    “Hold