Rose of rapture Read Free

strong woman, the Lord was stronger; and she never felt it more than when he took her in his arms, and she cried out her surrender. She was so vulnerable to him. It was as though she were helpless against him, wanting him so and finding the words so very difficult to say. In the past, she had been hurt so terribly that, even now, it was hard for her to believe the Lord loved her, and only her, with a deep, lasting passion that time would never dim.
    The Lord cast away his clothes, then smiled gently and joined her again beneadi the shade of the old, gnarled oaks and spreading yews.
    "'Sabelle, my love."
    His words reassured her. She needed so to hear them. Then his lips found hers, kissing one quivering comer lightly, tracing, with his tongue, the outline of her mouth before claiming the whole of her lips softly, tentatively, at first, as though she were a young maiden, needing to be coaxed and wooed with gentleness and restraint. Tenderly, he kissed her mouth, then parted her lips to taste her. His tongue darted forth to explore the honey within,

    making her shudder with sudden desire as an electric shock of anticipation jolted through her body, causing her loins to quicken sharply. Lx)w in her throat, Isabella moaned a little. She reached up to fasten her arms around the Lord's back, laid one hand against the nape of his neck, where his hair curled in thick rich waves. She pulled him closer, clung to him with her mouth, wanting him, needing him so desperately. It was from him she drew her strength. He was her guiding light, her port in every storm. There were no ghosts when he was with her.
    Her tongue met his own, entwined about it with an intimacy that made her heart begin to thud wildly in her breast. Swirl for swirl, she followed where his tongue led, his lips sucked, his teeth nibbled, until she felt as though she were drowning in a molten sea—and she did not care. Feverishly, she kissed him back until they were both gasping for breath, and she could feel the hard evidence of his desire pressed against her as his body half-covered her own, and his hands began to move upon her flesh. Blindly, he tore his mouth from hers, his lips burning their way across her smooth countenance, seeming to scorch her face like a brand. His kissed her eyes, where her incredibly long black lashes made dark, crescent smudges upon her cheeks. He murmured love words in her ear, his breath warm where he blew faintly, his tongue just brushing the small, curved shell, making her shiver with delight and wanting. He wrapped his fingers in her hair, buried his face in the long, silky strands, inhaling deeply the sweet rose fragrance of her. Roses. Always roses. White roses.
    Only white roses for Isabella.
    They had named her for them. The Rose of Rapture, the courtiers had called her and sought to claim her hand. A thousand white bouquets had strewn her path, had been flung at her feet in homage, but the Lord alone had won her in the end.
    The triumph of that knowledge spurred him on. Hotly, his mouth traveled to the pulse beating rapidly at the hollow of her slender throat, that sensitive place upon the curve of her shoulder, and then her breasts, which swelled softly, round and full, at his touch. Possessively, he cupped them, fondled them, taunted them until they ached with passion. Their tiny pink buds flushed and hardened, begging to be touched, tasted, taken. His lips closed over first one, and then the other, sucking gently before his teeth nipped lightly the rosy little buttons, held them in place for the flicking of his tongue as it tormented them to even greater heights. Isabella inhaled sharply as she felt the heat of her flesh begin to

    emanate from her body in waves of excitement. Once more, a broken moan escaped from her throat.
    "My lord, my love," she breathed.
    "'Sabelle," he muttered hoarsely in response.
    The Lord lingered over her breasts, as always, for they enchanted him. He thought they were the most beautiful spheres he'd