The Naked Viscount Read Free

wasn’t going to set anything aflame.
    The viscount was setting her aflame. She was surrounded by his scent—eau de cologne and leather and…him. His mouth covered hers, but she’d lost all desire to scream. No, her desire was headed in an entirely different direction. She felt boneless, like her knees would give out at any moment.
    His lips moved, brushed hers, nibbled at the corner of her mouth, and then meandered over her cheek to a very sensitive spot on her neck just under her ear.
    She’d never been kissed before…well, never like this. This was an entirely new experience—a wonderful experience. Mmm.
    What was the man doing here? He lived next door—and yes, she’d occasionally tried to time her daily walks to catch a glimpse of him. Had he mistaken the house? Gone astray?
    His mouth moved farther down her neck, his hands wandering lower to skim her bottom. Ohh. He was going very much astray.
    Should she be alarmed? No, he must not mean her any harm. He knew her brothers, and he had an unblemished reputation.
    Ohh. He was stroking her bottom now. Her nightdress was so old and worn, it was almost as if his hand were on her bare skin.
    She’d dreamed of someday getting a dance with the man, of feeling his gloved hand on hers—and now…
    They were quite alone. No one would know if she took advantage of this odd situation.
    He’d come back to her mouth. Was that his tongue touching her lips? What would happen if she…?
    Ohh.
    His tongue slid between her teeth. How disgusting! Hmm, well, it should be disgusting, but it was…not. Actually, once one got over the shock, it was rather wonderful. He tasted of brandy, and he filled her with wet heat.
    Her mouth was not the only part of her that was very hot and wet. Her stomach…well, lower than her stomach…was embarrassingly damp—if she was still capable of feeling embarrassment, which she apparently wasn’t—and throbbing. An odd hollowness opened there, wanting something…
    She had three brothers. Her mother was an artist with more than one nude painting in her studio—she had never been shy about explaining things. Mama might not want her daughters reading novels, but she did want them to know certain facts of life. And Jane had been eleven when Lucy was born—she’d asked quite a few questions. She had a good idea what her body was aching for—and what part of Lord Motton’s physique could provide what she needed. It had formed a hard ridge against her belly.
    His hands were moving again, one still tracing the contours of her derrière, the other sliding up to…
    Oh. Oh, heavens.
    All rational thought fled as his fingers cradled her breast.
    Motton was lost in a flood of sensation—the feel of this woman, so soft in his arms, her lovely curves unshielded by stays or layers of clothing; the taste of her sweet mouth under his; the smell of her skin, of lemon—a hint of purity, of innocence—and the musk of heat and need; the sound of her small gasps.
    She had been so feisty—so fiery—at first, but now she was yielding and feminine and thoroughly seductive. Fiery, but in an entirely different way. He certainly felt as if he were on fire—his cock was just about ready to burn a hole in his breeches.
    He pulled her bottom closer, bringing her more tightly against his poor, straining member, but the pressure only served to stoke the flames higher. His other hand cupped one of her lovely breasts. It was firm, soft, perfect. It fit his palm as if it had been made for it. He ran his lips over her jaw as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple. The lovely woman in his arms gasped.
    He chuckled and kissed her just below her ear as he flicked the hard little nub once more. She gasped again.
    He almost gasped. Standing was becoming a bit of a challenge. Unfortunately the loveseat was far too small, but there was the desk. She’d thoughtfully cleared it