Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) by Elizabeth Keysian (best romantic novels in english txt) 📕

“I am yours,” she agreed dreamily, reaching for him again.

“Then you’ll not mind if I do this.” Before she could move, he’d pushed her kirtle down to her feet and steadied her as she stepped out of it.

“Now, lie down,” he commanded, “and close your eyes.”

She didn’t want to—she didn’t want to miss any of this. “Why?”

“You’re not used to being exposed. And you have never seen a man’s body revealed in the way mine is about to be. I want you to feel first and look second. Lovemaking is not a lesson to be learned—it is a delight to be experienced.”

So, she closed her eyes and allowed Allan to take charge. He swept her up, then knelt and laid her gently atop the fleeces. After a few moments of rustling, she felt his body stretch out alongside hers, warming her. Then she felt her shift begin to move—he was raising it with one hand as he kissed his way up the inside of her leg.

How incredibly wicked! What an intrusion! But when he reached her inner thigh, and she could feel his hot breath on her most secret parts, he lifted his head.

She squeezed her legs together, wishing guiltily he might have continued, but then she felt her shift pulled even higher, and her attention focused on the continuing passage of his kisses, leading directly up over her belly and toward her breasts.

Her shift snagged under her, so she lifted her bottom, and suddenly the fabric was right up beneath her chin, exposing her breasts, and all of her lower body.

As Allan’s hand found one breast and cupped it gently, she became aware that where his thigh rested against hers, it was no longer covered in woolen cloth. He was naked. His manhood was free and pressing firmly against her thigh. She squeezed her legs together again in a moment of incredible wantonness, feeling an intriguing tingle there.

“Now, I have you trapped,” he murmured, imprisoning her hands on either side of her face. “I can do whatever I like with you.”

Her nipples had peaked with the touch of the cooler air. Now, she wanted his touch there, too.

“What can you do with your hands full?” she queried.

“I can do this.” His hair brushed across one bared breast as he saluted its tip with his tongue. The feel of the hot moisture of his mouth, followed by the sting of cold air, was breathtaking, but when he took her nipple right into his mouth to suck it, she shattered.

“Who says I can’t do anything,” he repeated, nudging his knee between her thighs until it pushed up against her mound. The invasion was a sign of her weakness, of his power over her. Then she pushed against his knee, and pleasure rippled through her.

He found and sucked at her other breast and increased the pressure of his knee.

“How is that, my lady?”

She wanted more. Something more intimate, more personal. She wanted to feel him deep in the core of her. She raised her hips and pushed against him.

Suddenly, his knee was replaced by the shaft of his manhood, hard, tempting, terrifying.

She gasped as he slid slowly up and down, and she wondered whence the moisture had come that allowed him to move so easily. Then he released her hands, rolled to one side, and slipped a finger into her velvet depths.

She groaned aloud then, not caring what he might think of her. His touch was exquisite, probing and gentle, coaxing fresh waves of pleasure from her body. Reaching up, she stroked and clutched at him wherever she could reach, then clumsily brought his head back to hers and sought his mouth while his knowing hand worked its magic.

She realized she’d opened her eyes, despite not having been given permission. He kissed her hungrily, breathing hard, and now he had his eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then he shifted again and pushed her knees apart, kneeling before her like some pagan suppliant. For the first time, she saw his erect manhood in all its terrifying majesty.

His blue eyes flashed open, and he replied to her look of alarm with a broad grin. “Have no fear, my love. You feel more than ready for me. I predict we will be the perfect fit, my glorious, beautiful Cecily.”

He leaned over her then, resting on one arm, while his other hand guided his member to the place where his finger had been. She felt a hot pressure at her entrance, followed by a sharp tear of pain, but he immediately bent his head and kissed her, distracting her.

And then she felt him slide in—a little at first, then further, and she felt her folds close around him in mute welcome. Each time she flexed her muscles down there, he let out a moan.

“I’m hurting you!”

“Nay. Only torturing me. I want to savor the moment. Pray, be still.”

It was hard to stay still when she wanted to explore the feel of him inside her. But she relished the knowledge that her body also had some power over his—a mere flexing of her muscles could make him a moan, writhe, and shake his head. So, she did it again.

“Curse you, you wanton! Will you never be ruled by me?” he gasped.

“Mayhap not,” she breathed in response, smiling and reaching to tangle her hands in his hair.

He pressed in again, more forcefully this time, and the sensation she was experiencing at the contact increased a hundredfold. Then he withdrew before pushing in again, eliciting a gasp from her. This was more incredible than she could ever have imagined. Lovemaking, when one was actually in love, was the ultimate joy. It was beyond lust, beyond longing. It was beautiful, heavenly—and this union with the man completed her, both body and soul.

And then she was carried away by the rhythmic rocking and pounding of his body as he surged into her time and time again, driving deep inside her, and finding his own