The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3), Sahara Kelly [english novels for students .TXT] 📗

strode up the staircase and down the corridor to her chamber. He had simply behaved so unexpectedly as to render her dumb with shock.

And she managed a brief moment to assess her situation. It wasn’t, to be truthful, unpleasant. Although she’d not like to be upside down for too long.

Fortunately, she wasn’t. He kicked the door shut behind him and unceremoniously dropped her onto her mattress.

“Well,” she sputtered.

“Hush,” he said, ripping his coat off and moving down over her on the bed. “Gwyneth…” he murmured.

His eyes were brilliant blue, the only light in the room coming from the bonfire some distance away. His hands found her, moulding her breasts, stroking her belly and her hips, then returning to cup her face as he kissed her once again, a groan emerging into her mouth as he did so.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he pushed away and stared at her. “I need to see you. Don’t move.”

 A little dizzy from his kisses, Gwyneth obeyed, wondering what he would do next and watching as he left her, crossed the room to light a branch of candles and draw the curtains tight.

“Better.” He strode to the door, and she heard the lock click. “I don’t want an audience tonight,” he whispered. “Not with the things I want to do to you.”

His words made her tremble. His face, as he stood next to the bed and started removing his clothes, made her tremble even more. She saw need and desire, a yearning and a wanting that lit the same kind of emotions inside her and she moved to sit up.

His hand pushed her back. “Stay there. I will undress you soon.”

The command was there, the tone that said obey me. Her gentlemen were always loving and attentive and passionate. They were also eager to please, and she felt free telling them what she wanted. It was consistently an exchange that brought pleasure to all.

But this…this was different. He was physically solid, his chest revealed as he stripped off his shirt and then his breeches. His male attributes were…magnificent, and she swallowed as she saw his rigid cock, thick and heavy, shadowing firm sacs and thrusting from a nest of black hair.

There were scars too. Curling around his waist, probably on his back. Gwyneth recalled mention of his injuries. Here was the physical evidence. She wanted to touch them, but there were other things she wanted to touch more.

“Stand.” He held out his hand and helped her off the bed.

He placed a finger on her neck, tracing the line of her muscle down across her chest to the cleft between her breasts.

He gripped her bodice—and tore her dress away from her body.

“Harry,” she gasped, the pieces of fabric falling to the ground.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he answered, ridding her of her chemise as well.

Her nipples hardened as he gazed at them, then surveyed the rest of her with silent appreciation.

She could feel the heat radiating from his body as he neared her, and her pulse raced at the sight of such a beautifully aroused man in the candlelight.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered.

She couldn’t help a step backward as he came near, then caught herself up. She was the Lady of Wolfbridge. She was in command.

Or at least she thought so.

He closed the distance between them, and picked her up again, but this time, he held her close.

“Put your legs around me, Gwyneth.” His hands found her bottom, and he lifted her against his cock.

Then he turned and walked to the nearest wall, pushing her against it, squeezing her between his body and the panelling. She gasped at the sensation, the cold surface, the hot man and the iron hardness rubbing against her most sensitive places.

“You’re wet already. Good.” He moved again, a sensual massage that made her moan with pleasure.

His chest abraded her nipples, his hips pressed hard and then he lifted her, bent his knees and brought her back down, directly onto his cock.

She cried out, partly from surprise and partly from the amazing feeling of his thick, rigid length deep inside her.

“God, Harry…” she whispered.

“Oh yes,” he whispered back. “Kiss me. Now.”

Her hands lifted from where she had grabbed his shoulders to slide through his hair and pull his head toward hers. Locking one arm around his neck, she opened her mouth wide and found his, sucking on his tongue, breathing his air, fiercely claiming his lips for herself.

Their bodies writhed against each other as he began stroking himself inside, a half bounce, half thrust that immediately drove her own arousal higher and higher.

He wouldn’t let her draw free, making her fight for each breath, pounding himself harder and harder, driving her against the wall. Her ankles locked as she met him, wriggling her hips to take as much of him as she could at this angle.

It was wild, erotic, almost savage; a battle between lovers where there would be no winners and no losers. She ripped her mouth from his, grabbed a breath, and returned to his kisses, giving as good as she got.

His body was so muscular, his thighs lifting them both with ease, his cock never ceasing to rub the right places. He filled her almost to the point of pain, but she welcomed it, knowing her release was beginning to build and losing herself in that wonderful sensation.

Suddenly he withdrew, and she was staggering on the floor.

“What…”

Scarcely were the words out of her mouth than he picked her up once more, walked her to the bed and put her on top of it. “Hands and knees,” he ordered.

Feverish with need, Gwyneth wanted to make her own wishes clear, but the look on his face as he gazed at her—it froze the words in her mouth and she did as