Page 66 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

“Tell me,” she encouraged.

“I have not lain with a woman in two years.”

Two years?A man this passionate must ache from longing. Lord knows, her overwhelming need was excruciating.

“We shall remedy that.” She tugged on the waistband of his trousers.

His lips crashed against hers as he pinned her beneath him. His tongue delved deep, tangling with hers in a desperate dance. Together, they worked his trousers and small clothes off. His final kick sent the garments tumbling to the floor.

“Christ, Madalene.” He slid a finger into her opening. “You’re so wet.”

What an understatement since her liquid desire dampened the sheets and dripped down her thighs.

Staring into his eyes, she wrapped her palm around his hard girth and guided him to her entrance.

He hissed. Then, slowly, he entered her, the delicious friction making her whimper as her hips bucked. She wanted him—no, needed him—deeper.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, trailing kisses to her collarbone while inch by glorious inch, he buried himself as her walls tugged and convulsed around him.

“You feel so bloody good.” He panted in her ear as he thrust.

“You feel divine,” she said as she trailed her fingertips over his sculpted back.

He slid halfway out, then thrust back into her. Over and over again, their hips crashed together, the tingle in her core swirling and growing.

“Come with me,” he demanded, his growl laced with desperation. His hand slipped between them, the exquisite circling of his finger on her pearl, toppling her over the edge. She quaked as she cried his name.

“Fuck, Madalene.” He shuddered and roared his release into her.

Her heart and soul soured above her physical form for a long while. When she settled back to reality, he embraced her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

She cradled his jaw as she stared into emerald eyes, brilliant with bliss. “Oh, my,” were the only words she had to describe her euphoria.

“Oh, my, indeed.” He chuckled and kissed her gently. “Madalene, will you be mine? No other men?”

“Yes,” she said through the smile tugging at her lips.

“Mmm.” While purring like a content feline, he played with her hair.

She lay there luxuriating in the magical moment. His breathing evened out, then his palm rested heavily on her shoulder. She rolled to face him.

Stephen’s lids drifted over his eyes, and a soft snore rippled from him.

She snuggled up against him and closed her eyes.

Chapter twenty-three

October 7th, 1817

He’dbeenadashedfool. Had he known that making love would cure his restlessness, Stephen would have caved months—nay years—ago, for he may have just had the best sleep of his life.

Madalene lay on her side, her hair fanning about her head on the pillow. He itched to touch the creamy shoulder and breast peeking from beneath the counterpane. Unfortunately, they had a long day ahead of them, so he should wake her and get an early start.

He reached for her shoulder and halted. She looked so peaceful. Perchance, he could take a moment to watch the rise and fall of her chest and her fluttering eyelashes. Did she dream of him? Their amorous congress?

The walls of his stomach rubbed together, reminding him that a barely touched tray of food sat on the nightstand. Careful not to wake Madalene, he sat up and consumed sustenance until sated. Thereupon, setting a hand on her shoulder, he gently shook.

“Wake up, beautiful.”