Page 63 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

From that moment, her education began, as with caresses and knowing touches, strokes and hot kisses, he opened her eyes to the breadth of her own senses, to the elemental strength of her own passions and desires.

She’d known him for barely two weeks, yet he seemed to have known her forever; he knew just where to touch to make her gasp and tremble, over just what spot to languidly trail his fingertips to make her burn.

Soon, her senses were in tumult, and her nerves had tightened. Wings of heat beat steadily beneath her skin, the flames flaring hotter wherever he touched. Wherever she touched him.

Body to body, they rolled amid the sheets, the soft silkiness of her skin abraded by the hair-dusted roughness of his. The peaks of her breasts cinched tight as the crinkly hair adorning his chest rubbed across them.

His hands sculpted her body, making her arch, making her breath catch as sensation peaked, then fell—only to rise with the next stroke, the next brush of his lips across her skin. The heaviness of his limbs, the promise of his weight, had her sensuously sliding her body against his, tangling her legs with his, exploring and learning, seeking every last source of pleasure, for herself and for him.

Sensation built. And built. Pleasure escalated, wave upon wave, the next always greater than the last.

Suddenly, she needed his lips on hers, needed his kiss to anchor her as her senses and her perceptions whirled.

Her world had shrunk to them—him and her in the billows of her bed.

Delight had never been so sharp and sweet, and the pleasure his increasingly possessive, increasingly explicit caresses sent rolling through her continued to burgeon and build.

She felt his hand between her thighs, and she gasped and clung.

His fingers stroked, his touch sure and artful, and her mind locked on the sensations each knowing caress sent lancing through her.

Desire swelled, a never-before-tasted elixir; she found it well-nigh addictive, compelling her, driving her on.

Into passion.

The flames flared, brighter, near incandescent in intensity as they consumed her from the inside out.

Then with a blunt fingertip, he circled the nub of nerves hidden between her folds, and she lost her breath and arched against him as sharp pleasure streaked through her.

He slid one long finger into her sheath, and she caught her breath on a half sob. Her mind seemed to overload, struggling to assimilate the pressure of the intrusion, the alienness of it, along with the sudden wanting that filled her. He murmured something, his voice dark and mysterious, then he stroked. Her body responded, rising and riding each gentle thrust, and she discovered she ached for more.

Discovered a need welling inside her, one she’d never felt before—a need that grew and swelled until it thundered in her blood.

Urgency blindsided her, and gasping, she clutched at him, needing him closer.

Abruptly, their play seemed a great deal more serious, more desperate—her heightened need sharpened to an acute ache.

She wasn’t an innocent—she knew what this was. She needed him now.

Now.

Rand understood her wordless call—her demand, the command carried in her grip as she sank her fingertips into his upper arms and tried to drag him over her.

More than ready, he complied. Passion was a drumbeat in his blood, more forceful than ever before. He lifted over her, bracing his arms and taking his weight on them as he spread her legs with his and settled his hips between her thighs.

They were both burning. Desire had flushed her skin a delicate rose, visible even in the moonlight. Her breathing was ragged, her breasts rising and falling, her hands urgent on his skin.

The soft flesh at the apex of her thighs had flowered for him; the scalding slickness of her welcome bathed the head of his erection as he nudged the swollen lips at her entrance, then eased slowly in.

She caught her breath and stilled. From beneath lids weighted by passion, her eyes glinted, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth—waiting, wanting, and yet unsure…

Unable to resist, he lowered his head and kissed her. Caught her lip and drew it from her hold, then sank deep into her mouth and, with unrestrained ardor, claimed.

Her attention shifted as he’d known it would. He seized her senses, trapped them in the kiss.

Then he flexed his spine and drove slowly, powerfully, home.

Home.