Chapter Thirteen

Ophelia launched herself into Devlin’s arms, and he instinctively caught her against his body. Her soft weight fell against him, her slim hands encircled his throat, and her legs hooked scandalously around his hips, the skirts of her dress riding high to her thighs. He glanced down and almost expired on the spot. Devlin gripped her hips, holding her weight easily, painfully aware that she had removed her stockings, and he could feel the heat of her skin against him, the warmth between her thighs on the front of his trousers. This close, he could not escape the savage beauty of her under the moonlight, with her mass of hair tumbling around their bodies to her hips.

“Do you recall carrying me like this through the woods?”

“I believe then you were on my back, your arms choking the life from me.”

Laughter bubbled up from her throat. “I had good cause.”

She looked wildly desirable, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders in ripples of midnight waves. Ah God. He felt so weak to her. “I never saw those spiders, and I searched to vanquish them for you,” he replied drily.

“They simply hid from your eyes,” she said, her eyes gleaming with laughter.

Her small smile made his heart beat a little faster. “And what is your excuse for jumping in my arms now, Fifi?”

He waited for her to admit she was falling into the dangerous mire of allurement.

She leaned in toward him, her eyes somber and searching, at odds with the deviltry that purred from her lips as she said, “Naughtiness.”

Ah, I see. An ache of want settled low in his gut, and he wondered if he would have the will to send her home with her virtue intact. Unless… “Have you had a man before?”

If she answered yes, he might dump her in the bloody lake, after getting the man’s name to gut him later.

Her eyes sparkled with provoking humor. “What is it to you? I am sure you’ve had a woman or two.”

The silence pounded and stretched, yet neither spoke. “Fifi?”

“Hmm?”

“Do not test me.”

An inelegant snort echoed in the night air, mocking the primal feelings crawling up from his belly. “Who is he?” He was going to kill the man slowly and with pleasure.

An impish grin curved her lovely mouth. “Who is who?”

“For God’s sake, woman!”

She laughed, the sound light and teasing. “I’ve never had a lover, Devlin.”

“Then say so. Do not tease me.”

She slipped a hand from behind his neck, confident that he held her weight from falling to the ground. Fifi lightly touched the bridge of his nose. “Why not?”

“I cannot bear the thought of you in another man’s arms.”

“And I must bear the thought that you’ve had women?”

The soft words were a crushing fist against his heart. Hell. Regret iced through his insides. “No,” he said quietly. “One. Not women.”

A tiny frown appeared between her winged brows. “You’ve had one lover in all your life?”

“Yes.”

She ducked her head, the curtain of her hair briefly hiding her expression. “Is she your lover still?”

“No.”

Their gazes collided. In hers, he spied relief. “Why not?”

“I ended the liaison the night you sang for me.”

She trailed that lone finger down to his lip, and he noted that it trembled. Her touch was so soft and light it was scarcely a breath of sensation, yet it hooked into his gut and pulled with ruthless intensity, toward her…always toward her. The jolt in his body was savage, arousal curling through him.

Fifi sparkled. She tempted. Devlin hungered. Fuck. His heart trembled. There was something wild and bewitching about her. Something enchanting…and untouchable. At this moment, he felt a rare feeling of being unworthy of Fifi. Much like his friends, he’d learned to cloak himself in a mask of civility, some semblance of breeding, and eloquence. But it did not take much to see the coarseness beneath the surface of that manufactured elegance. He had done things—shameful, ruthless things—to get where he was today.

She was so damn beautiful. She was too elegant for him, too refined, too ladylike. He forced himself to take a deep breath and then exhale slowly. “It is best we start our journey back to town.”

He needed to bloody well think. Rethink his approach. Re-strategize. And he damn well could not do that with her so close.

She rubbed her thumb over his lower lip, delicately parting his lips so she could wet her finger. Hot, urgent desire stirred inside him, the powerful need touching a raw nerve. Remember to progress slowly…woo her, not ravish her.

“I do not wish to leave as yet.”

He nipped that thumb, wanting to punish her for making him crave her so much. “It is late.”

“It is barely nine p.m. When I am at balls, I leave most times at three or four a.m.”

“Is that where your parents think you are?”

“They believe I am at a small dinner party at my dear friend’s home. It is expected that I will return home late.” Her lush red mouth curved deliciously. “Very late.”

Bloody hell. For a wild moment, Devlin forgot to breathe. “Where is your cousin? I expected her to be a hound at your heels sniffing.”

“You do know I am four and twenty.”

“So you have said before.”

She removed her thumb, blew at where he bit, and then licked his taste from her fingers. Devlin almost dropped her on her arse. His cock rose on a painful pulse of want. The teasing, wretched minx!

“Cousin Effie is aware of the truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

“As many whispered behind their fans, I am long in the tooth, on the shelf, no longer in the blush of youth. I am not required to observe the proprieties and rectitude of gentility as much as ladies younger than myself. She will not chase after me but respect my need for space.”

Dark humor rushed through him. “A woman as lovely as you are is considered long in the tooth?”

“And a wallflower,” she whispered, as if she shared a secret. “There is nothing worse than a long-in-the-tooth wallflower.”

At least she seemed amused by the ridiculousness of that idea.

“You could have told your family you visited my parents’ home for a dinner,” he said, watching every nuance of her expression.

Her lip curled in a delicate scowl, and her eyes glinted with mysterious allure. “You are the danger that lurks unseen in shadowy corners, masked as a handsome and debonair man.” She touched her fingertips to his cheek. “Even a spinster…a long-toothed wallflower can be irrevocably ruined by being associated with you.”

“I would not want you ruined and cast aside by your society.” The instant the words stumbled from his mouth, he tasted the truth of them. He had been so damn busy thinking about his desires, he did not pause to consider the impact on Fifi. Though he did not respect many nobs for their selfishness, it was still the world she had grown in—the only one she knew. They would need to discuss a plan on how to deal with those from her world who might want to hurt Fifi for her choices. He would repay hurt with hurt. Perhaps it was best to keep that part to himself. Devlin sensed she had a compassionate heart.

“It is my risk to take.”

“And what do you earn in return?”

There was a hitch in her breathing.

He knew he pushed her, but he wanted to understand without a doubt why she was with him. When he’d sent his invitation, he had not offered money or any form of coercion. It had been a request born of hope and hunger, and she had replied, astonishing every sense he owned.

“I would never be how I am with you now with another, Niall,” his Fifi said, a curious ache of want in her tone. “I am not afraid to be alone with you. I am not afraid of the risks…in truth, I do not think of them, for I am too busy relishing this…being myself with you, with no fear of reprimand or judgment.”

Her trust cut him open—he wanted to bear her down to the carpet of grass and devour every inch of her delectable body. If she stayed here with him…alone, with nothing but the darkness of the night known to hold secrets and whispered temptations, he would take her, and damn all consequences.

“Fifi—”

“Let’s stargaze, Devlin,” she said with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “The last time I had the pleasure of simply staring at the stars was after we dared jump in the river, chasing waterfalls and fishes.”

He walked with her over to the rug and blankets, biting back a groan when she shimmied off him. With a gusty smile, she tossed herself onto the blankets, staring upward, her hair fanning about her. Devlin lay beside her, careful that they did not touch. He felt aching and hungry and empty. The stunning creature who had reduced him to such a state reposed beside him, wistfully staring at the velveted blackness of the sky. He slid his hand across the grass. Just a touch. Just once, and he would content himself with that. His finger brushed against hers, and she stilled. He felt when she shifted her head on the blanket and stared at him. Carefully masking his cravings, he turned his head, and their gazes collided.

Hers were bright with something naughty yet sweet.

“Are you foxed?”

She snorted, the inelegant sound surprising him. “I have had whisky before.”

“Really?” he asked drily.

She slipped her fingers through his, the move casual, but his heart slammed against his chest. Did she realize her actions? Devlin curled his fingers around hers, in the event she thought she would take back her clasp. He was far from ready to let her go. Perhaps he never would be.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, knowing how ruthless he could be when he pursued something he wanted, Devlin directed his attention to her words.

“Us sinful wallflowers often pilfered Papa’s whisky. We have been tipsy more than once, and I assure you, I am far from that. I simply feel…languid and so warm.”

“Sinful wallflowers?”

“Hmm, my friends.”

Wallflowers. That silly sobriquet. “I suppose society would say they are long in the tooth as well?”

“Or some such nonsense.” The hint of laughter had quite vanished from her eyes. “I would love for you to meet them. There is Kitty, who is now a Duchess; Maryann, who is married to Marquess Rothbury. There is also Emma, Fanny, and Charlotte. We are the dearest of friends, and we have promised one another to stop letting life pass us by because others have their own notion of how we should live. Existing at the will of others is rather unpleasant, so we are determined to live by our own wants and desires.”

A notion he rather admired and one that explained why she was here tonight. So he was a part of her wants and desires. Dark pleasure hummed through him. One step closer. From what he understood about society and the strictures it placed on young ladies, it was rather an extraordinary thing they had decided. “Your depth of unhappiness must have been profound.”

She made a sound that was a cross between a snort and a hiss. Devlin had no idea what the hell it was, but it brought a smile to his lips.

“Can you imagine the audacity of everyone directing our lives? How do they imagine this is acceptable? Since we were girls, we were told how to walk, dress, behave, and lord forbid how dreadfully improper it is should we have any original ideas of our own. We are always rebuked for daring to do anything outside of their expectations. Well, we were all annoyed…”

A slight hiccup interrupted her, and Fifi gave a breathless small laugh. “Society has a rigid opinion on the fun we may have and the men we are to marry. Imagine that society considers that if we do not agree to behave exactly as they decree, we are ruined. How can I be ruined…no longer suitable to speak or dance with, no longer suitable for elevated company, if I simply dare to exist within my own dream? It is so outrageous it is almost laughable.”

“So you all decided to pursue wickedness?”

She must have heard the incredulity in his voice, for she laughed again.

“No. That is simplifying matters. We will pursue what we want. It is our life, is it not? Our happiness? I doubt the engine of society will crumble should we pursue the yearning in our hearts instead of doing what we are told. If the path to that happiness just happens to be wicked…well!”

“And what are your pursuits that are so dastardly it would send society into a swoon?”

Her eyes held his, and her lips curled enticingly. “I am here with you.”

“Ah…the danger that lurks unseen…and whatnot.”

“Yes.” Her gaze lowered to their entwined fingers. “A touch from you, Niall, and I am unequivocally turned upside down. Can there be anything more dangerous to a lady? That a touch from a man leaves her breathless with a craving she does not understand, and awakens impossible expectations in her heart?”

Devlin was bloody well captivated by her. “Is that how I make you feel?”

“Yes.”

“That is fair, then. For days after I see you, I can still feel you beneath my skin. I am afraid to eat…to drink whisky or anything, for I do not want to lose the taste of your mouth from mine. Wickedly sweet and tart. A taste that promises exquisite sinfulness and such pleasure…”

She was taken so much by surprise that she could only stare at him. “Truly?” Fifi whispered.

“Truly.”

…

Need broke over Ophelia, warm, rich, like honeyed heat.

This was not what she should be talking about with Devlin. She felt a sudden, aching wrench of emotion. Chatting about the night stars was a much safer and more agreeable topic for conversation, but there was a hunger in Ophelia’s heart to know the man she lay so scandalously close to. To kiss him. To roll with him in the grass, wrapped in laughter.

To give him that taste of her that he did not want to lose.

Between her legs, she swelled and ached. Touch me, she silently pleaded. As if he heard her, with a long, indrawn breath, he lifted his right hand and laid it, tentative, against her cheek.

Ophelia got the sense he was almost afraid to reach out to her. Did he think she believed his caresses beneath her? She could not bear for him to think so. “Do you think I abhor your touch?”

“No.”

“Then why do you seem…hesitant to hold me?”

“Is it not inappropriate to do so?” he asked with a small, amused curve to his mouth.

Terribly inappropriate. “Do you forget I vowed to be wicked in my pursuits?”

He made a small tsking sound, a sound of mockery and provocative amusement. His thumb slid against her cheek and down to her lips. There, he brushed it across her mouth. “How astonishing you think this is wicked.”

“I am acquainted with its varied forms.”

“Are you?”

“I recall your demonstration with my cunny.”

He stilled. To Ophelia’s shock, Devlin rolled her beneath him, keeping his weight on one of his elbows, and peered down into her eyes. He used his thumb to part her lips and then slid it against the inside of her bottom lip. He stared at her, his expression beautiful and savagely carnal, and she couldn’t dismiss the awareness that Devlin was indeed dangerous.

But not to me, that silly and reckless heart of hers murmured.

“What is wicked, Fifi, is that I should tell you that your lips are perfect in their lushness, and I have dreamed about them on my mouth…my throat…my chest…and even my cock.”

Color flooded her cheeks, for she had a good notion of what he meant by “cock.” A dark, wanton feeling came upon her without warning, an aching fullness low in her belly. Is this desire? Ophelia surprised herself by laughing. “I think you are trying to shock my sensibilities, Niall.”

“I suppose I failed abysmally?”

“I am no longer waiting, Devlin. I want to live a little…for myself. I have vowed to be wicked, even if it is once. And that means I get to do naughty things…extraordinary naughty things with my mouth. I daresay they might even involve cocks.”

It was a wonder she did not choke on the crudely salacious word, but her taunt had the desired effect.

Niall faltered into remarkable stillness, a flush darkening along his jawline. Oh, teasing him was such fun.

“You delightful wretch,” he murmured, dipping his head closer. Their noses brushed.

“A wretch, am I?”

“Note the distinction. I said delightful. I could have said bloody wretch.”

He stroked lightly up and down the nape of her neck. He wanted to kiss her; she could see the craving in his eyes. Yet he did not lower his head. Ophelia had the sudden sneaking suspicion he did not kiss her to simply prove to himself that he could refrain from the desire. That he could control this…whatever this was.

The sudden awareness of that knowledge felt almost impossible to grasp. That would mean Devlin Byrne desperately wanted to kiss her, and that must be unacceptable to a man who at times seemed so controlled. That hunger crawling through him now must be a grave annoyance.

“You want to kiss me,” Ophelia murmured daringly, brazenly, with utter provocation.

“That I do,” he said, his mouth curving into a small smile.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Is that another invitation, Fifi?”

“It was a question.”

He lowered his face a little, looking at her from beneath his eyelashes. “I’ve already tasted the delight of your mouth, Fifi…surely you know where I want my tongue next, hmm?”

There was a teasing, provoking glint in his eyes.

The fiend indeed.

“I have wondered what it would feel like…to have you kissing my cunny. I thought it so wicked of you to plant the temptation inside me. Since that day at your home, every night I lay awake in the dark…I spread my legs…and my fingers hovered right there, but I am not brave enough to touch.” The words felt like they came from somewhere and someone else. “But I think of your mouth there. How would it feel? Strange? Hot? Ticklish? Pleasurable?”

“Fucking hell!”

Suddenly, Ophelia was terrified. Of the way he made her feel…the way he made her hunger. And all from the merest touch. Is he your slice of wickedness…?

As she peered at him and the chain around his throat, she admitted she wanted him to be more than a slice. She wanted wickedness with him in its entirety.

“I am afraid,” she whispered, taking a single step back in her thoughts. Yet she did not remove her hand from around his shoulders.

He froze, a spasm of anguish crossing his face before his expression shuttered. “You think me capable of hurting you?”

She pressed her trembling hand to her stomach, desperately seeking to stop the nervous flutters. “I am scared because…because I want you. I have never wanted a man before!”

It was so tempting to step off the precipice she hovered above.

Oh, God! I’ve already leaped.

His eyes gleamed with an unfathomable emotion. Then he laughed, low and soft, the sound decidedly mocking. “You are afraid that after I ravish you, I will want you to make an honest man out of me.”

The words settled between them, heavy and fraught. The terrible irony did not escape her.

“I know I am not the kind of man a lady like you should take for a husband, Fifi.” Though his expression was icily carved into stone, he tenderly brushed a kiss across her mouth. “Do not worry—I will not demand you do the honorable thing.”

Not yet lingered unspoken, and she wondered if it was her fanciful thoughts.

I am courting you to my bed. That was a promise of an affair; nothing more. Yet she also had in her thoughts every word his mother imparted earlier. He cunningly tried to hide it, but Niall wanted all of her, and inexplicably, Ophelia wanted to give her entire self to him, even knowing it to be impossible.

She wanted to be his lover.

Ophelia did not want to deny the desire for him anymore. She did not want to think about any consequences at the moment. She simply needed to choose this for herself, so she did.

“Undress me, please,” Ophelia whispered. A kiss of warning quivered down her spine, but she brushed it aside.

A charged stillness followed.

Their gazes held for endless minutes. She could not tear her eyes away from his brilliant gaze. The look in his eyes—savage lust and hunger—should have frightened Ophelia, for she had no experience in matters of the flesh, but her body throbbed with a deep, sweet ache of anticipation. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, shifted on the blankets, and stood, turning her back to him.

There was no movement between them, and the night echoed with their stillness. Wind rustled through the trees, and in the distance, a bird chirped. She heard when he stood and felt him behind her, a hard, hot, shifting wall against her back, at once comforting and intimidating. The sound of movement echoed; he was removing his clothes. Soft winds plucked the blades and leaves of the trees like violin strings, creating music around them. She heard it then—melodies in the night air.

A song from you to me…

She barely felt his hands as he undid the small buttons of her dress. Ophelia bit into her lower lip, aware of her rapid breathing. That he did not speak heightened her awareness of him, and she closed her eyes when his fingers lingered on the last button at her lower back.

The night air cooled her skin as he slowly tugged at the laces of her stay. The dress was pushed down to her arms, and he held it there at her elbows, a trap of sorts. He smelled her hair, and she swallowed. Still no words from him, and the feelings low in her belly tightened until they were painful. His fingers tightened on the crushed garment at her elbows. It was as if he struggled with hunger…and restraint…

“Do you know what I have imagined, Fifi…?” he said in a rough whisper. “About you…and me…”

Her stomach filled with a thousand butterflies. “Tell me.”

“You on your belly, your luscious hips sprawled over a cushion, your legs split wide so I can clearly see the pretty pinkness of your cunny…waiting for me to touch…and to kiss. The ways I dreamed of tupping you say I am too damn coarse for you.”

Before she could protest, he delicately bit into the curve of her shoulder, the sting an erotic pleasure. Then he nudged the side of her face with his chin, like the great dangerous panther she imagined, curving her neck outward more.

“I’ve imagined taking you on your knees, your pussy wet with invitation, your arse arched while your elbows are low on the mattress. The pose would spread you wide, but you, my sweet, won’t go blushing on me. You are too daring for that. I envision staring at the sensual arch of your spine, the roundness of your lush, plump arse. I admit to watching the sway of it many times when I saw you in the streets.”

He stroked one finger over her derriere. “I’ve imagined biting those luscious globes, kissing it better…going to that valley with my kisses where you’ll be dewy and so damn beautiful. You inspire fantasies of sweaty tangled limbs, writhing in ecstasy atop silken sheets.”

She felt a primal twist in her belly.

The gown whispered from her body to pool at her feet, then her stays, drawers, and chemisette followed until she was gloriously naked, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and back, protecting her body from the night air. From his gaze. That finger stroked down from her buttocks to her thighs, slipping to her inner thigh. Oh, God. She gripped the edges of his trousers and held on at the sensations that quaked through her belly. They were frightfully hot, needy…almost desperately painful.

“I’ve been a right libertine, fisting my cock off nightly with these images. You are a lady of quality. I am coarse and unfit for you. I know it, but I cannot stay away from you.”

“I do not want you to stay away,” she whispered. “Never that.”

He groaned like a tortured man. “Fucking hell, Fifi, this was not a part of the plan. Not today.”

“But one day?” she asked, an ache rising in her throat.

His fingers brushed her throat as he drew the mass of her hair back over her shoulder. “One day…when I was damn well sure.”

“Sure of what?”

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead on top of her head. “Until I was sure of you.”

She made to turn around, and he clamped his hands fiercely on her hips, halting her movement. “Are you sure of me now, Niall?”

“I am even more uncertain,” he said gruffly, running a hand over her hips around to her belly in a motion of violent tenderness. Up he went with both hands, his fingers exploring, stroking, demanding, plucking at nerve endings over the flat of her belly, the sides of her ribs, below her breasts until he cupped the full mounds in his large hands.

His naked chest pressed against her back, his flesh imprinting on every part of her skin her hair did not cover. Bare skin to bare skin. Her skin felt engulfed in flames. Ophelia mewled, the sound shocking and arousing her in equal measure. It was instinct that had her reaching behind her…feeling for him. He was still in trousers; however, the flaps were open. She slid her hand inside them, exploring the hot, hard flesh within. She traced the length and thickness of it, blushing a bit. “What is this called?”

He tenderly kissed the slope of her neck. “My cock.”

“Curious words…cock…cunny.”

In response to her low murmur, his thumb found the taut, throbbing peak of her nipples, chafing back and forth in a delicious manner. A little sob of pleasure caught in her throat at that punch of sensation. In retaliation, she squeezed his thick length, and his breath hitched.

“Only the one word for this?” she murmured with dry amusement.

“Penis, lobcock, manhood, manroot, spindle, pulling prick…should I continue?”

She laughed, oddly amused and titillated. The touch of his mouth along the curve of her throat was just a whisper of sensation, yet it evoked a flame low in her belly. He was teasing, gentle, dangerous…for Ophelia had no will left in her to resist his caresses, only to be wicked and wanton.

Devlin teased her nipples, rolling each under his thumb before pinching down. Her breasts were released, and his hands started to roam. His touch felt impatient yet gentle, forceful yet seductive.

He spun her around, and the glimpse of him under the silvery wash of moonlight stole her breath. He was beautifully delineated with muscles that cut like marble slabs from his arms, over his chest, and to his stomach. As he cupped her cheeks, she found herself crushed against him, his mouth devouring hers with ravishing passion. Slipping her hands around his neck, she returned his kisses, all the feelings sweeping her up, vaguely aware that he dragged her down with him to the rumpled blankets atop the rug. In his kisses, she felt the echoes of the past and the yearning for a future. I am fanciful, she thought dazedly.

She whimpered, feeling the heat of him everywhere, like a searing brand. His hand on her thigh, sliding to her hips, her waist. He ran his palm along the length of her leg, a light stroke, from her ankle to her knee. When he touched her nipple with his tongue, she drew in a sharp breath and caught her lower lip in her teeth. The pleasure was sublime. Then he touched her wet, aching sex with a finger before sliding it deep. It was as if lightning pierced her belly. The sensations burned primal and wonderful, so much so Ophelia cried out, her voice rippling through the woodlands.

Everything felt fast yet so perfect.

She closed her eyes, and—oh, dear God, his tongue licked her sex. He actually kissed her…cunny! Her thighs…her belly…her entire body shivered as his tongue moved over her flesh. She moaned his name—Niall…Devlin—until they blended into a chorus of whispers and wanton pleas.

He chuckled, the sound one of low, masculine arrogance and appreciation, before his tongue stabbed against her nub of pleasure. He sucked it into his mouth, devastating her with the sudden thrill of exhilaration. She came up off the blanket, supporting her weight on her elbows to watch his dark head between her splayed thighs.

The picture they presented stole her breath. This was indecent…diabolical…wonderful torture.

And Ophelia wanted more.

With each skillful flick of his tongue, he unlocked her—he stripped her inhibitions and destroyed her ladylike sensibilities. She arched her hips more to his mouth, mindless sensation spearing from her sex to her belly. Ophelia gripped the blanket, biting into her lower lip. Something frightening was swelling through her body. It felt tight…and achy…and the center of the burning pleasure was the nub he sucked and licked with ease.

Her release came without warning—a violent, shuddering, powerful wave of joy that had her thighs trembling. It took her breath so she could not scream, only emit a sob of want, for she was still empty despite that devastating bliss. It was as if he knew, for he came up above her, blanketing her with his weight and powerful muscles. His fingers slid down her back and into the curve of her buttocks, dragging her roughly against his swollen cock. He reached between them with one hand, and then something hard and simply too large pressed against her opening.

“Fifi?”

“Yes?” she asked on a trembling whisper.

“Hold me.”

Releasing the blanket that had been her lifeline in the sensual storm, she clasped his shoulders, hugging him close to her. A tight tension wound itself in the very air around them. He caught her mouth in a ravaging kiss, and at the same time his hips surged forward, going deep in one swift thrust.

It was sweet pain and wicked ecstasy. She could not distinguish between the two sensations. She bit his mouth, and he broke their kiss to whisper soothing, ridiculous nonsense that reached down inside and filled her with heady warmth. He withdrew and thrust, and Ophelia sobbed against his ongoing kiss. The pain was jarring, and where they joined burned. Somehow his fingers found her pearl, then pinched and stroked it, shocking her with the piercing, pleasurable sensations he forced through that small bundle of nerves.

She tunneled her fingers into the silky lushness of his hair, lifted her legs, and hooked her ankles around his hips, the move somehow taking his cock even deeper inside her. The sense of fullness was exquisite. He started to move, a wonderful, driving rhythm. He plunged deep and then deeper still, over and over, stirring emotions she didn’t know how to absorb. Sensation upon sensation blossomed irresistibly through Ophelia, and she came apart in his embrace. Devlin hugged her to him, making three deep, hard strokes before he, too, shuddered and pulled from her, his release spilling on her mons and lower belly.

Bloody hell. Nothing would ever be the same again.