of sheer pleasure pounding through her. Her head tipped forward, her mouth opened wide.
Was this the lure of sensual writing—not the orgasm, but the deep joy, the wonderful sense of intimate connection with a gentleman she’d longed for over months?
It was ending, the waves dying slowly away. He scooped her up, her skirts hanging about her hips to the floor. Floating still, in pleasure, she locked her hands around his neck. Her fingers grazed smooth, sensually enticing skin.
“This room is filled with intriguing devices to enhance pleasure.”
Dazed, she met Swansborough’s amused gaze. Midnight black and twinkling. “Devices?”
“If you are part of the treasure hunt, love, you are supposed to be tied up and whipped.”
She hadn’t realized that. Even though she was still boneless from her climax, she felt color drain from her face.
He settled her on the chaise, and she let go of his neck to drop on the silk-covered, elegant surface. She realized, still catching her breath, still throbbing deep in her quim, that his cock was hard, rigid, and he must want his pleasure now.
She thought he would mount her.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from his blunt-nosed cock pointing toward her, so long and thick and intriguing. One thrust, and she would be ruined.
She didn’t care.
She touched his jaw, let his stubble ignite her skin and send magic coursing through her veins. Her skirts spilled over her hips; her legs were bare. She could see her brown intimate curls below crumpled petticoats and the snug front panel of her corset. She parted her legs wide.
I want you.
She couldn’t say it. Didn’t dare say it.
Still, she wanted him to understand.
But he didn’t mount her. Instead he paced over to a simple box standing on the desk, at the edge of the light.
A proper young lady didn’t look at a man’s naked bottom, she thought wildly. But she couldn’t help but look. He possessed the most perfect taut derriere. The muscles of his flanks hollowed deeply as he walked, lithe and graceful.
Grinning in the way that made her throat ache and her quim pulse, he flipped open the lid. “Playthings.”
Toys? Why would a gentleman have toys on his desk?
She had time to run. Time to flee to preserve…what?
Before she could work up the courage to ask, he returned. He splayed his hands beneath her lower back and lifted her. With the corset, she didn’t bend, and he gave her a smile of sympathy. “This will be worth it, love.”
Something pressed at the puckered entrance of her bottom. The most wonderful, exhilarating sensation shot through her. It was so wickedly sensitive there—just as her authors said.
He held a small glass vial before her eyes, poured a stream of gold liquid to his fingers. It poured slowly, like honey, and dripped off his fingers.
Her heart hammered.
She was masked. He most definitely did not know who she was. He would not touch his slicked fingers to her bottom if he knew she was the Earl of Trent’s sister by marriage.
Ooh!
Slippery, his fingers traced around her entrance, leaving her skin oiled. His finger dipped inside, and her bottom opened for him.
Never had she imagined it could feel so good.
He held another thing before her eyes. One of the “playthings.” A small, slim rod with a rounded end. With circular strokes, he teased her entrance with it. With her legs splayed wide, she could only arch with the shock.
“Do you enjoy anal play?”
He was studying her bottom, displayed to him, and she felt a flush of embarrassment. Yet he only appeared…intrigued…as though he enjoyed the sight of her entrance, her plump cheeks squashed by the chaise beneath.
The slender rod slid in, and she knew at once that she did enjoy such play. Heart in her throat, Maryanne nodded.
“Relax, love. Let it slip inside,” Dash murmured.
Dash nuzzled pretty Verity’s slender neck. She lay on the chaise with her legs up and spread wide, the picture of carnal welcome. Brandy-laced blood raced down to his rigid cock, and he had to hold the edge of the seat to stay upright.
Verity. Pretty Verity, promising the truth in her pleasure.
Her hair tumbled around her, fallen from her pins, a shimmering honey brown in the golden light. With her skirts around her waist, her shapely, trim legs were revealed. Lovely slim hips and a nipped-in waist beneath her corset.
Behind the mask, her wide eyes were the color of coffee. He’d tasted champagne in her kiss. As with him, liquor fired her blood. With the white silk strip of a mask, he could see only brown eyes, the plump curve of her mouth, the point to her chin.
She wore a blasted awkward gown for a courtesan, yet it was enticing to try to slide his hand inside the bodice to tease her nipple. She squirmed in frustration, and he pressed his lips to the crests of her breasts beneath the satin.
Lovely.
Wrapping his fist around his shaft, he forced his prick down. Even just his touch on his shaft almost hit the trigger and sent him firing. God, he was hard—he needed to fuck, to fuck wide-eyed, lovely Verity—and escape his truth.
He should leave. He’d come to prove his innocence only to be struck in the gut with his guilt. He should—
Don’t think.
She smelled like heaven, ripe and creamy from her orgasm.
A kiss. He slanted his mouth over her parted lips as he used the swollen head of his cock to part her wet nether lips.
Hot. Wet.
Beautiful oblivion.
Bracing his arm on the chaise, Dash guided his cock to her snug, velvety quim and sank inside.
3
He was going to make her come until she begged for mercy. Until she pleaded with him to stop because she couldn’t bear more pleasure. He would hear her scream for him.
“Oh, dear god!”
Dash chuckled at Verity’s shocked cry as his thick cock nosed its way into her quim. Her fingernails clamped into his bare shoulders. Her teeth sank into her lower lip. Like hot cream, she flowed around his rigid shaft. His chest brushed her tightly corseted breasts, his mouth grazed her forehead as he began the slow, easy rock of his hips.
Damn, but she was tight. A mere inch inside her slick, tight cunny and his brain wanted to shatter into a thousand pieces. His famed control was fleeing, and he fought to hang on to it.
A girl this tight was new.
He wouldn’t hurt her. But he needed to intensify the game.
Dash caught her hands in his and lifted her arms over her head. Panic flashed in her dark, massive eyes. Her legs were splayed on either side of the chaise. With his weight between her creamy thighs, his length positioned over her, she was trapped.
He read at once her fear at loss of control, but sex was best when accompanied by powerful emotion—by fear, by vulnerability, reputedly by love…
He pumped deep, rewarded by her gasps and moans with every thrust. Her cries were so sweet, so bewitching, so delicate. Verity’s fetching cries had a truth to them that spoke deeply to his heart.
She was so tentative beneath him.
Afraid of him? Because he was drunk? Because he’d shattered every tumbler in the room into the fireplace? She must have seen the shards of glass.
Her right