kept the pace slow, a long gentle slide in, followed by soft velvet friction as he pulled out again. Over and over, like the relentless wash of waves upon a shore. A slow claiming so she knew forever and always, she was his. He was hers.
As the heat between them built, she gave herself up to pleasure. She tightened her legs, trying to pull him in faster, but he reached up and untangled them. “Not yet. Be patient.”
She felt the buildup preceding her release, but though she twisted and arched, he held back just enough to deny her. Instead he kept up the rhythmic pace until it became its own hypnotic dance. The tension grew, every stroke coiling higher and tighter until she knew the release would be triumphant, world shaking, breaking down any vestige of barriers left between them.
Then he whispered, “Now.” His hips surged once, twice and together they exploded and spiraled into ecstasy.
Together they drifted back to earth, wrapped in each other’s arms, still joined, still one.
Susan lay in the sweet aftermath, drinking in the wonder of what twenty-four hours could bring.
As soon as he made the arrangements, they would marry. Let society wonder how they met. Let them speculate about the role of Anthony’s notorious gatherings. Let Estelle Milthorpe spread her malice if she dared. No one could spoil what she had found the night she’d placed herself at her lord’s table.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
The Gardener’s Sins
Alysha Ellis
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Mary, I shouldn’t give this to you. It’s not right.”
Lady Mary Linden, third daughter of the Earl of Whitten, snatched the book of Ancient Greek poetry from her cousin Harry’s hand. “Rubbish. You’ve read it. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re a female!” Harry’s voice rose in offended outrage. “Some of these poems are…um…quite shocking.”
“You mean they’re sexually explicit,” Mary snapped.
“The poems are from the classical Greek period. They’re not meant for women. The female constitution is delicate,” Harry said. “Excessive stimulation is harmful.”
“You don’t really believe that nonsense you’re spouting.” Mary grinned at him. Her cousin knew her better than that. He knew she was hopelessly curious—about everything.
“A lot of people do believe it.” He ran a hand though his hair, dislodging a straight golden lock that flopped onto his forehead. “They also say women don’t like sex.”
“That’s probably not true either,” Mary argued. “If women were given the chance I know they would enjoy sex just as much as men do. We just never get to find out. Just like we never get to learn about History and Politics—and Ancient Greek poetry. How can I tell I won’t like something if I never get told anything about it?”
Her cousin shook his head. “I should never have started lending you any of my books. I knew no good would come of it.”
Mary ignored the last part of his statement. “I’m grateful for all the things I’ve learnt. I couldn’t have done it without your passing on your books to me.” She paced the floor, her steps long and fast, hardly befitting the elegant glide expected of a lady. She didn’t care, she was heartily sick of restrictions, infuriated by the list of things boys were actively encouraged to experience that were forbidden to girls.
“But this is different. This book has poems in it that talk about things you know nothing about.”
“Well once I read them, I will know, won’t I?” she reasoned.
“But that’s just it. I don’t think it’ll be good for you.”
“If I expire from hysterical over-stimulation I am sure no one would blame you.” She rested her hand on his arm. “You needn’t worry.”
His forehead remained wrinkled and his grey-blue eyes looked distant and disturbed. “The kind of relationship the poet describes. It’s…well, most people think it’s disgusting.
As the heat between them built, she gave herself up to pleasure. She tightened her legs, trying to pull him in faster, but he reached up and untangled them. “Not yet. Be patient.”
She felt the buildup preceding her release, but though she twisted and arched, he held back just enough to deny her. Instead he kept up the rhythmic pace until it became its own hypnotic dance. The tension grew, every stroke coiling higher and tighter until she knew the release would be triumphant, world shaking, breaking down any vestige of barriers left between them.
Then he whispered, “Now.” His hips surged once, twice and together they exploded and spiraled into ecstasy.
Together they drifted back to earth, wrapped in each other’s arms, still joined, still one.
Susan lay in the sweet aftermath, drinking in the wonder of what twenty-four hours could bring.
As soon as he made the arrangements, they would marry. Let society wonder how they met. Let them speculate about the role of Anthony’s notorious gatherings. Let Estelle Milthorpe spread her malice if she dared. No one could spoil what she had found the night she’d placed herself at her lord’s table.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
The Gardener’s Sins
Alysha Ellis
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Mary, I shouldn’t give this to you. It’s not right.”
Lady Mary Linden, third daughter of the Earl of Whitten, snatched the book of Ancient Greek poetry from her cousin Harry’s hand. “Rubbish. You’ve read it. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re a female!” Harry’s voice rose in offended outrage. “Some of these poems are…um…quite shocking.”
“You mean they’re sexually explicit,” Mary snapped.
“The poems are from the classical Greek period. They’re not meant for women. The female constitution is delicate,” Harry said. “Excessive stimulation is harmful.”
“You don’t really believe that nonsense you’re spouting.” Mary grinned at him. Her cousin knew her better than that. He knew she was hopelessly curious—about everything.
“A lot of people do believe it.” He ran a hand though his hair, dislodging a straight golden lock that flopped onto his forehead. “They also say women don’t like sex.”
“That’s probably not true either,” Mary argued. “If women were given the chance I know they would enjoy sex just as much as men do. We just never get to find out. Just like we never get to learn about History and Politics—and Ancient Greek poetry. How can I tell I won’t like something if I never get told anything about it?”
Her cousin shook his head. “I should never have started lending you any of my books. I knew no good would come of it.”
Mary ignored the last part of his statement. “I’m grateful for all the things I’ve learnt. I couldn’t have done it without your passing on your books to me.” She paced the floor, her steps long and fast, hardly befitting the elegant glide expected of a lady. She didn’t care, she was heartily sick of restrictions, infuriated by the list of things boys were actively encouraged to experience that were forbidden to girls.
“But this is different. This book has poems in it that talk about things you know nothing about.”
“Well once I read them, I will know, won’t I?” she reasoned.
“But that’s just it. I don’t think it’ll be good for you.”
“If I expire from hysterical over-stimulation I am sure no one would blame you.” She rested her hand on his arm. “You needn’t worry.”
His forehead remained wrinkled and his grey-blue eyes looked distant and disturbed. “The kind of relationship the poet describes. It’s…well, most people think it’s disgusting.
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