Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) by Vivienne Lorret
Authors: Vivienne Lorret
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pleated?”
She glared at the offending garment, struck by a ridiculous notion to crumple it. No sooner had the idea formed that she gave in to the impulse and moved forward on her seat, her arm reaching forward.
Ethan stopped her, taking hold of her wrist. His eyes flared. Before she could react, he yanked, propelling her forward to land clumsily on his lap.
“How dare—”
His mouth covered hers, silencing her outrage. Her head spun, reeling from the sudden scorching heat of his kiss.
This was a kiss, wasn’t it? Yet, it was nothing like her dreams, where his rehearsed request was followed by carefully controlled actions. No, this was no gentle dream. This was hard and demanding. His tongue didn’t request entrance but swept in and plundered.
His arms were not gentle either. In fact, he held her so tightly she couldn’t move, and grasped her wrist so she couldn’t touch him or push him away.
But she’d never push him away.
Instead, she wanted to cling to him. Her anger evaporated in a rush of steam. Her mind cried out for more of this glorious punishment. She wanted his kiss to burn her, through and through. This was the first time she’d been warm in months.
A mew of frustration tore from her throat when his firm hold would not budge. She wriggled and pulled. Finally, she managed to free her hand, but at the cost of the buttons at her wrist as her glove was stripped away. Yet, she didn’t care.
Now, she was free to touch him. Her bare hand found its way to his hair, threading through the thick, heavy waves. The smooth locks wound around her fingers in a caress. How long had she wondered at the texture or longed for this freedom? Forever, at least.
She returned his kiss with the fervor she’d kept locked away for years. Her tongue mingled with his. A tentative stroke at first. Then a few slow swipes until she knew the intimate interior of his mouth as well as he knew hers. She touched the sharp ridges of his teeth and felt compelled to rake hers across his tongue. He groaned in response, his arms tightening around her.
She squirmed against him, feeling very much like a cat in need of affection. He seemed to know this, because in the next instant he unclasped her fur-trimmed cloak and let it fall to the carriage floor. His hands were on her, caressing the length of her back. From her nape to the swells of her derriere, his fingertips traced every vertebra of her spine, leaving none unexplored.
Never once did he break the kiss. Never once did he ease the pressure. The kiss remained a force to be reckoned with, too long denied. With her eyes closed, she felt the pull of his lips more keenly and was mesmerized into answering with the same urgency.
Ethan. . .
Those same hands, which were meticulous with writing figures in a ledger, were just as meticulous with the row of tiny buttons at the front of her half jacket.
Penelope did not know how to describe what happened next. Until now, she could have only dreamed of such a passionate kiss. Let alone ever imagined how wondrous it would feel to have his hands on her body.
The heat of those hands seared through the thin fabric of her dress and her chemise as her jacket parted. Her flesh grew taut, responding to his touch. A sharp spear of sensation stabbed her with the most exquisite pain, which tightened low in her belly. She arched against his hand, wanting more of this sublime torture.
He obliged her, chafing the fabric over her nipple with the pad of his thumb. She squirmed against him again, feeling hot and liquid and never wanting this to end. She was infinitely glad she did not get on the mail coach. This was a far better way to travel.
Ethan deepened the kiss, stripping away her ability to think. Every glorious pull of his lips, every sublime stroke of his tongue exposed more of the yearning she’d locked away. She could not get enough. He dragged down the front of her dress, exposing her breast to the chilly winter air, her nipple contracting in
She glared at the offending garment, struck by a ridiculous notion to crumple it. No sooner had the idea formed that she gave in to the impulse and moved forward on her seat, her arm reaching forward.
Ethan stopped her, taking hold of her wrist. His eyes flared. Before she could react, he yanked, propelling her forward to land clumsily on his lap.
“How dare—”
His mouth covered hers, silencing her outrage. Her head spun, reeling from the sudden scorching heat of his kiss.
This was a kiss, wasn’t it? Yet, it was nothing like her dreams, where his rehearsed request was followed by carefully controlled actions. No, this was no gentle dream. This was hard and demanding. His tongue didn’t request entrance but swept in and plundered.
His arms were not gentle either. In fact, he held her so tightly she couldn’t move, and grasped her wrist so she couldn’t touch him or push him away.
But she’d never push him away.
Instead, she wanted to cling to him. Her anger evaporated in a rush of steam. Her mind cried out for more of this glorious punishment. She wanted his kiss to burn her, through and through. This was the first time she’d been warm in months.
A mew of frustration tore from her throat when his firm hold would not budge. She wriggled and pulled. Finally, she managed to free her hand, but at the cost of the buttons at her wrist as her glove was stripped away. Yet, she didn’t care.
Now, she was free to touch him. Her bare hand found its way to his hair, threading through the thick, heavy waves. The smooth locks wound around her fingers in a caress. How long had she wondered at the texture or longed for this freedom? Forever, at least.
She returned his kiss with the fervor she’d kept locked away for years. Her tongue mingled with his. A tentative stroke at first. Then a few slow swipes until she knew the intimate interior of his mouth as well as he knew hers. She touched the sharp ridges of his teeth and felt compelled to rake hers across his tongue. He groaned in response, his arms tightening around her.
She squirmed against him, feeling very much like a cat in need of affection. He seemed to know this, because in the next instant he unclasped her fur-trimmed cloak and let it fall to the carriage floor. His hands were on her, caressing the length of her back. From her nape to the swells of her derriere, his fingertips traced every vertebra of her spine, leaving none unexplored.
Never once did he break the kiss. Never once did he ease the pressure. The kiss remained a force to be reckoned with, too long denied. With her eyes closed, she felt the pull of his lips more keenly and was mesmerized into answering with the same urgency.
Ethan. . .
Those same hands, which were meticulous with writing figures in a ledger, were just as meticulous with the row of tiny buttons at the front of her half jacket.
Penelope did not know how to describe what happened next. Until now, she could have only dreamed of such a passionate kiss. Let alone ever imagined how wondrous it would feel to have his hands on her body.
The heat of those hands seared through the thin fabric of her dress and her chemise as her jacket parted. Her flesh grew taut, responding to his touch. A sharp spear of sensation stabbed her with the most exquisite pain, which tightened low in her belly. She arched against his hand, wanting more of this sublime torture.
He obliged her, chafing the fabric over her nipple with the pad of his thumb. She squirmed against him again, feeling hot and liquid and never wanting this to end. She was infinitely glad she did not get on the mail coach. This was a far better way to travel.
Ethan deepened the kiss, stripping away her ability to think. Every glorious pull of his lips, every sublime stroke of his tongue exposed more of the yearning she’d locked away. She could not get enough. He dragged down the front of her dress, exposing her breast to the chilly winter air, her nipple contracting in
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