Review: To Desire a Devil by Elizabeth Hoyt

Format: E-booktodesireadevil
Read with: iBooks for iPad
Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance
Series: Legend of the Four Soldiers, #4
Publisher: Vision
Hero: Reynaud St. Aubyn
Heroine: Beatrice Corning
Sensuality: 3
Date of Publication: November 1, 2009
Started On: August 25, 2016
Finished On: August 30, 2016

To Desire a Devil, the last book in the Legend of the Four Soldiers series by Elizabeth Hoyt is a hard book to rate. This book had so much potential; after all, all the preceding stories had pretty much delivered on all fronts. Yet, this book sort of fell flat where every other book shined, and I could not muster enough enthusiasm for the main protagonists in the story either.

Reynaud St. Aubyn, the Viscount of Hope, returns home to a shocked household, who had all presumed him dead for seven long years. Held captive by Indians, Reynaud had not survived the hand that he had been dealt with, to walk away now from the challenge of proving himself to be who he says he is. To complicate matters, his reaction towards Beatrice Corning, niece of the present Earl who resides at his home is one that he does not particularly need or want. However, life has a way throwing the unexpected along your way, and even though Reynaud might not want the added complication, it is one that tempts him on every level.

While the accounts of what Reynaud had gone through made for interesting reading, the rest of the story pretty much did fall flat. I keep trying to put my finger on exactly what went wrong, and yet I cannot. Perhaps it is a mix of factors that led to the whole thing. Either way, this would have to be my least favorite book by Hoyt.

Recommended for fans of the series.

Favorite Quotes

Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Are you sure?”
And that small bit of tenderness decided her. “Yes.”
He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t try to go slowly. He thrust himself inside her, quickly and violently, and her entire body arched with the pain. Burning. Tearing. Something wasn’t right.
She pressed her palms against his chest. “No.”
He looked down at her, his face drawn, the tattooed birds flying about his eye, wild and savage, and he no longer looked tender. He looked like a conqueror. “Too late. You’re mine now.”

He pushed the odd thought aside as he shoved the rest of his length into her. He grasped the headboard on either side of her arms and enclosed her within his embrace. She shivered, and somehow that little movement was the final straw. He began thrusting, hard and fast, the feel of her slippery flesh around him, holding him so tightly, sending him completely out of control. She arched her hips, pushing back at him, and he leaned forward, biting her nape to keep her steady. She gave a cry, high and helpless, and then her cunny was flexing about him, milking his cock as she came.

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fairread

 

Review: To Beguile a Beast by Elizabeth Hoyt

Format: E-booktobeguileabeast
Read with: iBooks for iPad
Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance
Series: Legend of the Four Soldiers, #3
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Hero: Alistair Michael Munroe
Heroine: Helen Fitzwilliam
Sensuality: 3.5
Date of Publication: May 1, 2009
Started On: August 18, 2016
Finished On: August 20, 2016

To Beguile a Beast, the third book in the Legend of the Four Soldiers begins right where To Seduce a Sinner ends. The foundation for the story being laid out towards the end of book 2. This story brings together two unlikely protagonists, Helen Fitzwilliam, the mistress to the very powerful Duke of Lister who had borne him two children, and Sir Alistair Michael Munroe, who lives in Scotland, deep within the ruins of the glory that his home had once been. With his dog Lady Grey as his only companion, Alistair has made it a habit to stay away from limelight and seeking out company because his grotesque scars tended to scare people off or make him feel uncomfortable about it.

When Helen turns up with her two children on Alistair’s doorstep, the only thing that stops him from sending them right off is the letter that Helen carries with her which comes from Lady Vale herself. Helen is equally determined that her attempts to flee from the life that had bound her to the Duke as his personal property would not be in vain, for she knows what lies at stake if the Duke were to hunt her down. Back home, the man in question burns with anger, all because the mere daughter of a physician should try and escape him, and there was no way she would not pay for what she has done. And thus begins the hunt that would bring them back home to him, where they rightfully belong.

From being a mistress whose material comforts had always been seen to, Helen goes into uncharted waters for her, working and trying to restore Alistair’s home to some sort of normalcy so that she could make a home for her kids. All of that does not stop Helen from becoming interested in the man that Alistair is, a naturalist who spends his days locked up in the tower that makes up his office, working the daylight hours away, meticulously recording his findings for his second book. Though Alistair of late has not been having much success in the writing department, he holes himself up in the tower all because he wants to stay away from the temptation that Helen presents, a woman who looks at him and sees him for who he is rather than what the rest of the world sees when they gaze upon him.

None of that stops from the desire that unfurls between them from exploding until they both give in. Not even Alistair’s taciturn nature that does its earnest most to keep the family from invading his heart. Helen unsure of the way she makes Alistair feel is nevertheless enraptured by the way she feels about him, every kiss and caress taking them both into a place none has ever been before. While Alistair is careful that he keeps her at a certain emotional distance, it doesn’t stop him from wanting things that he knows someone like him shouldn’t. Scarred not only on the outside but on the inside as well, Alistair had been a casualty of an attack that had not spared the civilian he had been in the group, and he bears the scars of that encounter right in his very soul.

From start to finish, Alistair had my heart. His playful nature in bed just brought out a devilish side of him that I found irresistible. Helen’s gentle firmness when it came to Alistair proved to be his undoing, for which I was so very glad. The quest for the truth of who had betrayed the regiment with whom Alistair had been when the attack had occurred continues in this book as well, of course without reaching its ultimate conclusion.

Loved it all, the broken bits the most!

Final Verdict: Captivates you in a way that leaves you breathless with wanting!

Favorite Quotes

“I’m sorry,” Helen began.
But without saying a word—without any warning at all, in fact—he yanked her against his chest and captured her mouth with his. A great involuntary shudder shook her frame. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been waiting for this, unconsciously anticipating when he’d make his next move. Her breasts were mashed against the hard plane of his chest, and his hands grasped her arms as his mouth moved with fierce determination on hers. Oh, it was lovely.
So lovely.
She tilted her head, melting against him like warm custard over apple pie.

Then her stays were off, and he drew her shift down her shoulders until she was bared to the waist.
He simply stared.
She raised her hand without thought, instinctively moving to cover herself.
He caught her wrist and drew it to her lap. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Let me look at you.”
She closed her eyes then, because she could no longer bear the sight of his gaze taking her in.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Beautiful enough to drive a man insane.”

She broke the kiss and said breathlessly, “I don’t—”
“Shh,” he murmured. He nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “It’s simple biology, really. I am made for inserting myself in you. You are made for receiving me. Thusly.”
“But—”
He thrust, the crown of his penis parting her folds, opening and stretching her. Her eyes flew wide open.
He was watching her with a demonic gleam in his eye. He smiled slightly and thrust again. She felt him invading her, entering her.
“You see?” he purred. “So simple.”

And then another wave hit, catching her by complete surprise and tossing her high, sailing on a crest of pure, exquisite pleasure. And at its peak she looked down and saw him, thrusting still faster into her, his broad shoulders bunched and tensed, his hairline gleaming with exertion. He arched back his head and shouted. And then he went still, trembling and jerking within her, his face gone curiously smooth.
She didn’t recognize the expression on his face at first, and then she realized: it was peace.

For long, passionate minutes, he licked and sucked and bit at her nipples until they were swollen, red, and glistening with his saliva. She moved agitatedly beneath him, entirely aroused yet unable to fulfill quite yet.
He reared up over her and studied what he’d done to her. His high cheekbones had a flush across them, his eyelid drooped lazily, and his lips were reddened from his ministrations yet were held in an almost cruel line.
“You look like a pagan sacrifice,” he growled low. “Prepared and laid out for some god to”—he leaned close and whispered in her ear—“fuck.”

“You,” she panted half-hysterically, “are a devil.”
He grinned almost boyishly. “Am I?”
“Ye-sss.” Her assent ended in a moan because he’d shifted suddenly, bringing his penis in direct contact with her drenched folds. “Oh.”
“You like that?” he inquired solicitously.
She could only nod as he slowly drew himself through her. He thrust with a small, controlled movement, his cock tunneling against her. She swallowed, not even caring about the wet, squishing sounds they made.
“Then,” he purred, “perhaps you are ready. For this.”
And he reared back and shoved himself full-length inside her. She arched her neck at the shock, the thrill, of being filled so suddenly.

And somewhere—sometime—during all this, she heard him growl and opened her eyes. He was on straight arms, levered above her, watching her as he made love to her. But now there was no way to mistake his expression for disinterest. Now his upper lip curled back in an erotic sneer. Now his face shone with effort and sweat. Now his one eye gleamed with dark intent.
Masculine intent.
As she watched, he speeded his thrusts until the bed thumped against the wall. She spread her legs farther and wrapped them high over his hips, watching his struggle until his face twisted as if in agony. A cry ripped from his throat, and he jerked against her one last time.
And she felt his strength fill her with warmth.

And he slid the halved lemon slowly into her.
She gasped at the sensation. The cold citrus, his warm fingers. He twisted inside her, did something, and then withdrew his fingers, leaving the lemon inside.
“There are those who doubt that a woman feels any sensation at all when stimulated here.” He drew his finger up through her folds again until he tapped once more on her clitoris. “I think they are mad, of course, but a scientist always tests his theories. Shall we see?”
See what? Helen thought, but had no time to say, because before she could speak, his mouth had replaced his finger, and she had no way of speaking after that.
All she could do was feel.

She turned her head and licked at his jaw.
He froze. “Don’t—”
This time she carefully tested her teeth against his skin. No matter how casual his words, he was on a razor’s edge—she could tell by how stiffly he held his body—and a wicked part of her wanted to send him over that edge. Wanted to drive him to the brink of insanity.
She scratched her nails down his back.
“Helen,” he rasped, “that isn’t wise.”
“But I don’t want to be wise,” she whispered back.
That did it. Whatever thread that had held him snapped. He lunged, driving his length into her softness, pummeling her, thrusting into her, panting and uncivilized.

“Enough,” he snapped.
He tore at her laces, ripping her bodice from her and flinging it halfway across the room.
“Enough playing. Enough cock teasing. Enough drawing this out.”
He pulled her skirts from her and flipped her before she had time to react. He pushed and pulled her until she was on her knees, braced on her elbows, and threw up the skirt of her chemise. He entered her from behind without warning, and she gasped.
Hot and hard. Long and full.

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[xrr rating = 4/5]

Caliber SEAL: GREAT READ!

Review: To Seduce a Sinner by Elizabeth Hoyt

Format: E-booktoseduceasinner
Read with: iBooks for iPad
Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance
Series: Legend of the Four Soldiers, #2
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Hero: Jasper Renshaw
Heroine: Melisande Fleming
Sensuality: 3.5
Date of Publication: November 1, 2008
Started On: August 15, 2016
Finished On: August 18, 2016

It is quite the impossible feat to finish reading To Taste Temptation, the 1st book in the Legend of the Four Soldiers series and not be intrigued by Emeline’s best friend Melisande Fleming. It is also fair to say that pairing Emeline’s best friend with the man she had been engaged to marry before she had met her happily ever after, the man being Jasper Renshaw, Viscount Vale was another reason that I was so quick in picking this up to read. Melisande’s character intrigued me for the front she puts up, the stoic and reasonable woman behind which I knew lay a heart that wants what most of us do. Someone to love, someone who returns that love tenfold and make you glad and giddy that it is so.

Even though popular with the ladies all over the ton, Vale seems to have run into quite the fix when it comes to acquiring his own bride. After being jilted for the second time, it is Melisande who comes to his rescue and offers her hand in marriage to him, surprising and intriguing him at the same time. While Vale makes it quite clear to Melisande that he is looking for a proper marriage, one where he gets bedding rights with his wife, Melisande agrees to everything and more. After all, she has loved Vale from afar for six long years and he needs not know her reasons for wanting him as her own.

Melisande is described as a plain woman. Someone who pretty much no man, especially one like Vale would notice in his attempts to woo and seduce ladies. It is Vale’s coping mechanism. Being surrounded by people, parties, laughter and joviality while on the inside he is reeling from the effect the tragedy at Spinner’s Falls had left on him. Being responsible for the regiment that had been attacked by Indians, the nightmares never leave him, especially at night when they come home to roost in his subconscious. Vale keeps that fact close to his heart, until Melisande breaks down the barriers he has put up, both physical and mental, until she takes him for everything he is.

Vale’s intrigue when it comes to the woman he married increases by the day. The sharp contrast between the woman who does not show much emotion during the day and fulfills every dirty and wanton need of his at night is a woman that needed to be unraveled. Vale is relentless in his pursuit of the secrets that Melisande hides behind. To find out what makes her tick. To find out what she wants. And most of all, why she offered her hand in marriage to him. A secret that Melisande guards as selfishly as Vale does that of his nightmares.

Along with the seduction and wooing of his wife that he pursuits with a vengeance, Vale continues his quest for the truth behind what happened at Spinner’s Falls. To find out the man that had betrayed his regiment and left them all at the torturous mercy of Indians who had practically annihilated them. Vale’s character is one you grow to love as the story goes on. The man behind the mask that he puts on at social gatherings is a man worthy of everything Melisande has to give and more. The fact that he never acknowledged Melisande’s existence before she had come up to him with the proposition does not deter him from seeing her from then on. Really seeing through to her and finding a woman who completes him in every single way possible. A woman he needs in every single way there is.

The emotional wallop behind the story suckerpunches you square in the gut right after the marriage. The emotions that coursed through me as I witnessed both Melisande and Vale at once fight the losing battle between them towards claiming each other as their own was one that I absolutely loved! The scene where Vale draws out Melisande’s secrets, one kiss at a time, one heady caress at a time was purely hedonistic, and I could not have asked for more!

Beautifully crafted, as always! Kudos to Hoyt, the master of the genre!

Recommended!

Final Verdict: Sinfully hot and just as exquisite! Hoyt’s name resounds all over the genre for a reason!

Favorite Quotes

“Why are you doing this?”
“What?” he asked idly. He brushed the rose against her cheek, the softness of the petals sending a shudder down her spine.
She caught his hand, hard and warm beneath her fingertips. “This. You act as if you’re wooing me.”
“Do I?” He was very still, his lips only inches from hers.
“I’m already your wife. There’s no need to woo me,” she whispered, and couldn’t keep the plea from her voice.
He moved his hand easily, though she still had her fingers wrapped about his. The rose drifted across her parted lips.
“Oh, I think there’s every need,” he said.

“Do you mind?” she asked.
She was gratified that he had to clear his throat. “Not at all.”
She nodded and raised the hem of her chemise to her hips before climbing into the chair. She straddled his lap carefully and let the chemise fall. Then she sat. For a moment, all she could do was savor the heat of his thighs against her bottom. She could feel his body hair tickling her most intimate parts.
Then she smiled and wove her arms about his neck. “Will you kiss me?”
“God, yes,” he growled.

She raised up on her knees and pushed against his cock. She was panting now. He watched her and brought his thumbs and forefingers together, pinching her nipples. She gasped and arched her back, but his cock slid to one side. Frantically, she reached between them to hold his slippery length steady. She ground against him. She could feel her folds, swollen beneath her fingers. She imagined her sex, crimson and wet, flowering against his cock. She rubbed the head of his penis against her clitoris, biting her lips, striving, struggling toward that goal.
Then he leaned forward and sucked a nipple into his hot, humid mouth, and she went over the cliff. Rushing, panting, she shattered in space.

She grabbed his broad shoulders and hung on. Her legs were wide, her breasts jiggling, and her mouth was open against his face, kissing, licking, biting. And all the while, his cock plundered her. Leaping. Demanding. Plunging.
Until all his muscles tightened at once. He shook his head, his teeth clenched, his body rigid, and she felt the hot wash of his seed into her body. He jerked once. Again. Then exhaled as if all the air was leaving his body at once.

 He jackknifed up and flipped her beneath him. And then he was looming large and menacing over her, his face dark as he growled, “Do you think me a plaything, my lady?”
She opened her legs wide, planted her feet, and arched her hips off the bed. She rubbed her sex against his length, watching as his eyelids fell in reaction.
“Perhaps I do,” she whispered. “Perhaps your cock is my favorite toy. Perhaps I want my toy in my—”
But he thrust fast and hard, making her lose her words on a gasp of pleasure.
“Wanton,” he gritted. “My wanton.”

“I have watched you,” she panted, “for years. I’ve seen you look at women—vapid, pretty women. I’ve seen you choose which ones you wanted. I’ve seen you stalk them, woo them, and seduce them. And I’ve seen when you grew tired of them, when your eyes would start to wander again.”
He tore at the laces to her bodice, loosening and pulling aside the fabric of her dress and stays until he reached her bare nipple. He palmed one breast and drew the other into his mouth, sucking strongly.
She cried out.
He lifted his head. “Tell me.”

“I watched you for years,” she whispered. The tears were drying on her cheeks, and heat was building within her. If he would just touch her. Touch her there. “I watched you and you never saw me.”
“I see you now,” he said, licking around a nipple. He trailed his tongue across her breast and to the other breast, circling the nipple there. Delicately. Tenderly.
Damn him.
“You didn’t even know my name.”
“I know it now.” He tested her flesh with his teeth.
Pleasure mixed with pain shot through her, straight from her nipple to where his hand still played. She arched, silently begging, and he relented, sucking the nipple strongly into his mouth.
“You . . .” She swallowed, trying to focus her thoughts. “You didn’t know I existed.”
“I do now.”

He stopped suddenly, and she opened her eyes. His head was thrown back, his eyes blind, pleasure convulsing his face.
“Melisande!” he cried.
His head thumped to the pillow beside hers, his lungs sucking air. He was heavy and hard, and her arms were still drawn over her head. It didn’t matter. She’d gladly suffocate here underneath him. She turned her face toward him and licked the ear she’d earlier bloodied, and she finally said it. She gave him what he wanted.
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. That’s why I married you.”

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Great Read!(1)

Review: To Taste Temptation by Elizabeth Hoyt

Format: E-booktotastetemptation
Read with: iBooks for iPad
Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance
Series: Legend of the Four Soldiers, #1
Publisher: Forever
Hero: Samuel Hartley
Heroine: Emeline Gordon
Sensuality: 4
Date of Publication: May 1, 2008
Started On: July 23, 2016
Finished On: August 15, 2016

Though the cover on this book leaves much to be desired, the first book in the Legend of the Four Soldiers is one that delivers on all fronts. After a failed attempt at picking up a historical romance from another author, I just couldn’t wait to erase that memory from my mind, which had me returning to Hoyt, an author that has never failed me up till this point. A tall order, I know. She might even have replaced classical favorites like Judith McNaught and Julie Garwood themselves, all because of the way Hoyt crafts her stories that leaves me begging for more.

Legend of the Four Soldiers is centered around four soldiers who returns from war and a terrible incident that marks them forever. Battling with PTSD and worse, these are the stories of the happily ever afters these four soldiers find for themselves. In the midst of each story, true to Hoyt’s trademark, there is an element of mystery happening which makes the book that much more of a page-turner. Each soldier chooses a different path to travel to their ultimate destinations, and in doing so Hoyt once again finds a common theme between the enchanting fairy tale that she begins each chapter with and the actual story that unfolds. That is just one more reason why Hoyt has carved a notch for herself in a genre that is redundantly often overdone with stories that are taxing to read. 

Mr. Samuel Hartley the hero is not from London society, rather he is a businessman from Boston, one of the soldiers that comes seeking Lady Emeline Gordon on the pretense of hiring her services for his sister. But Samuel in reality is seeking the truth of what happened in Spinner’s Falls, to find out who it is that had betrayed their regiment in such an abominable manner. Emeline meanwhile comes off as snobbish and standoffish from the first moment Samuel seeks her out. Perhaps the reason being that Samuel triggers feelings inside of her that she had forcibly buried, never to resurrect, ever since the death of her husband. The scars that have been leftover from the death runs deep, something readers only come to know as the story progresses towards its pivotal moments.

Samuel comes off as someone rather average at first, a harmless soul if ever there was one. Hoyt created a mesmerizing character out of Samuel by revealing his true self as a man who is driven by desire of the kind he cannot control, an alpha man to boot, not willing to take no from the woman who holds his desires captive. Emeline would give just about anything to turn away from Samuel, but she finds herself in a vicious cycle of need that refuses to be denied, a need that sees her getting into one clandestine position after another with Samuel. 

Though the story was a tad slow at the beginning, once things started heating up, I could barely breathe from the anticipation that was coursing through me. I always love the fact that Hoyt never shortchanges readers on the scenes of passion that she so artfully crafts into her novels. They are gems to be treasured. Every single one of them. The way the passion between Samuel and Emeline exploded onto the pages was just as beautifully done. It was dirty, raw, explicit, momentous and beautifully wondrous at the same time. Every scene brings forth the tightly reined in passions of two people who are so well suited for each other, but one or the other is too blind to see it, or refuses to in this case. The number of quotes included in this review attests to what I am talking about.

Samuel’s stubbornly unyielding attempts at winning Emeline over mesmerized me just as much as the scenes of passion did, knowing that to win the heart of someone such as Emeline so well entrenched within the customs of the elite of society would find it hard to break out of the safe existence she had carved out for herself.

Absolutely breathtaking, the fairy tale as well as the story of the love that unfurls between Emeline and Samuel! No two ways about it. Recommended!

Final Verdict: A feast for all your senses; heart, mind, body & soul!

Favorite Quotes

She inhaled deeply and sat back, her face entirely hidden by shadows now. “What difference does it make to you if I do find your affairs to be of interest, Mr. Hartley?”
He smiled wryly. “Touché, my lady. I’m sure a sophisticated gentleman of your society would deny it to his death if he was moved by your interest, but I am made of simpler stuff.”
“Are you?” The words were whispered in the dark.
He nodded slowly. “So I tell you: I am moved by your interest. I am moved by you.”
“You are frank.”
“Can you admit the same?”

“Yes, that’s what I want. A civilized man. An Englishman who knows the rules of society, an aristocrat to help me with my son and my lands. We are perfectly suited, Jasper and I. We are as alike as two peas in a pod.”
She saw the hurt in his eyes. It was very subtle, few other people, perhaps no other person, would understand it, but she saw and comprehended. She was hurting him.
So she drove the knife home. “We will be married soon, and I will be very, very happy—”
“Goddamn you,” he growled, and then he kissed her.

She was panting, almost crying, her mouth working under his, their teeth scraping against each other inelegantly. There was no finesse, no pretty caress in their kiss. This was a display of lust and anger.
She could smell his skin. He wore no powder or pomades or perfume, it was purely him, and she was driven mad by his scent. She wanted to tear the coat from his shoulders, rip off his shirt and neckcloth and bury her nose in his naked neck.

“Samuel,” she moaned.
“Hush,” he muttered.
He was urging her legs apart, and one part of her mind was thinking that his position relative to hers did not put her in the most attractive angle. Then she forgot any doubts, for he was running his thumb along her crease.
“You’re wet,” he said, his voice deep and dark with male satisfaction.
She lifted her head from the wall and almost pulled away at that. How dare he take her for granted?
But he tilted her hips and then…
Oh, God! And then he licked her.

He swore suddenly, and then he caught her against himself, her bare back pressed to his waistcoat as his cock buried itself in her and began to spurt. It was an odd angle—and erotic—her feet on tiptoe, her legs wide apart, her breasts and belly bare and displayed, impaled on his cock. She heard him groan and reveled in his loss of control. He worked insistently at her bud, splaying his hand possessively over her cunny as he came inside her.
And then she did scream. Waves of almost painful pleasure coursed through her as she convulsed on his cock. He placed his hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, and she bit him, relishing the taste of his skin on her tongue.
Behind her, he caught his breath. “Little cat.”

“I may not be fully aware of all the niceties of your society, but I think that you won’t want that.”
Her mouth had fallen open during this arrogant speech, but now as he turned away, she found her voice. “How dare you presume—”
He caught her by the shoulders, making her indignant sentence end on a squeak. He bent his head and spoke fiercely into her ear. “I dare because you welcomed me into your body not a quarter of an hour ago. Your body rained your pleasure all over my cock, and I want that again.”
He covered her mouth. But this time his kiss wasn’t gentle or soft. It spoke of a man’s desire. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and angled his head so that his lips all but enveloped hers, and her silly body arched into him. She wanted this. She craved this. Intellect and reason fled her brain.

He lifted his head, but his gaze remained on her breasts. “I’ve been thinking of this all day—your nipples, bare to me and what I would do with them. I could hardly walk for the cockstand in my breeches.” His eyes flicked to hers, and she saw that his expression was almost angry. “That’s what you do to me—turn me into a mindless, hungering cock.”
She squirmed at the words, so crude and explicit.
His nostrils flared at her movement and she froze. “Hold them for me. Offer your breasts to me so I can suck them until you come.”

“Will this do?” he grunted.
She didn’t answer, lost in a sea of bliss.
He slammed into her and held still. “Will this do, my lady?”
Her eyes flew open and she glared at him. “Yes!” She clutched at his buttocks, trying to get him to move again. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Just move, damn you!”
And he complied, either chuckling or growling low in his throat; it was impossible to tell, because her eyes had fallen closed again.

She sobbed, helpless and angry, and more angry that she let her innermost feelings show. “Stop.”
He shook his head slowly, pressing into her again, his hard body causing hers to flower open, vulnerable to all the sensations he was making her feel. His eyelids dropped for a second as if he, too, were overwhelmed by what he did. Then he raised them and looked into her eyes. “No.”

He withdrew a fraction of his length, but she felt the friction as his cock pulled against her oversensitive flesh. Then he was bearing down again, grinding, grinding, grinding against her exposed clitoris, and she couldn’t stand it anymore.
She came apart, all the secrets, doubts, worries, and hopes that she had kept tightly bound to herself flying outward, free and unharnessed, exposed to the chill morning air and to him.
To him.
And she looked up in time to see him grit his teeth and tremble, undone as much as she, as he released his seed within her.

But he withdrew his hand from her suddenly, catching her about the waist and lifting and shoving so that her rump balanced precariously on a barrel. Then he was between her legs, and she opened her eyes to watch him frantically rip at his breeches.
“God!” It was a groan. He freed himself and thrust into her, huge and hot, in the same movement. “God!”
She sank her nails into the cloth covering his shoulders and hung on for dear life, wrapping her legs high over his hips. He jerked rapidly in her, thrusting again and again and again. Her orgasm had not fully crested and now it began anew on a higher, sweeter, almost painful note.

She tore at his coat, ripping it off his upper arm, and filled her mouth with clean linen and his shoulder. Her eyes closed in bliss as she bit him. She clung to him while his cock took his pleasure of her. He rode her hard, rode her until she wanted to scream, rode her until he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her, his mouth wide and gasping as he came, his great body shaking. She could feel the heat of his seed flooding within her. And she knew, even as she crested the wave herself, she knew.
This must be the last time.

He muttered something and released her nipple, catching her hips. He pumped into her in quick, powerful thrusts, grunting with each plunge, his cock hard and hot and long within her. His movements, his obvious desperation, prolonged her pleasure, and when she felt his warmth flood her, she was still in bliss. She fell against his heaving chest, his hand tangling in her hair, his breath rasping against her damp temple. She heard his whisper in her ear.”
“I love you.”

He wouldn’t forget her, his warm lady, even if he lived for six decades more. He knew that now, sitting by her cold fire. She would be with him all the days of his life. As he walked the streets of Boston, as he conducted his business or chatted with acquaintances, she would be the ghost beside him. She would sit with him as he ate, she would lie beside him as he slept. And he knew that when his time on this earth was at an end, his last thought as he entered the void would be of her.
The scent of lemon balm would haunt him forever.
So he sat a little longer, watching her sleep. All the days of the rest of his life stretched before him, and he needed to store up these few seconds with her.
They would have to last him a lifetime.

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Review: Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt

Format: E-bookdukeofsin
Read with: iBooks for iPad
Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance
Series: Maiden Lane, #10
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Hero: Valentine Napier
Heroine: Bridget Crumb
Sensuality: 4
Date of Publication: May 31, 2016
Started On: July 07, 2016
Finished On: July 08, 2016

Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt, brings to readers the much awaited story of the anti-hero Valentine Napier, the Duke of Montgomery, who has graced many a story before as a very memorable secondary character. Valentine is the man who walks a fine line between good and bad, mostly moving in the circles of the latter, his main bargaining chip being information about the elite of the ton.

Valentine was featured rather prominently in Darling Beast and Dearest Rogue, only to “disappear” in Sweetest Scoundrel. Bridget Crumb, Valentine’s newest housekeeper who is ever efficient, seeks employment at the Duke’s residence for reasons of her own. Bridget comes on a mission to save her birth mother from blackmail at the hands of the Duke, a man she sees as darkness itself. Even though Bridget cannot find any redeeming qualities about the Duke in her search for the documents she seeks, she is nevertheless intrigued on a level that has her questioning her sentiments.

When the Duke finally makes an appearance, Bridget is thrown by the way Valentine goes out of his way to rattle her, to get a reaction out of her. And when Valentine requires the help of Bridget to get through one of the darkest times of his life, Valentine finds himself enamored by the anomaly that Bridget presents. A woman who seems so practical and proper in every single way on the outside, with a fire that burns and wants to soar on the inside.

As Bridget gets to know Valentine and his past, she realizes that there is no defending herself against the onslaught of emotions that catches her, tumbling her headlong into love with a man deemed dangerous by mostly everyone. For Valentine, who finds the concept of love abhorrent, any ounce of such an emotion brutally stripped from him by those who should have loved and nurtured such emotions in him, it is a rising tide against which he struggles, the need to call Bridget his own when Valentine is furthest thing from a sentimental soul.

Duke of Sin is a story that has a lot going for it. An anti-hero of the kind that actually could be cruel but goes and does things that are totally out of character for someone like him. I fell in love with Valentine the night he lay struggling for his life, his darkest nightmares colored by the evil that had been his childhood coming to light. I cried for the little boy that had been treated in a manner that would have taken a darker soul to a place from which he would never have returned. The fact that there was still good left in Valentine, as hard it might have been to see at times, a good that people hardly saw because he always does things for his own benefit, was reason enough to root for him.

Bridget is a woman who holds her own ground when it comes to a man who is used to getting his own way. I loved Bridget for understanding the soul starved for love that was Valentine’s, for being insightful enough to see that beneath all that beauty and harsh cruelty lay a heart that was capable of great love. Though Valentine might never end up being the gentlest of souls, and I would not want that for him either way, I loved Bridget for being woman enough to take him as he is, without hesitations when it came right down to it.

Recommended for fans of anti-heroes who love a scorching tale of romance and love. Hoyt provides all that and more in every single one of her books!

Final Verdict: In Valentine, Hoyt creates a hero of the kind we all fall for, regardless!

Favorite Quotes

He moved swiftly, like a striking snake. Once. Twice. Thrice.
So fast his hand was blurred.
Blood spurted from the footman’s side, but his eyes were still open.
Slowly he looked down at the mortal wounds.
And almost lazily Val slit his throat.
The thing that had been Cal thumped to the carpet.
Bridget gasped, her hands covering her mouth. Oh, God!
Val turned, still naked, still impossibly beautiful. Only the gore spattered on his belly, chest, and arm, marred his perfection.
He walked toward her and she couldn’t help it. She backed away from him.
He smiled.
Sweetly. Like a boy. The dagger still in his left hand. And caught her arm with his right hand.
“This is who I am, Séraphine. Naked, with blade and blood. I am vengeance. I am hate. I am sin personified. Never mistake me for the hero of this tale, for I am not and shall never be. I am the villain.”
And he laid his lips over hers and pushed his hot tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she couldn’t breathe and it was only later that she found the bloodstains on her dress.

He bit at her collarbone, licked down across a breast and suckled frankly on a nipple, drawing strongly and suddenly.
She grasped for his head, off-balance as if she were falling, even though she lay on a solid bed. His hair was silky beneath her hands, curling around her fingers.
But then he pulled away, tonguing under her breasts, each one, and down her belly, pausing to mouth her navel, and then thrusting her legs apart, climbing nimbly between, and thumbing wide her labia.
She gasped. “I… wait—”
But he’d already laid his mouth against her flesh, licking her there roughly as if he did indeed intend to devour her.
She’d never… that is…
She screamed, thrusting her hand into her mouth to muffle the sound as she came hard and fast.

Oh, God.
He was doing something, moving, but she’d lost her bones and could only half open her eyes.
She looked up in time to see him kneeling upright, his eyes gleaming, as he ripped open his falls. His penis was dark red and angrily erect, standing to his navel. He caught her hips and pulled her until she was on his lap, then he bent and, without ceremony, thrust himself within her.
“Now,” he rasped, no grace, no drawl, no civility at all. “Come again for me now.”
And he pulled her on and off his cock, rotating his hips all the while, his eyes on her, watching, waiting, as if she were the last drop of water in a desert.

But he batted her hand away, replacing her fingers with his thumb, pressing down hard.
And she arched, screaming, the lightning blazing from her center, sparking through her limbs, flying out her fingertips.
She was incandescent.
He fell atop her, heavy and male, pulling her legs up around his narrow hips, and ground down into her, once, twice.
His cock jerked within her and she could feel every muscle in his body tense. He groaned into her ear like a man dying and then fell senseless and limp.
And as she followed him into exhausted slumber she heard his single word:
Mine.

She moaned, all warm, damp woman in his hands, breasts in his face, thighs over his legs, astride him like a female dragoon, and he wanted to inhale her. To drink her in and keep her.
Possibly forever.
He wanted to lick her cunt again, make her cream for him, make her scream and writhe, but the angle was wrong and he made a vow: no more baths before bed—they were just too much for his frayed nerves. Instead he drew hard upon her sweet little nipple and plunged his hand between her thighs.
She was wet. Oh, sweet, wonderful woman! She was wet already, slippery and soft and ready for him.

He worked the falls of his breeches with his other hand and freed his grotesquely engorged cock, weeping, pleading for surcease.
Raised her arse a little, placed himself at that hot, wet paradise, and thrust.
She opened her eyes as he pulled his face away, watching her.
He thrust again. The way was tight. Narrow. She was wet, but she hadn’t yet come tonight.
Her mouth opened, a strand of hair caught on her shining lips.
God.
He thrust again. Hard. And was home.
Burning fire surrounded him. He’d never be cold again.

He watched as she went up in flames.
Burning like an archangel, glorious, frightening, awesome.
And when he caught fire as well, when he emptied his loins into her furnace, in groaning, exquisite jerks, all he could think was this:
His Séraphine thought that deep inside him was a golden core—a good man who could be redeemed.
She was wrong.
And when she plumbed his depths and discovered instead a frozen hollow, she would do what she must.
She would leave him.

He braced himself over her, his golden curls falling into darkened glittering azure eyes, lines imprinted on his pale beautiful face, and gazed down at her with awful, terrible foreboding. “Death.”
She was falling apart under his assault, sparks flying behind her eyes, warm honey in her limbs, but she forced herself to meet his gaze, to keep her eyes open even as her mouth went slack with pleasure. “Life.”
His hips faltered, and his head rolled on his shoulders as if he’d been hit, as if he were in great pain, his lips drawn back from his teeth. He groaned, continuing to thrust, but more slowly, less gracefully, a man in his death throes.
And as she watched, he opened his eyes and gasped, “Séraphine.”
She answered as naturally as breathing, “Valentine,” and felt his hot seed fill her.

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Review: Dearest Rogue by Elizabeth Hoyt

Format: E-bookdearestrogue
Read with: iBooks for iPad
Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance
Series: Maiden Lane, #8
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Hero: Captain James Trevillion
Heroine: Lady Phoebe Batten
Sensuality: 3
Date of Publication: March 26, 2015
Started On: July 07, 2016
Finished On: July 07, 2016

Dearest Rogue brings to fans of the series like myself the much awaited story of Lady Phoebe Batten, younger sister of the Duke of Wakefield and Captain James Trevillion, the man who is charged with being her bodyguard, a man who should know better than to want after a woman who he never should.

It is impossible to read the Maiden Lane series without falling, and falling hard for Phoebe. From the book Notorious Pleasures onward, Phoebe has featured prominently as a secondary character, fact that she was slowly going blind and would be completely so in a couple of years the reason behind the Duke, her brother, keeping her under such tight lock and control.

It is the sort of control that stifles the 21 year old Phoebe, who has given up her dreams of leading a life of the kind that ladies of her age and ilk take for granted. In that regard, James coming into her life is just one more notch that tightens the noose around her neck, and 6 months of having him tail after her every time she is to go out and about has meant that Phoebe has gotten more or less resigned to having him around.

James is a man whose life of servitude to the King in his occupation as a soldier is all the life that he knows how to live. Keeping his past under lock and key is how he deals with the memories that he tries to leave undisturbed, and if in innocent Phoebe he finds a respite from it all, that is all on him. In James once again, readers find a character they have come across multiple times in the series, especially when it comes to his pursuit of the Ghost of St. Giles. James is a character who has more than proven his mettle as one who is honest, honorable and someone who takes his duty very, very seriously.

James keeps his burgeoning feelings towards Phoebe close to his heart, and projects an image of stoic indifference because he knows that there is no future to be had with a woman like her when it comes to someone of his ilk and status. But when danger comes calling and Phoebe’s life is thrown into peril, James has to deal with his past as well as confront his feelings when it comes to Phoebe, who turns his heart inside out with want and love.

Dearest Rogue totes one of the prettiest covers in the series for me. I spent quite a while gazing at the beauty of the cover because it demanded to be looked and even caressed a time or two. James being the kind of character who does the silent and reluctant hero to boot was one whose story I had been anticipating for quite sometime, especially when in Darling Beast, his and Phoebe’s role as secondary characters were quite prominent.

Dearest Rogue also brings to the forefront, THE most emotional scene in all the books I have read in the series. There was this moment that takes place in the gardens that Phoebe looks after, where she comes to the realization of the fact that she has gone entirely blind, her valiant efforts at keeping a strong face in spite of everything crumbling at that very moment. My throat locked down and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and tears sprang into my eyes during that moment. For someone who rarely gets choked up with emotion like that, it is a moment that I would remember for a long time. James turned out to be the perfect shoulder to cry on at that moment and I wouldn’t have had the scene play out any other way!

Phoebe’s discovery of James as a man whom she could be attracted to and fall in love with was an aspect that I adored. Being sheltered in her upbringing, not to mention the fact that her brother had practically caged her since her blindness had started affecting her daily life and moving about, Phoebe had never been exposed to the kind of life that other ladies of the society get to live and lead. In James, Phoebe finds for the first time, a man who stirs her senses in a way that entices her into giving in, and the heady desire that a woman finds in the arms of a strong and virile man who would see to her needs.

Though James fights himself to not give in where Phoebe is concerned, it is a losing battle that he fights with his emotions, needs and desires, and the moment they leave London behind in an attempt to throw off those in pursuit of Phoebe, the feelings that James has been keeping at bay comes to the forefront, refusing to be denied. Phoebe herself makes the denying it all that much more difficult, and I reveled and loved every single minute of it. The facet that I loved most about James was how he let Phoebe be free of the shackles that bound and confined her to her home, making her die a slow death by being denied all that she wanted to do and experience in life. For James to understand that and step aside, even when it means going against his basic instincts of protectiveness, especially when it comes to Phoebe was something I admired in him.

It is a testament to Elizabeth Hoyt’s incredible talent and ability that she has managed to pen stories that continues to woo and move readers, even when it comes to the 8th book in a series. James and Phoebe’s story made for a delightful addition and I recommend it wholeheartedly!

Final Verdict: Delightfully wicked and wanton!

Favorite Quotes

“Did you kill that one?” Lady Phoebe shouted as they swerved around a cart. Her hat had fallen off. Light-brown locks blew across his lips.
He had her. He had her safe and that was all that mattered.
“Yes, my lady,” he murmured into her ear. Flat, almost uncaring, for it would never do to let her hear the emotion that holding her in his arms provoked.
“Oh, good.”
He leaned forward, inhaling the sweet scent of roses in her hair—innocent and forbidden—and kicked the horse into a full gallop through the heart of London.
And as he did so, Lady Phoebe threw back her head and laughed into the wind.

“I’m a dozen years older than you, my lady,” he said, sounding ponderous even to himself. “The same age as your brother, in fact.”
The thought made him unaccountably grim.
“And yet you seem much older.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maximus is very stern, but at least he laughs. Well, now and again. Once or twice a year, anyway. Now you, Captain, you never laugh and I doubt very much that you smile. I thought you at least fifty—”
He scowled. “My lady—”
“—or even five and fifty—”
“Phoebe.”
He stopped, shocked by his use of her given name.
She’d made him lose control.
She smiled very slowly, a little cat licking the cream from her chin, and he felt himself tighten.

“You intend to put it on me now?”
Her lips twitched. She would’ve sworn that was alarm she heard in Captain James Trevillion’s voice—and she’d never heard it there before. Not even when armed men had come after her.
“Yes,” she said, placing her fingertips at the bottle’s opening and tipping it so that the perfume wet her skin. She reached up, sandalwood and roses filling her senses, and touched him.
Touched the bare skin of his face.
Her breath stuttered.

Her fingertips met his cravat, a maddening barrier, and she stroked along it, dipping her fingertip just a little beneath the cloth.
She realized suddenly that she’d quite passed the bounds of propriety.
Shaking, she drew her hand away and stoppered the little bottle. “Well. That’s done.”
He didn’t reply and she wished very much that he would.
She held out the bottle, waiting for a long second for him to take it.
His warm, big hand closed around hers and she felt it suddenly, his moist breath across her lips. He was close, so very close, and she could smell bergamot and sandalwood and roses and wine, everything mingling together to make a heady elixir.
She froze, waiting, wanting.

She lunged forward, her nose hitting his cravat, pulling her hands desperately out of his hold, grabbing his coat, his ear, anything that was him. She knew how clumsy and awkward and blind she must be, but she didn’t care right now. Somehow her mouth found his jaw and she inhaled sandalwood.
“Phe—”
She smashed her mouth to his, cutting off her name. It wasn’t a sweet kiss by any means—she’d never kissed a man. But it was strange and wonderful anyway. She felt a bloom within her chest, a wild, pounding well of hope and joy, feeling his lips against hers. Breathing in sandalwood and bergamot, gunpowder and James.
James. James. James.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered into her mouth and it sounded unbearably erotic.
She gasped even as she did as he instructed, unable to catch her breath.
He settled there on her, his… his penis hard and on her mound, quite clear even through his breeches and her chemise. She tried to arch up against him, but his weight prevented her and she whimpered as she slumped back on the bed.
“Sh-sh,” he whispered. “Don’t fret. I’ll make it better.”
He touched her chin, tilting her face up. He kissed her again, slowly, his mouth wide over hers, and he was right. It was better.
So much better.

“I can see your nipples, did you know that?” he asked, and his voice sounded almost angry.
She knew what he felt wasn’t anger.
“Yes,” she said, bold as any Covent Garden soiled dove. “I know.”
He grunted what might’ve been a laugh. “They’re a deep pink, so sweet, so round, and every time I saw them, they were pointed, as if they wanted my attention. Wanted my mouth. As they are now.”
She swallowed a moan.
He slowly cupped her breast, his palm cradling her without touching her nipple. “Is that what you want? My mouth on your nipple, Phoebe, sucking until you scream?”
Oh God.
“Y-yes,” she said, and though the word came out more a squeak than anything else, she simply couldn’t care because he did just that.

“Please,” she said, sounding less ladylike and more demanding. “James!”
“Yes, my lady?” he asked, innocent, nearly disinterested. “What would you like?”
“You know.”
He trailed teasing fingers around the sides of her breasts, not quite touching her nipples. “This?”
“N-no,” she stuttered. “My…”
“Yes?” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. “Tell me, Phoebe. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“Oh, please,” she moaned. “Oh, please touch me.”
“How?” The one word was stern. Commanding.
“With your mouth,” she whispered. “Suck my nipple.”

“Use me,” he repeated. “Ride me until you come.”
Well, when put so bluntly… she lifted her bottom, feeling him slide a little out, then sat back down. She shifted a little, finding her balance, feeling him move within her, tightened her thighs…
And began galloping.
Oh, it was a wonderful feeling! His hard flesh in her, thrusting back and forth as she rode him. His panting breath—though he did no work—the sensation of being in control, of being able to make this man shatter beneath her.
She felt whole. She felt invincible.

He stroked through her open folds to circle her entrance. “You’re wet.”
His hands left her and she waited, breathless, open and wanting, the night air cooling her flesh.
There was a rustle of clothing and then he was over her, around her.
Thrusting into her.
She gasped at the sudden intrusion. He thrust once, twice, seating himself fully in her.
And then he stopped.
“I thought about this all day in that damned carriage,” he whispered in her ear.

She was still gasping, still trembling and shaking, when he rose and mounted her, driving his flesh into her softness, grasping her legs and urging her to wrap them high over his waist.
“Phoebe,” he growled into her ear as he thrust hard. “Phoebe. You haunt me. You drive me. You possess me. I cannot—”
He arched, his penis deep within her, his big body shuddering on hers.
She gripped his shoulders, pulling him down to her, opening her mouth and swallowing his moan as he spilled inside her, pumping and thrusting against her.

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Review: Darling Beast by Elizabeth Hoyt

Format: E-bookdarlingbeast
Read with: iBooks for iPad
Length: Novel
Genre: Historical Romance
Series: Maiden Lane, #7
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Hero: Apollo Greaves
Heroine: Lily Stump
Sensuality: 3
Date of Publication: October 28, 2014
Started On: June 28, 2016
Finished On: July 07, 2016

Darling Beast, the 7th book in the Maiden Lane series brings to readers the story of Apollo Greaves, Viscount Kilbourne, who is believed to be a dangerous killer, someone who owing to his aristocracy gets committed to the Bedlam, until his sister Artemis had taken matters into her own hands and enables his rescue. Now a fugitive hiding from the law, Apollo is a man who without the ability to speak due to injuries sustained, is trying to lay low and hopefully work towards clearing up his name.

Lily Stump, the mother of a seven year old is hailed to be the best comic actress of the generation. With funds running low with the shut down of Harte’s Folly where she had been working before, Lily takes up residence in the charred remains of the pleasure garden and tries overly hard not to be taken in by the connection that is forged between her son and the beautiful giant that she thinks is not quite right in the head.

It is Apollo’s love for creating spectacular gardens that has him working on restoration of the same at Harte’s Folly, not to mention the fact that Apollo had been one of the investors of the pleasure garden when it had first come into being. While Apollo thinks he has time to find evidence to implicate the real perpetrators of the crime, law enforcement as well as those that want him dead so that their secrets would stay buried with him are trying to hunt him down, which makes his association with Lily and her son a doubly precarious one.

Duke of Montgomery’s role in the story was one that was fascinating and I found myself getting more curious by the minute about his character and what it is that drives him. His role in helping Apollo find the real murderer was one filled with laugh out loud variety of witty dialogues, together with introduction of various other secondary characters that made the story an enjoyable one.

I concur with the majority of the readers who did not find this story as exciting as the rest of the books in the series has been up till now. Perhaps, it has something to do with the fact that Duke of Midnight was the book prior to this in the series, and it felt as if Hoyt had outdone herself in telling the Duke of Wakefield’s story! Even though Darling Beast might not have been as exhilarating a read, I still found myself thoroughly engaged with the story that took place, more than enough to recommend Darling Beast and the rest of the books in the Maiden Lane series to anyone and everyone who just loves to indulge in a well seasoned romance!

Final Verdict: Hoyt makes it so easy to fall in love with the charm, beauty and wit that fills the pages!

Favorite Quotes

All thought left her head as the giant plunged beneath the water.
Lily’s mouth half opened.
The setting sun broke through the cloud cover and bathed the pond in golden light, reflecting off the ripples left by his movement. He burst from the water. He was facing her now. The muscles bunched on his arms as he slicked his wet, shoulder-length hair back from his face. The mist swirled amber over the surface of the water, adorning his gleaming skin as if he were the tributary god of this ruined garden. Her pity evaporated, burned away by the sudden realization that she had it all wrong.
He was…
She swallowed.
Good Lord. He was magnificent.

She lifted her legs, wrapping them over his hips loosely. “Now, now, now.”
He glanced up at her and his smile had left his face. He bit down on his bottom lip as he notched himself, the skin white beneath his teeth. He flexed his hips and nudged inside.
Big. He was a big man.
She gasped, holding her legs wider, higher, trying to give him more room.
His eyes were closed, his upper lip hitched in a snarl, almost as if he were in pain.
Or great pleasure.

He propped himself on his elbows and screwed his hips into hers, his cock deep in her. And as he did so, he watched her, a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his dear face. He pushed a lock of her hair off her face and brought his mouth crashing down on hers, open and wet and not entirely in control.
But his hips kept moving, plundering her, owning her, making her climb those heights again.
She groaned into his mouth, animal and wild, and felt the slip of his hard chest against her nipples.
This man.
Whatever his name.
This man.

“Put your legs around me,” he huffed in her ear, humid and hot.
“They’ll hear us.”
“Lily,” he groaned, “please do it, love.”
The endearment jolted through her, going straight to where he still shoved into her.
She wrapped her legs around him, as high as she could, and as she did, he grasped her bottom in both his hands and lifted her. She clung to him, impaled on his penis, the position so obscene she should’ve fainted from just the thought.
Instead she nearly came.

But it couldn’t last forever, that was a fevered fantasy born of heat and his smell, and when he began losing his rhythm, she reached between them, pinching her clitoris with two fingers.
He watched her, his lips curled. “You… you’re…”
She leaned close and whispered against his sweaty neck. “I’m touching myself. Pleasuring myself as you fuck me.”
He gritted his teeth and the tendon in his neck stood out in stark relief.
She felt his come flooding her, seeping out around his penis.
And when she climaxed herself, she bit down on that tendon, tasting salt. Tasting life.

“He licked the bared nape of her neck. “Tell me.”
“I want you,” she whispered. “I want your cock in me. I want you to fill me and stuff me full until I can’t talk or remember my own name.”
He lost all control at her words. He reared, withdrawing and slamming back into her, the man entirely subsumed in the animal. All he was, all he could feel was his cock conquering her pussy, making her his mate for now, forever.
He bowed over her and bit into the back of her neck, holding her hips still so that he could plow into her over and over again until he felt her shudder under him, contracting around him. She moaned, low and lost, as she came, and he knelt up then, never stopping, never slowing, pounding as she trembled beneath him until he threw back his head and roared his own release into the night.
The stars whirled above them as he slowly sank back over her, panting, wondering if he’d ever again regain his humanity.
Or if he’d lost it forever to this woman.

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