The Rogue's Proposal Read online

  The release loosened every muscle in her body, until she lay limp and boneless on the bed, her vision hazy.

  Ever so slowly, he pulled out of her, and her sex clenched at the raw sensation of the movement over her flesh.

  She struggled to focus on him. He was gazing at her, his lips wet—with her juices. Her heart, which was still pounding furiously, clenched a little at that observation.

  The way he was gazing at her—his eyes were filled with wonder.

  “Damn, Emma,” he whispered huskily.

  Still staring at her, he crawled up her body. When he was face-to-face with her, he lay down beside her, turning her, pulling her naked body against his clothed one.

  “What?” she asked, concern and self-consciousness flooding through her. “Did I do it wrong?”

  He blinked. “Wrong? Hell, no.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “It’s just…I don’t think I’ve ever made a woman come so hard.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks heated. Her eyelids fluttered closed as he kissed her again, his lips pressing hers open.

  “See how good you taste, Em?” he husked out.

  She couldn’t answer that. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him harder, feeling the need to somehow thank him for the experience she’d just had.

  She pressed her body against him, feeling the tautness of his erection behind his trousers. She rubbed her pelvis against it.

  If that was what he wanted, she’d give it to him. She’d give him anything right now.

  “Tell me what you want,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “It’s no longer a matter of want. I need you. I need you so much it’s about to kill me.”

  “Then take me, Luke.”

  Still kissing her, one hand behind her head to keep her lips pinned against his, he shuffled a bit and then she felt his hand reach down and begin fumbling with the falls of his trousers. Still kissing him—she’d never get enough of this man’s lips—she helped him by pulling his shirt up, running her fingers up his chest beneath the linen.

  But he stopped her, moving his hand from behind her head and pressing her hands to his falls. “Help me,” he said roughly. “Unbutton them. Take them off.”

  Her fingers more nimble than she’d expected, she opened the front placket of his trousers. His erection bulged behind his drawers, and she untied the string that held them in place. Then, as he lifted his hips, she pulled them down, swallowing hard as his erection sprang free.

  He was larger than her husband had been. Thicker.

  Her eyes flickered up to his. He was gazing at her, a soft smirk on his face. It made her smile as she continued removing his clothes.

  After she’d pushed them over the curve of his buttocks and he had kicked them away, he rolled her to her back and lay atop her, his organ pressing into her belly. He moved his hips, sliding himself over her gently.

  “Do you feel that? That’s going to be inside you soon.”

  “Yes. I feel it.” She met his gaze. His expression was so hot, so delicious, she wanted him inside her this instant.

  But he bent his head, sliding down her, his length passing over the top of her still ever-so-sensitive sex and down to press against her thigh. He kissed her between her breasts and licked his way up the slope of one of them. Then he swirled his tongue around her nipple, and it tightened and puckered for him as if begging for more of his attention.

  He gave it. Moving from one side to the other, cupping the globes of flesh in his hands, he kissed and suckled her.

  Moans escaped from her throat again, like when he’d kissed her thigh—but this was stronger. Arrows of pleasure seemed to shoot from each of her breasts to the target deep in her womb, where the heat built quickly into a simmering, burning ache.

  “Please, Luke,” she gasped. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and she didn’t know whether to push him away or drag him closer.

  “You have the loveliest breasts I’ve ever seen,” he said, pulling up briefly before he bent down again to take a nipple into his mouth. He licked her, his tongue swirling over the puckered flesh, and she drew him against her, her body arching against his.

  He still wore his shirt. She would take it off now, but— Oh, Lord. He moved to the other side, drawing that nipple into his mouth while his hand came to the one he’d just left, his fingers deftly moving over the damp flesh and then pinching her hard.

  Emma cried out, her body bucking uncontrollably. That arrow had met its target, stabbing her in a place so deep and pleasurable inside her, she couldn’t define it.

  His mouth gentled over her nipple as his hand drifted down her waist. He pulled her leg open wide and slipped his fingers between her legs.

  “God,” he murmured. “You’re so wet. Is all that for me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “All of it.”

  “Good.”

  He released her breasts, moving up her body once more. He braced his arms on either side of her, and his blue, blue eyes gazed down at her. “Are you ready?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  He shifted a little, one of his hands moving down to align his shaft with her entrance. He swiped the broad head of himself over her a few times, touching her clitoris, making her quiver beneath him.

  She wrapped her arms around him, and he stilled. Looking into her eyes, he notched himself at her entrance. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed himself in.

  “Oh, Luke,” she whispered. “Oh, Luke.” She was nearly sobbing, though she couldn’t comprehend why. Her pelvis tilted upward, trying to take more of him, to take him faster, deeper.

  But he held his pace—his slow pace that was going to drive her insane. And then he stopped altogether, gazing down at her. “Do you want more?” he ground out.

  “Yes. Yes, please.”

  His smile was feral. But she only saw it for an instant, and then he surged into her. Emma’s body bowed up off the bed. She nearly screamed. The sensations were so strong. He was so large. He made her feel so tiny and feminine, so deliciously helpless.

  “Like that?” he growled. Even though he kept most of his weight on his forearms on either side of her head, his chest was heavy and hot on hers behind the fabric of his shirt. She liked it there, pressing her down into the bed. Holding her. Keeping her safely trapped beneath him.

  His mouth moved against the shell of her ear. “Like that, Emma?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Just like that.”

  “Not too hard?” And for the first time in a while, she detected that hint of insecurity in his voice.

  “Harder,” she told him.

  He was still for a moment, but she felt his response in the tremor under his skin.

  And then he jerked out of her. She arched up, trying to hold him in her body, trying not to lose him. But when the blunt head of him was at her entrance, he surged inside her again, filling her completely.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. She was shaking. He was so hard. So big. So strong. So intensely masculine.

  He did it again. And again. Over and over, he pounded into her, his thrusts so powerful she thought she might splinter. Splinter in the most delicious, most pleasurable way possible.

  She wrapped her arms around him. She wrapped her legs around the backs of his. She grabbed bunches of his linen shirt in her fists. And she could only hold on as he turned her body into one massive, sensitive nerve—a nerve that was getting stroked again and again by his powerful thrusts, by his hot, hard, heavy sex.

  Sweat broke out across Emma’s chest. Her body burned, inside and out. She whimpered, making sounds she was hardly aware of. Luke’s breaths were harsh and rasping, his body tense, his muscles engaged and steely. He surrounded her. His scent—salt and smoke and soap—sank into her skin, became part of her.

  He didn’t slow. He kept up his punishing pace until both of them were slicked with sweat and every thrust pushed Emma’s breath from her body in a harsh pant.

  The burn was scorching. So hot. She fisted his shirt in her hands
. Her back arched, and her pelvis met him thrust for thrust.

  And then Luke moved his weight onto one arm, slowing his pace and shifting so he could pull her leg farther up. She matched it with her other leg, pulling it up over his buttocks and wrapping it around his lower back. “That’s right, Em. Good.”

  He took a few experimental strokes inside her. The change in position, she realized, had changed his angle inside her. And this…oh, Lord. Pleasure swept through her, so powerfully she closed her eyes on a whimper.

  Luke’s rhythm slowly changed, increased in force and depth until each thrust matched the intensity of those that had come before.

  And, for the second time, Emma unraveled. She fell apart. The single nerve that she had become shattered like glass, piercing and sharp, cutting through her with no pain, but with the most excruciating pleasure she’d ever experienced. She cried out as her body spasmed uncontrollably.

  “Bloody. Hell,” Luke whispered harshly. Then she felt his fingers in her hair, wrapping into the strands, pulling nearly to the point of pain. Her body was still moving, her sex clenching over his. But with a low groan, he jerked out of her. He sank his head into her hair as he pulsed over her, and she felt the warm flood of seed as he spent himself on her lower belly.

  He lay there for a long moment, his heavy, hot body slick with sweat, then he rolled off her. She chanced a glance at him to see him staring at the ceiling as if stunned. Then, as if he felt her gaze on him, his eyes slid toward her, watching her with a certain wariness.

  Slowly, her lips curved into a smile that stretched her mouth. She felt deliciously and utterly happy. This was what she had always secretly desired when she’d engaged in carnal congress before. She’d wanted it to be rough and raw and sweaty. Wild and feral. With Luke, it had been all of those things…and more.

  His gaze focused on her smile, and he seemed to relax minutely, the blue of his eyes lightening.

  “I was going to ask you if you were all right,” he said softly. “But if I judge by your expression, I’d say you are.”

  Her smile widened—if that were even possible. “I am,” she confirmed.

  She turned her body toward him, and he put his arm around her and tucked her up against him.

  His seed was still on her stomach, a damp reminder of the wicked things they’d done. She was damp between her legs, too, and a little sore.

  It would probably be good manners to clean herself up, put her nightgown back on. But she didn’t want to do either. She wanted to press her naked, languid body against Luke and fall asleep like this with his sweat and his smell and his semen on her, and the feel of his touch still on her skin.

  She gazed up at his stubbly jaw. “Can you sleep?”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Probably.”

  “Mmm.”

  They were silent for long moments, and a languid, heavy drowsiness spread through Emma.

  “Luke?”

  “Hmm?”

  “It was…perfect.”

  And she drifted into oblivion.

  Chapter Nine

  Luke awoke with a start in the middle of the night. But it wasn’t a nightmare that woke him this time. He kept his eyes closed, remembering Emma’s lips closing over his cock in his dream.

  He was as hard as a rock.

  Emma stirred beside him. She was turned away, and her delectable backside brushed against his aching flesh.

  The force of need came on him with brutal ferocity. He wanted her. He needed to be inside her.

  He slid his hand over her buttocks. She wiggled against him. God, she was so damned receptive to him. Even in sleep.

  It was completely shocking. Almost bewildering.

  He reached between her cheeks gently, smoothing his hand at first softly, then exerting more pressure. He stroked her in long, slow glides. She was still wet from their last joining, but as he stroked, she grew wetter. Her breathing changed, and she hummed a little on her exhales, making little Mmm sounds as her body moved against his hand.

  Everything about this woman was so beautiful.

  He lifted her leg with one hand and with the other guided his cock into her.

  She gave a soft moan as he slid home.

  He pressed his lips to the back of her head. “Am I hurting you?”

  “Luke,” she moaned. He’d stilled within her, and she wiggled her hips in frenetic movements, mimicking the thrusting action. “More.”

  “Shhh, Em. Be still. I’ll give you what you want.”

  She quieted instantly, and he thrust in and out of her in long, deep, slow drags. She was burning hot. A wet glove that closed around him in a tight fist that made him clench his teeth so his breath hissed out from between them.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, clutching her tight against him. Her body molded perfectly to his in this position. His lower stomach touched her round arse each time he pushed deeply into her.

  He buried his nose in her hair, smelling that delicious lavender-tinged feminine scent of hers. His eyes sank shut, and he pressed his lips to the back of her head.

  There was nothing like being inside Emma. Being close to her this way. It was a feeling as close to perfection as he’d ever come.

  She was making little whimpering noises now. God, he loved the sounds that she made. He loved that she was vocal. He loved that she showed him her reaction to him by the noises she made as well as by the movements of her body.

  So—thrust—damn—thrust—responsive.

  She was tightening around him. So tight. She was going to squeeze him to oblivion. To heaven.

  “Emma,” he murmured into her hair, releasing a husky word with every thrust, “my sweet. My angel.”

  Her groans were drawing out, becoming longer, more pronounced. He crossed his arm over her chest, reveling in the heavy, soft feel of her breast against his forearm.

  He was going to come soon. Spirals of pleasure wrapped around the base of his spine, tugging from his cock all the way through him, tightening. Hell. The pleasure. It would destroy him. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips and nose into the thick fall of her hair again, finding the back of her neck with his tongue and pressing little licking kisses there.

  She was moving now, her body undulating, her muscles tautening under his arm and against his chest and stomach.

  Holy hell. Was she going to come? Again? He’d done so little to prepare her…

  And she did. With a harsh gasp, she clamped over him, her body rigid, and then squeezing him in rhythmic pulses that drove him mad. He wanted to come, too. He needed to. He wanted to pour himself deep, deep inside her. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—risk her that way.

  He clenched his teeth and willed himself to see her through it this time. His arm remained wrapped around her tightly. He nipped her neck, whispering encouraging words to her. “Yes, Em, that’s it. Come for me. Hell, that feels so good. Yes. Yessss…”

  Ever so slowly, her muscles relaxed, going limp against him. The contractions of her sex slowed, then abated. But he kept up his rhythm throughout, and now he sped up, thrusting into her hard and fast. She was open to him, accepting, taking everything he had to give.

  Her hand closed over the forearm clasped around her, a simple but meaningful gesture. It was a gesture of oneness, of acceptance. To him, it meant everything. He thrust furiously. The pleasure built and tightened, and then he yanked himself out of her just in time, dragging her hard against him.

  When it was over, he stayed there. He liked how her arse cheeks cradled his cock. She was so soft and feminine, yet strong and courageous at the same time.

  As he drifted back to sleep, he thought that perhaps it wasn’t so impossible for him to love after all.

  * * *

  They were able to get an early start the next day, but ominous clouds had rolled in and gathered over the Pentland Hills. Luke pushed the horses because he had a bad feeling about the weather, and indeed, it began to rain at about noon. It started as a slow drizzle, but two hours later, it h
ad turned into a downpour. The road had grown muddy, and Luke had had to slow the horses significantly, negotiating them around puddles and areas of deep mud.

  As Luke had climbed into the curricle this morning, he’d hesitated, his gaze scanning over it. The poor vehicle had seen better days. It had already been well used and a touch shabby when Luke had purchased it in Bristol. Now it was mud-caked and scratched, its cushion torn in at least three places. Still, those defects were cosmetic. Every day he checked its shaft, axle, undercarriage, and wheels thoroughly before driving, and all of those parts appeared intact and strong. Despite its currently less-than-elegant appearance, it had proved to be a sturdy vehicle.

  He glanced at Emma. She’d been right—although they’d raised the hood at the first hint of rain, they were both soaked through. He hoped the boot hadn’t sprung a leak, otherwise all their luggage would be soaked, too.

  Clumps of wet copper-brown hair hung down from her bonnet strings, and she wiped a stream of water from her cheek with the back of her hand. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to him.

  He’d half expected her to be angry and sullen at this uncomfortable turn of events, but she grinned at him.

  “Wet,” she said, her voice raised above the patter of rain on the hood.

  “Extremely,” he agreed. He sighed. “We’re going to have to stop for the day, I think. The road is too muddy.” The last thing he wanted was to drive the curricle into a mud bank.

  “Yes. That would probably be a good idea. Those poor horses.”

  He glanced at the beasts—they had been in fine form this morning but were now bedraggled and miserable-looking.

  This had not been the plan—they had just crossed over the border into England. He’d intended to cover another thirty miles or so. “Do you know of an inn?”

  She shook her head. “And I daren’t take out Paterson’s Itinerary now. I’ll ruin it and then we’ll never find our way to London.”

  He chuckled. Of course that wasn’t true. Almost all roads led to London, and even if they chanced upon one that didn’t, there were always villages, towns, houses, farms. People to ask.