His Scandalous Mistress: The Master's Mistress / Count Toussaint's Pregnant Mistress / Castellano's Mistress of Revenge. Кейт Хьюит
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huskily, so warily, was arousing. Too much so for Rogan to be able to resist tasting her. Just one taste, he promised himself. One taste of her lips, with the feel of those slender curves pressed against his much harder ones, the crush of the softness of her breasts against his chest, her thighs against his, and he would let her go.
Elizabeth barely had time to raise her hands, with the intention of warding Rogan off, before his arms moved about her. He pulled her in tightly against the hardness of his body and his head lowered so that his mouth could claim hers.
Fiercely. Hungrily. Crushing, parting her lips beneath his as he deepened the kiss. His tongue surged past her lips and into the heated cavern of her mouth.
The hands she had raised to hold Rogan at bay instead clung to him. Her fingers curled into the front of his T-shirt as she met and returned the intensity of that kiss. Those fingers tightened and she held on to the black material for support as desire ripped shockingly through her body. She could feel her breasts swelling, the nipples hard and aching, the warmth between her thighs becoming a burning sensation as she felt herself becoming wet and swollen with a need she had never known before.
She could feel the pulse of Rogan’s arousal against the flatness of her stomach as he pressed her even closer against him. Every long, thick, hard inch of him throbbed rhythmically against her, in a promise that would ease the increasing ache between Elizabeth’s own thighs as he surged powerfully inside her.
Rogan knew he had to stop this. Now. Before things got completely out of control.
Except she tasted so good. Felt so good. The softness of her curves was a perfect fit against the hardness of his.
All of her was perfect, Rogan discovered as he moved his hand beneath her blouse to touch the silky heat of her bare flesh, caressing upwards, until his fingers curved about the soft, up-tilting swell of her breast. Not too small. Not too large. Just a perfect fit in the palm of his hand.
His own body throbbed anew as Elizabeth gave a throaty groan and her head dropped back to break the kiss. As Rogan moved the soft pad of his thumb against the puckered pout of her nipple her breathing becoming laboured and ragged, and he kissed down the length of her creamy throat to push aside the collar of her blouse so that his tongue and teeth could seek out the hollows at the base of her neck.
She tasted better than anything Rogan had ever experi-enced before. The feel of her skin against his lips was a beguiling combination of feminine softness and spice.
He could feel the heat of Elizabeth’s arousal as she pressed her hips into his, sensed how ready she was for him.
So ready Rogan wanted to lie her down on the carpeted floor and take her right here and now. To thrust into her time and time again, until she screamed out his name as she climaxed, wildly, fiercely, as spasm after spasm of pleasure wrapped itself around him and she took him over that edge with her.
Rogan nudged her back towards the desk, feeling the added pressure of her body against his as the wood pressed against the back of her legs. He pushed those legs apart to step in between them, grinding his arousal against her tempting heat in an effort to relieve some of the fierceness of his own need.
He succeeded only in increasing that need until he could only move rhythmically against her, the barrier of their clothing no hindrance to the heat, the satisfaction he found between Elizabeth’s legs as he continued to surge against her. Again and again. Harder. Faster. Until Rogan felt he would lose his mind if he didn’t soon possess her for real!
This was insane, Elizabeth acknowledged achingly, as she felt the thick length of Rogan’s shaft pressed against the swollen nub between her legs, creating a fire deep inside her that quickly spread and threatened to flame totally out of control.
She couldn’t do this…
She wouldn’t do this!
‘No, Rogan!’ she gasped, even as she pushed against the hardness of his chest. ‘No!’ she cried again, entangling her fingers in his over-long dark hair and pulling his head back and away from her when her verbal protest had no effect on those questing, arousing lips. ‘No,’ she said again firmly, and she looked up appealingly into the unfocused darkness of his eyes.
Eyes as wild, dark, and dangerous as those of the lethal predator she had initially thought him to be!
The very air between them seemed to crackle with tension, and Elizabeth could only wait tensely to see if her pleas would have any effect. Because if they didn’t then she knew she was seriously in danger, crushed as she was be-tween Rogan and the desk, every hard muscle and sinew of his body imprinted upon her own. There was no way, absolutely no way, that she would be able to physically fight off a man as large and fit as Rogan undoubtedly was. And at this moment, breathing in his scent, still weak from the touch of his hands against the bareness of her flesh, she wasn’t sure that she really wanted to…
She continued to stare up at him for long, timeless seconds, not breathing, not moving, the palms of her hands damp with tension, her legs trembling beneath her.
His jaw clenched even as the fierceness slowly left the dark unfathomable depths of his eyes. He stepped abruptly away from her, the muscles still tense in his back as he turned away from her to smooth the wildness of his hair back from his face and draw deep, controlling breaths into his lungs.
Allowing Elizabeth to draw in a couple of much-needed breaths herself.
What on earth had happened just now? More to the point, how had it happened?
She rarely even dated, let alone allowed men to get close to her in this way. This totally physical way!
She hadn’t exactly allowed Rogan to get close to her; he had just taken the opportunity.
And she had responded…
Responded to that animal magnetism that drew her like a moth to a flame. To the hunger of his lips on hers. To the caress of his hand against the bareness of her skin. To the fierceness of his hard and demanding thighs pressed so intimately against hers…
Elizabeth felt another warm rush of heat between her legs just at remembering the hardness of Rogan’s thighs pressed against the throb of her own arousal. An arousal he had found with unerring accuracy as he rubbed himself against her and took her ever higher, ever nearer to a release she had never known.
She had wanted Rogan just now. Desperately. So much so that she wouldn’t have been able to stop him if he had chosen to continue kissing and touching her. If he had thrown off their clothes before laying her back on the desk and satisfying their desire for one another.
Dear God… !
ROGAN was still breathing raggedly as he turned back to face Elizabeth. ‘Well, that was—’
‘Stupid!’ she supplied forcefully, her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightly accusing, her breasts rapidly rising and falling beneath her blouse in her agitation.
His mouth compressed. ‘I was going to say unexpected… ’
This spiky woman—a lecturer in History who catalogued libraries in her spare time, for heaven’s sake!—simply wasn’t his type. Absolutely not.
Except it had aroused Rogan just to be able to pierce through all that prim self-righteousness. To see this obviously controlled woman totally come apart in his arms…
Rogan lived his life as he wanted. As he chose. And where he chose. With no involvements, emotional or otherwise. That had worked for him for the past fifteen years, and he fully intended for it to continue working for him for the foreseeable future.
Even if Elizabeth Brown had succeeded in getting to him, in breaching his guard, in a way Rogan couldn’t remember any other woman ever doing before…
His mouth thinned. ‘You’re right, it was stupid,’