His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 17

The heavy and sharp ache in Horatia's womb built all over again. She was dying, her body burning, exploding, building up to a terrifying moment. She was climbing higher, her breath faint, her heart racing, her vision spinning out of control. She couldn't remember who or where she was. The only thing that kept her grounded was the red-haired devil on top of her. The fallen angel with the black mask who seduced her into delicious sin.

"So close. I can feel you trying to hold me inside you." He bit down on the skin between her shoulder and neck. His fingers plunged into her, faster, harder, unforgiving in their pace. It was more than Horatia could bear. Her last shreds of control slipped away and she cried out as she fell off a cliff and into nothing but a weightless sensation. Pure thrill. Why couldn't she hold Lucien, cling to him, to save herself by anchoring her life on those broad shoulders above her? Instead she was perishing beneath him. But maybe that was his intent all along. She was dying in splashes of pain and pleasure as a tingling heat spread through her wilting body.

For a brief moment Lucien almost believed he'd killed the woman with pleasure. Horatia had shaken so violently, had cried out so loudly, he'd regretted every action that led to it. He'd seen the fear in her soft brown eyes, yet he'd felt no rush of pleasure at having caused it. Instead, he'd been too frantic to free himself from his pants and sate his own aching pleasure with his free hand.

He shouted something unintelligible as he came and had to fight with all his might not to collapse on top of her as she finished coming. Somewhere along their journey he'd bitten her neck, the reddening bruise evidence of his possession. It sent a wave of primal pride through him, quickly replaced with worry as Horatia's eyelashes fluttered open. Their chocolate depths were hazy with the aftermath of their passion.

"I'm not dead?"

He tried to stifle a laugh before he kissed her quivering lips. Never before had he kissed to ease a woman's fears. He'd never had to. All of the women he'd been with before had been unafraid of him and were willing to explore their passions. Horatia was so new to this side of herself and to lovemaking that it must have frightened her. He didn't want her to be afraid, only excited. It was strange to yearn so deeply to please her, to comfort her, yet it felt so right. He could no sooner deny that the sun rose in the east than he could deny Horatia the comfort she so desperately needed after her first climax.

"Perhaps a little. The French call that la petite mort for a reason. But I assure you, you are very much alive," he said between comforting kisses.

Horatia let out a long sigh of relief rather than contentment. She looked like she had a thousand questions to ask him but not one made it past her lips.

"Still feeling unwell?" he asked after he'd removed his hand from between her legs and fixed his breeches.

"No. Quite the opposite in fact."