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d7cea25
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He took the woman from her bed, pretending not to notice the question posed in his mind: Why do you always experiment on women? He didn't care to admit that the inference had any validity. She just happened to be the first one he's come across, that was all. What about the man in the living room, though? For God's sake! he flared back. I'm not going to rape the woman! Crossing your fingers, Neville? Knocking on wood? He ignored that, beginning to suspect his mind of harboring an alien. Once he might have termed it conscience. Now it was only an annoyance. Morality, after all, had fallen with society. He was his own ethic. Makes a good excuse, doesn't it, Neville? Oh, shut up.
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rape
morality
sexual-desire
harassment
ethic
society
instinct
right-and-wrong
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Richard Matheson |
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2212355
|
"Let me help you rinse your hair." His voice had deepened and it made a shock go through her, low in her belly. He rose and crossed to where a pitcher stood on the hearth. She didn't turn, but she could hear him moving behind her, and it struck her that she'd seldom been waited upon before in her life- and never by a gentleman. "Sit a little forward." He was suddenly close. "Close your eyes and tilt your head back." The water flowed over her scalp, warm and soothing, but her skin was prickled with goose bumps nonetheless. "Once more, I think," he said, his voice so near, his hands large and sure, and he poured again. "There." She sat back, wringing the water from her hair with fingers that trembled. She could hear him setting down the pitcher and she wasn't sure what to do. This was so far outside any experience she'd ever before had or imagined... Bridget cleared her throat, but her voice was husky when she spoke. "Can you hand me a cloth for my hair?" "Let me." He expertly wrapped a cloth around her head, keeping her clean hair out of the water. "Now you look like an Ottoman sultana." His fingers lingered on the back of her neck, stroking. She closed her eyes, feeling her nipples throb. Oh, God, he'd barely touched her yet. She inhaled and tried to smile, but found she was too tense. "Is... is there another cloth with which to dry myself?" The fingers left as he reseated himself, his cheek propped on his knuckles. "But you haven't washed yourself, sweet Brid- ." He snapped off the of her name with a click of his tongue. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss..." His gaze seemed to penetrate the now-clouded water before rising and meeting her own eyes with a devilish gleam. "Well, ."
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|
bridget-and-val
sensual-romance
sexual-desire
val-napier
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Elizabeth Hoyt |
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ca2059d
|
He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?
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|
sexual-desire
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
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bf4a9cf
|
She swallowed. He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?
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|
sexual-desire
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
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d764e1d
|
"Lie down," she said, and she couldn't recognize her voice. It sounded slow and languid and low, as if it were warm honey. She felt the place between her legs heat. He cocked his head at her, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't obey her. He seemed a god of the darkness, scarred and black haired and gray eyed. He was tall and lean but with ropes of muscles down his arms and legs. A formidable creature. A creature accustomed to wielding power. Did such as he follow the commands of mortals? But he humored her, crawling onto the bed and settling himself in the very middle, sprawled against a pillow like an Ottoman potentate."
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|
sexual-desire
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
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cc0f71b
|
"She flew in, all fiery flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, her bosom heaving beneath black wool. She was magnificent. "Tell them to let her go!" Seraphine ordered him imperiously. "Tell them to let her go ." She stood over him, her lips wet, her body shaking with her rage, and he wanted to take her and roll her beneath him and fuck her into the mattress."
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|
feminine-beauty
horny
physical-attraction
sexual-desire
val-napier
fury
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
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d0e5d05
|
Had she not nursed him with her own hands? Had she not suckled his tongue so ardently? He'd give her time- a day or so only- and then he would invite her again to wait upon him. He'd slide close behind her, whisper scandalous words into her mobcap-sheltered ear, and remind her of all the things she tried so hard to hide beneath black wool and starched linen. And then... oh, and then, he'd see if his little housekeeper truly burned at her core. Patience. He could be patient when the occasion called for it, and this one certainly did. She'd come back to him, even with his true face revealed. She only needed time. So.
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|
sexual-desire
val-napier
seduction
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |
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cad90d2
|
She felt enthralled by him, enthralled by her own sexuality. He bared something in her that she hadn't even known was there before she married him. Something base, primal. Had it always been there, this fierce drive to ? Or was it something that had been engendered by his touching her? Her touching him? She knew that she should be wary of this part of herself. Ladies were often exhorted to ignore any animal urges. To be polite. Formal. Cold. But the flames of her desire, meeting and burning higher with his compulsion, were intoxicating. It felt . Too good to ignore. Too good to give up. And when his fingers traced the wetness of her vulva, into the depths of her pleasure, she cried out, her eyes still caught with his. He smiled, crooked and sinister because of his scar, but a smile nonetheless. A smile that wasn't exactly nice or gentlemanly. But a smile that was all for her. Only her. No man- no - had ever looked at her so before.
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|
sexual-desire
lovemaking
raphael-de-chartres
|
Elizabeth Hoyt |