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Even better, several hours of privacy beckoned. He had a beautiful woman within reach. A beautiful woman he was lucky enough to be married to. “There’s one more thing I want to do before I’ve ticked everything off my list.”

His wife’s low chuckle made his skin prickle. “Your voice goes all low and velvety when you’re thinking about the conjugal act.”

His lips twisted. “Then it’s velvety all the time, because I’m always thinking of getting you under me.”

“It’s...it’s thrilling that you want me.”

“Good,” he said, as burgeoning need defeated his fragile ability to string more than a couple of words together.

“What would you like me to do? Lie down on the seat?”

Her cooperation shot a jolt of heat through him. He lowered his hand to undo his trousers. His cock sprang free, hard and demanding and ready for action. Over the creak of the carriage, Morwenna’s faint squeak of excitement was audible.

“No, not this time. I want you to come here and kneel over me.”

With a rustle of skirts, she scrambled from her seat and arranged herself across his knees. The coach’s lurching made her breathtakingly clumsy. As they dipped into a rut, he caught her by the waist to save her toppling to the floor.

“Dear God in heaven,” he gasped, as sleek feminine folds slid over the hot, tight head of his cock. “You’re not wearing drawers, you naughty girl.”

She shifted to find a more secure position, nudging her knees forward until they closed around his hips. The wriggling meant more wanton, tantalizing touches. He closed his eyes against the explosions going off in his head. He’d imagined he’d take the lead in this encounter. Now his wife’s heart-stopping daring left him not quite so certain about who was in charge.

“Do you mind?” She leaned forward until her body curved against his. The bumpy ride turned the contact into delicious torture, nudging him against her, then away.

“Mind? You make me your slave.”

She gave a husky laugh, and the warm puff of breath against his neck made him shake with need.

“You...mentioned...the carriage...when you...went to...the Admiralty.” Balanced over him as she was, she had to speak in time with the bumping carriage. Bumps that tormented him with the rhythmic slide of her body.

“Yes, then Silas put a spoke in my wheel.”

“I wish you’d put a spoke in my wheel,” she muttered.

Before he could express his shock at her boldness, she shocked him again. She tugged his neck cloth free and scraped her teeth over his neck. He shuddered with response. His hands tightened on her waist, keeping her in place long enough for him to slip a small way inside her. She was lusciously hot and wet.

Delight held him still, or as still as the rattling carriage allowed. “Mrs. Nash, you are a saucy wench. And I love it.”

Almost as much as I love you.

His hold turned ruthless, and he brought her down over him. She muffled a cry against his throat and bit him. The sting intensified the wild sensations rocketing through him. The brazen clench of her muscles. The heat. The closeness.

The love?

She raised her head and leaned back. The shift in pressure threatened to blast him to rapturous oblivion. He stared blindly into shining eyes and lifted a shaking hand to catch the back of her head. He tangled his fingers in her silky mass of hair, bundled up for travel. Clumsy with need, mad with being inside her, he dragged her up until his lips met hers.

Their mouths slammed together in a succulent, open kiss of unabashed sensuality. She squirmed around him, taking him deeper. He felt he drowned in Morwenna. It was a marvelous sensation.

The fast-moving carriage shifted them up and down, and she tugged away from his lips, gasping. For a few dizzying moments, she moved against the carriage’s rise and fall, then in one incandescent instant, she found the rhythm and started to ride him as smoothly as a rider on a cantering horse.

Heat surged through him, and the urge to lift his hips and fill her with his seed was nigh irresistible. But she was enjoying every moment of what they did, whimpering and sighing with rising pleasure. He couldn’t bear to bring the encounter to a quick end.

Somehow he held back, although every satiny glide of her body threatened his resolve. He gulped in a great lungful of air, sharp with the scent of female desire.

She rose high over him, until only the tip of his cock remained inside her. He caught her waist again, afraid she’d fall. He glimpsed wild excitement in her eyes before she closed them and sank down. An expression of greedy bliss lit her lovely face as she took him.

His grip tightened when she raised her hands from his shoulders. “Hold onto me,” she said roughly.

“Always,” he gritted out, tensing every muscle against spending himself in her welcoming womb.


Tags: Anna Campbell Dashing Widows Romance