“A brilliant shaft of sunlight pressed against her eyelids, but she didn’t open them. She didn’t want to move a single hair.In the first place, she couldn’t. Every muscle ached, even the ones she hadn’t known she possessed. She had lost count of the number of times she and Wallingford had come together in the night: four or five perhaps, tender and compulsive, both of them unable to fathom the freedom of it; and in the spaces between he had brought her to climax repeatedly with his mouth and his... hands, in every possible attitude, as if he wanted to learn just how much pleasure she could bear.A great deal, it had turned out.The light against her eyes became too much, and she opened them and turned her head to the man in bed next to her. He lay sprawled on his stomach like a little boy, his hair dark and tousled against the white sheets, his lips parted. How relaxed he looked, how happy. The sunlight gilded the curves and planes of his muscled back with watered gold.Her lover, the Duke of Wallingford.She had no illusions.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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