The Maidenhead
“In the fire-lit bedroom, Mad Dog traced the bow of Modesty’s lip with a callused fingertip. "With your artist’s eye, you could do that quite splendidly." The amber glow highlighted his cheekbones so that they looked like pottery shards. His irises were like the silver glass beads the Indians coveted. And his kisses were as heady as the colonial brandy in which she had seen the Indians in Jamestown indulge too liberally. His woodsy smell in itself was highly arousing.
She knew he toyed with ...her, that he amused himself by awakening her grudging desire to an unsustainable passion that left her weak with the ache of wanting. Then he would chuckle with amusement when she was reduced to asking him to take her.
"Change the Röter Lowe’s name? To wot?" His plan to ruin Radcliff was becoming more devious by the day. Mad Dog had the knack for taking small openings and changing them into big opportunities.
"Oh, use your imagination." His fingertip mapped her chin, moved down her neck, and rested in the hollow of her throat.MoreLess
She knew he toyed with ...her, that he amused himself by awakening her grudging desire to an unsustainable passion that left her weak with the ache of wanting. Then he would chuckle with amusement when she was reduced to asking him to take her.
"Change the Röter Lowe’s name? To wot?" His plan to ruin Radcliff was becoming more devious by the day. Mad Dog had the knack for taking small openings and changing them into big opportunities.
"Oh, use your imagination." His fingertip mapped her chin, moved down her neck, and rested in the hollow of her throat.MoreLess
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