Midnight Honor

probed. It thrust deep between the slippery folds and traced swirling patterns on flesh that shivered and tightened with each wave of gratification.
    “Stop,” she gasped. “You must stop. I cannot bear it.”
    “You can,” he murmured. “And you will, for I have not even begun.”
    He ignored her moaned protest and his tongue pushed deeper, joined now by the wicked skill of long, tapered fingers—skill that had her clutching at his shoulders, and had her writhing so dangerously close to the edge of the chair that eventually he had no choice but to lift her and set her down on the rug beneath him. Once there, with nothing to hamper her pleasure or his, he hooked his arms under her knees and raised them until she was as open and exposed as the harlot she had craved to be only moments ago. This time, when her climax came, she had nowhere to go but up, up, straining into each shattering wave of ecstasy until she was in real danger of fainting.
    Angus relented, but he abandoned her only as long as ittook to kick off his boots and peel away his breeches. Anne watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he pulled his shirt up over his head and flung it away in the shadows. She sighed as he removed his smallclothes, for he stood thick and proud before her, his arousal bucking up against his belly. When he saw where her gaze lingered, he lowered himself between her thighs, but stopped just short of touching her. Instead, he brought her hand forward and bade her wrap her fingers around him.
    Anne let her hand glide over the hard shaft of flesh. The veins were prominent, the head smooth and sleek with the proof of his own intemperate arousal. She watched the response in the pewter gray eyes as she continued to pull and push, and she knew, when he was about as full and hard as he would ever be, there was no more time for teasing.
    He came into her arms again and there was no hesitation, only hunger. She dug her fingers into the hard muscles across his back and welcomed the first powerful thrust with a cry of joy. As big as he was, she stretched eagerly to accommodate him, aware of every heated, surging inch of him. The pleasure shattered her again. And again. She could feel his flesh growing impossibly harder, thrusting into her with the full power and strength of his possession.
    He whispered a ragged command and she raised her knees, locking her ankles together at his waist. He reared up, his face taut, the muscles across his chest and shoulders bulging, gleaming with his exertions, and she saw him give an apologetic little shake of his head, as if he could delay the inevitable no longer. He arched his torso and plunged his hips forward one last time, erupting hotly within her. She shared every shudder, every shiver, every liquid throb of his release before the sheer force of their expended energies brought them melting together in utter collapse.
    Even then he continued to rock gently inside her, his flesh as unwilling as hers to relinquish even the smallest quiver of pleasure. From somewhere she found the strength to open her eyes; when she did, she saw the mirror image of their bodies twined together in the pattern of shadows on the wall, a sight that was more intoxicating than any ten bottles of fine French claret.
    She ran her hands up from where they had been so urgently grasped around his buttocks and smiled faintly at the dampness she could feel on his shoulders and across his back. Angus Moy did not sweat, as a rule, nor did he pant or grin like a cocky adolescent who has just discovered the real reason why ministers spent so much time in the pulpit lecturing against sins of the flesh.
    “Forgive me,” he murmured, capturing her lips beneath his. “You said you were tired. I did not mean to keep you from your bed.”
    “A bed would be nice,” she agreed. “Eventually.”
    “Eventually?” He said it as if the word held a wealth of possibilities and Anne parted her lips around another sigh, feeling him stir inside her.
    “I'm still there,” he whispered. “God knows how, but I am still there.”
    “Yes,” she gasped, curling her hips up to savor the delicious thickening. “And right there is where you will remain, my lord, until neither one of us has the strength to say nay.”

Chapter Four
    W hen Anne opened her eyes again, the room was completely dark. There was not even a ruddy glow from the fire with which to orient herself, and it took a moment to realize she was no longer in her own chamber; she