Cheryl Holt by Total Surrender Read Free Book Online Page A

aroused from how he’d pinched them. Whenever she shifted about on the bed, the fabric of her nightdress irritatingly rubbed against them and made her wish he was present to fondle them again.
    He’d suckled against her! With his dark hair splayed across her chest, and his lips wrapped around her breast, he’d looked so beautiful. The episode had been brief and abrupt, but the agitation he’d inflicted with his atrocious teeth and tongue still tormented.
    Her womanly cleft was overly aggravated, as well, and when he’d caressed her there, she’d been outraged by the intimate penetration of his conniving hand, but not now as she reflected upon it coolly and analytically. His shrewd finger had fit exactly right, had stroked across an itch she hadn’t realized needed scratching.
    Retrospection about him and his indecent gestures caused her to press her thighs together, but the movement inundated her with searing sensation, and she groaned in frustration. Her tender, feminine flesh was moist and swollen, and to her consternation, she wished he was available to continue his maneuvers. Without a doubt, he would be competent to ease her physical woes.
    Michael Stevens, bounder that he was, had created this abject misery, and he would be aware of the route she needed to travel to assuage her unrelenting agony. The man was a walking, talking primer of information on the female torso. He knew more about a woman’s anatomy than she knew herself.
    Just before he’d departed, he’d kissed her. It had beenscarcely more than a peck, but considering that it was her first kiss, she lingered over the nuances. The transient embrace had been magnificent, and her mind wandered again to the couple in the garden who’d united so ardently, and she couldn’t help speculating as to what it would have been like had Mr. Stevens kissed her like that. Long and deeply and passionately.
    Her nipples began to throb, once more, and she rubbed her palm over one of them, presuming she’d allay the arduous distension, but the slight palpation initiated a fresh flurry of unusual perturbation. Alarmed and flustered, she rolled onto her stomach and stretched out, but the position made matters much worse. Each of the spots Mr. Stevens had rigorously provoked was in direct contact with the mattress, and she was inflamed anew.
    Appalled by her state of affliction, she jumped out of the bed as though she’d discovered snakes in it. There was a bottle of wine on the dresser, and she poured a glass and paced slowly, sipping the red liquid and trying to calm her shattered nerves.
    What had happened to her?
    Her body had careened out of control, making her yearn for things she couldn’t have, for things she’d never guessed she desired. She’d grown daring and reckless, and if Mr. Stevens had been with her at that very instant, she’d have let him do whatever he pleased as long as he promised to terminate her infernal suffering!
    She was obsessed with him. Why was he at Lady Carrington’s party? Who was he? Where did he live? How did he support himself?
    He was certainly refined and self-possessed enough to be a member of an aristocratic family, but he was too bold and dangerous to have sprung from such a tepid background. With the cryptic comments he’d supplied about his participation in the festivities, he’d hinted that the female guests were zealously vying for his favors. Was he some sort of sexual servant? A man who made his way by pleasuring the women in residence?
    The concept—that he shared his marvelous physique with anyone who asked—was so fantastic, and so far beyond her realm of experience, that she couldn’t process it.
    Who was he?
What
was he?
    Any probable answers to her questions were too disturbing, so instead, she switched to pondering his warnings about the gathering, about her family. Critically, she strove to recall every tidbit of the conversation she’d had with Hugh that had led her to Bedford. The visit had been his