Читать книгу A Ring from a Marquess - Christine Merrill - Страница 2

He closed the last inch between them and their lips met.

The kiss was exquisite. Not cherries or strawberries. They were both too sweet. Blackcurrant, perhaps. Tart and as complex as wine.

How long had he been dreaming of taking her, right here on the white velvet divan? His fantasies had been innocent compared to this. He had not imagined this helpless feeling of abandon as her body touched his. She fitted perfectly against him, the curve of her hip in his hand. He ran his hand over the bare skin of her shoulder, circling to the back of her neck so that he might press her mouth to his. Such a delicate nape, fringed with the soft hair he had longed to stroke. He rubbed it with his knuckle and her lips opened, eager for him.

One kiss and she was driving him mad. He wanted to ravish her with his mouth, claim her body as his own.

If he felt so about an innocent touch, how would he survive a more intimate one?