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her fingers up his torso, petting the trail of hair, and finally curling over his shoulders. Angling right, then slowly left, he kissed her lips. He fondled a breast with one hand, with the other he detailed each rib, caressed the soft satin flesh of her hips, then parted her damp curls.
    Her head fell back and she ground against his arousal. “Please, my lord, do not stop.”
    Taran sucked her neck, grazing her flesh with his teeth as he struggled for control. He wanted to take her slowly. He slipped a finger into her. She moaned and he plunged harder, deeper, coaxing her cream to flow.
    “Sit on me,” he rasped.
    She rose to her knees, poised her pussy over his throbbing shaft, and slowly lowered herself onto him.
    “Careful,” he cautioned.
    The crown, dripping cream, slipped between her folds and inside the opening.
    “Prepare for the pain.” He clenched against the compulsion to drive into her, and allowed her heat to slowly envelop him. He groaned in unison with her gasp.
    Her form, so slight to his size, stretched to accommodate his girth. Still, she inched down onto his shaft. Nails dug into his shoulders as she panted, taking more of his length inside the tight sheath.
    He grasped the base of his cock, leant his head against the cushion, and endured the sweet agony. She was the most erotic thing he’d ever held. She lifted slightly, then eased down. Her voice caught, and she lifted another fraction. Lowering again, another gasp matched the effort.
    “Mayhap we do not fit,” she said in a breathless voice.
    “We fit too well.” The notion struck fear into his heart. He wouldn’t think of tomorrow…when she would be lost to him. He didn’t steal young ladies’ virginities. The only innocent he expected to know was his future wife. But as second born, he had been foolish enough to believe the wife would be one of choice.
    His choice. Taran gripped her hips and Aphrodite slid her tight pussy down the length of him. With a hard thrust, he surged upward and buried the full measure of his cock into her.
    She gasped. Hot, quivering walls encased him, tightened, and held him deep. He stilled. On the morrow, whatever she left of his heart and body he would pledge to another.
    Taran clenched his arse, thrusting deeper.
    “Oh!” She cried out and gripped his shoulders. “All lies.”
    Taran froze. “What lies?”
    “That coupling is a burden. Feels so good to have you inside me.”
    Relief flooded him and he nearly laughed—then she shifted. Pleasure surged through him. Taran let instinct guide her movements. She shifted, rocked, lifted and lowered, looking for the pace and rhythm that brought the most pleasure. That her tight pussy held him in an iron grip was enough to send him over the edge. If not for the need to burn into his memory the feel of her slick passage stroke after stroke, he would already have taken his release. They had only tonight. Every moment counted.
    “My lady,” he whispered. “This is your night of seduction.”
    “Yes,” she said on a breathy exhale. “I believe you said if done right, this—this—”
    “Fucking.”
    “Yes, fucking. Would you like me to speak crudely, my lord?”
    He bit back a laugh that nearly brought pain. “Aye.”
    “You said, if done correctly, fucking can take a long time.”
    Taran groaned.
    “Would you like to hear more?” She gyrated her hips, sinking down, taking his erection from tip to base into her channel.
    He thrust deep, forcing her hard onto his shaft. “I wish I could see your face when I make you come.”
    Her breath caught. Satisfaction swelled within him.
    “Hear what you do to me.” She panted, milking his length in her drenched heat. “Your cock is like an iron sword. First I felt a burn, and now I feel as though I will die from the pleasure.”
    “The French called it la petite mort . The little death.”
    “How apropos. For surely” —she rolled her hips, faster, her breathing growing shallow—“I have gone to