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did not know do—
    No thinking!
    He rose. Met her gaze. “They’re beautiful, love.”
    His golden hair fell about his face and floated over her bare skin. Casually he blew strands away from his lips and even that simple, unconscious, sensual motion ignited her desire.
    She could not believe her naked breasts were only an inch away from his hot, bare chest.
    “You are beautiful here—” He brushed a kiss to her chin. “And here.” Giggling, she shut her eyes as his soft lips neared. His lips touched her lashes, and she marveled at how erotic it was to feel that caress.
    Wet heat surrounded her right nipple and she arched, opening her eyes. The tip of his tongue circled around her areola, making it pucker. His lips parted and her blushing nipple disappeared into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed and she cried out as the pleasure seared her.
    He stopped suckling and she whimpered.
    Hoarse, raw, his voice washed over her. “But it is the sound of your sighs and moans of pleasure that are the most beautiful to me, Grace.”
    The look in Devlin’s narrowed eyes stunned her. It wasn’t lust. It was more than that. He looked awed, as though she was truly beautiful. As though she was lovelier than he expected, or he was more struck by it than he’d planned. And, strangely, she liked that.
    After all, he was more beautiful than she had expected, and she was far more struck by it than she’d planned.
    His mouth claimed her nipple once more, but with such maddening gentleness she thrust her breasts forward and clutched his silken hair. Chuckling against her skin, he obliged her by sucking harder while stripping down his pants.
    Nothing came between his hot skin and his trousers.
    Daringly, she touched the ridge of his naked hip. Marveling. Of course, the lean line of his hip was hard, the indent above velvety soft, and his stomach…it was an entrancing lacing of pure muscle.
    He scooped her up. Not as a gentleman would lift a lady to carry her if she had sprained her ankle. No, he grasped her bottom and drew her up, forcing her to hook her legs around his waist.
    “Mr. Sharpe!” Her soaked and sticky quim pressed against the broad head of his hard cock trapped between them.
    “Devlin. I would like to hear you call me Devlin, sweetheart.” Surprisingly agile with his trousers around his knees, he made his way to the edge of the bed, then fell. She shut her eyes, certain she’d be squashed, but he caught his weight on his powerful arms, laughing.
    Pushing up, he straightened and yanked off his boots, but his hot gaze never left her. She lay with one arm over her nipples, one hand covering her blond nether curls, clinging to modesty. Immodestly, she stared at his cock. Now that he wasn’t pressed against her, she could see it—curiosity made her look, carnal appreciation kept her staring.
    Her father’s paintings had mocked male members—exaggerated them. Some were long and thin and scarlet tipped. Others short and thick and oddly purple.
    Mr.—Devlin’s—cock captured her with its audacious size and pure beauty. Jutting out, his thick cock curved upward toward his navel. She doubted she could encircle it with her hand. Dark gold hair surrounded it and a pair of large ballocks dangled below.
    What would it feel like inside her? Would it be too large? Would it hurt? Just staring was making her honey flow and her hand was no longer merely covering her privates. To her shock, she realized she was stroking her creamy lips. In front of him.
    His knee pressed into the bed. Glinting honey-gold in the firelight, his hair fell around his face. “I want you on top, Grace. You can—”
    “No!”
    Frowning at her desperate shout, he paused. She hurried on. “I want you on top. That is the way I want it…please?” She spread her legs in welcome and held out her hands, revealing herself to him in the most intimate and vulnerable way.
    A bewitching smile curved his lips and he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her