Lady India will settle for nothing less than a grand passion, but she’s convinced her fiancé wants nothing more than a marriage of convenience. So she hardens her heart and does whatever it takes to make Lord Bartholomew break their betrothal…including tangling with one of the most hardened rakes in London.
Bartholomew is enraged when he finds India in a shady alcove with another man. Enraged but also excited. Clearly the proper restraint of a gentleman is no longer necessary, and he resolves to make India his at last. If that means anticipating their wedding vows, then so be it! It's time his flighty fiancée was taken in hand.
What has she done to me? Bartholomew wished he knew the answer, wished he could understand how—since that fateful day a year ago—India had become so important to him.
It wasn’t just the never ending desire. He’d known for months that it was more than that. Those first weeks they’d spent together she’d intrigued him. He’d found himself looking forward to seeing her, aching to talk to her. She’d travelled more than him and seen things he never would and he liked nothing more than coaxing stories out of her. Watching the flash of intelligence cross her face, the smile so free and natural.
But he hadn’t seen that girl for months. Where had it all gone wrong? He couldn’t quite work it out. She wanted him sexually, her response told him that, and she’d enjoyed his company, he was sure of it. So what had happened to turn everything on its head? And more to the point how could he fix it?
His prick pulsed in his breeches as if answering him and he growled. Of course there was only one way to fix it, just like he’d told India earlier. He had to seduce her so thoroughly she’d never dare question his devotion again. He’d keep her sated and happy and that would be that.
The image of her lying resplendent on his bed at Grasswood Park hit him and he growled again. Imagining tasting her wetness, licking up everything she had to offer. He was so aroused, more so than he’d been in months. It was the kiss of course. He’d finally taken her lips and they were as sweet as he’d always suspected they’d be. And that rounded cheeks. He swallowed, dropped the brandy glass on the side table and palmed his cock. Those buttocks were as plump and rounded as he’d imagined. Visions of driving between her cheeks assailed him and he released his erection, wrapping his long fingers around its length.
He was hard and hot, his cock head reddened with desire, aching to bury itself in her. Teeth gritted he pumped himself up and down, head spinning against the images dancing in his mind. India, naked beneath him, begging him to take her. India’s nipples on his tongue, hardening when he licked them. India, legs open and ready for him.
She’d be tight and wet, he knew she would, and he pumped harder, imagining burying himself in her glistening folds.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he’d leave her trembling. He pumped harder, his balls begging for release, urging him on. He’d do everything she’d allow and more besides. He thought of her cheeks again. Of rubbing a thumb along her puckered hole, maybe even dipping that thumb in. She’d be shocked, might not even allow it, and his heart raced at the thought of making her submit.
He could spank her every time she denied him he decided. A thumb in, a ‘no’ from her, and then one hard spank. She’d screech and moan but he’d make her comply. Her juices would drip over his fingers, allowing him to lubricate her there, and then….
Heat travelled up his length and he felt his seed begin to build. The climax approached but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be until he plunged himself into her.
He’d put the thumb back in, rubbing the entrance until she opened up and then before she could begin to guess his intentions he’d slip his prick into her waiting ass. She’d be so tight, too tight maybe? So he’d reach down and take her clit between his fingers. He’d tug it and tease it whilst he pumped himself in and out of her little asshole. She’d scream in pleasure now, mixed in with a little bit of pain—exactly the sort of mix a woman like India needed.
He pumped his cock harder, pleasure racing up his thighs, centering on his cockhead. When the orgasm came he let it our in a guttural moan, spilling his hot cum over his breeches, his hand, everywhere. Shudders ran through him and he moaned, “India…India….”
It should have been her hand pumping an orgasm from him. Soon it would be, he vowed. Lady India would take him in hand and do this for him. He’d teach her how to pleasure him. How to lick and tease and arouse him.
He would go to her in the morning, take her to his estate, and once there.... Bartholomew would ensure that Lady India knew no other man but him. For the rest of her life.