Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) by Lauren Lane Page B

in all its delicious glory, her nipples pointing straight towards him like the barrels of two rifles. He felt himself harden even more at the view, and reached forward to rid this gorgeous creature of her clothing once and for all.
    He’d had plenty of practise undressing women, so he knew exactly what to do to release her body in a matter of seconds. Her dress and undergarments fell to the floor, and there she stood, the most exquisite, desirable specimen he had ever laid eyes upon. He’d expected her to feel self conscious, embarrassed even, standing before him in nothing but her own skin, but she bored him with eyes that screamed her aching desire for him. She ran a hand across the back of her neck and down her chest, cupping one of her breasts teasingly, then travelled down her stomach to the thatch of soft hair between her legs. But before she could go too far, he reached out and stopped her.
    No. She would not let him stop her now. She would make sure he knew exactly what she wanted, just as Fanny had always done with John. “I want you to do what you did to me on the hill that day,” she whispered, her voice steady and sure.
    A groan escaped his throat and he whisked her into his arms and brought her into the parlour where he threw her slim, lithe body onto a sofa.
    Marianne watched, her heart thumping with raw need as he disrobed. Her gaze went directly to his arousal and she saw, in perfect clarity, the thing that she’d stroked so rapidly that day on the hill. It was different than she’d imagined — longer, pointing out toward her severely, but it did not scare her. Instead, the thought she’d had that rainy day returned to her — she needed to know what it would feel like to have this inside her, for Willoughby’s beautiful, masculine body to be joined with hers.
    She reached out toward it, spreading her legs almost subconsciously, but he backed away just enough to be out of her reach.
    “But … I want … ” she protested, trying to find the right words.
    “I know what you want, Miss Dashwood,” Willoughby responded. “You told me. You want me to make you feel the way I made you felt on the hill.”
    Oh, yes
, Marianne thought,
I do want that
. She nodded eagerly and he chuckled, kneeling down on the floor beside the sofa and swinging her body around so that her knees were on either side of him.
    He ran his fingers over her slickness, parting her folds to tease her. He just continued to rub, his fingers getting closer to the place at the top of her sex that was begging to be touched, circling just around her center but never quite getting there. Marianne raked her hands through her hair in frustration, sending pins flying, arching her hips towards Willoughby. “Please, Mr. Willoughby … ” she moaned.
    He gave her that amused smile once more. “Please what, Miss Dashwood? Tell me what you need.”
    “I need … ” She swallowed. “I need you inside me. Now.”
    His fingers crept closer to her opening.
    “No, not your fingers,” she said, panting with want. “
You
.”
    He laughed softly. “But I thought you wanted me to touch you the way I touched you on the hill … ” He was teasing her. He was doing this to her on purpose. She hated him for it — and she loved him for it.
    “I was wrong,” she screamed as his fingers finally grazed across her pleasure spot. “You. Now.”
    With that final plea, Mr. Willoughby growled with his own need and thrust himself inside Marianne’s moist, warm center.
    At first, she was confused. Was he doing something wrong? Why did it hurt so? It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, was it? How could her body be begging so ceaselessly for something that would cause her such pain?
    She yelped softly with agony and her body froze. “Mr. Willoughby,” she gasped. “It … it hurts.”
    He pulled out slightly and then pushed in again. “I know, my dear, I know. This happens the first time. Just try to relax. It will get better.”
    She nodded and held