![]() He did not like feeling like he might crush a girl.Īnd she’d had a smile that made him think of innocence and sin all at once. Had he? She’d been long and full of curves, made just the way he liked his women, a match for the height and breadth that was too often his curse when it came to them. Likely, it was for the best that the woman from the previous evening had disappeared, though the memory of lovely lush breasts, a mane of auburn curls, and a mouth made for sin did bring with it a wave of regret. ![]() He cursed, draped one forearm over his closed eyes, sunlight burning red behind the lids, and took a deep breath.ĭaylight was the fastest way to ruin a morning. He opened his eyes, the bright light of the Devonshire sun assaulting his senses and emphasizing the thundering in his head. Instead of a handful of warm, willing flesh, William came up with a handful of unsatisfying pillow. Knowing (as skilled drinkers do) that the splitting head would dissipate by midday, he moved to cure the other affliction and, without opening his eyes, reached for the female no doubt nearby. So it was that on this morning, he did not fret. William Harrow, Marquess of Chapin and heir to the dukedom of Lamont, was wealthy, titled, privileged and handsome-and a young man blessed with those traits rarely wanted for anything relating to wine or women. ![]() ![]() He had, after all, woken each day for more than half a decade with one of the items in question, and on more mornings than he could count with both. He woke with a splitting head and a hard cock. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |