Field of Dreams

Source : http://www.elizabethhoyt.com/books/beguile.php#

Third Book of Four Soldiers Series

CAN A WOUNDED BEAST . . .

Reclusive Sir Alistair Munroe has hidden in his castle ever since returning from the Colonies, scarred inside and out. But when a mysterious beauty arrives at his door, the passions he's kept suppressed for years begin to awaken.

TRUST A BEAUTY WITH A PAST . . .

Running from past mistakes has taken legendary beauty Helen Fitzwilliam from the luxury of the ton to a crumbling Scottish castle . . . and a job as a housekeeper. Yet Helen is determined to start a new life and she won't let dust-or a beast of a man-scare her away.

TO TAME HIS MOST SECRET DESIRES?

Beneath Helen's beautiful façade, Alistair finds a courageous and sensual woman. A woman who doesn't back away from his surliness-or his scars. But just as he begins to believe in true love, Helen's secret past threatens to tear them apart. Now both Beast and Beauty must fight for the one thing neither believed they could ever find-a happy ever after.

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“Take off your skirts.” He rose suddenly from his chair and strode to the tower door, locking it.

When he returned to her, she was still fumbling at the ribbons at her waist. He pushed her hands aside and began working at them himself. She felt a wild spurt of joyous laughter start in her mouth, but she tamped it down ruthlessly. Instead, she reached up and around his head and drew the tie from his hair. The heavy dark locks fell forward against his lean cheeks, wild and untamed, and she threaded her fingers through them, reveling in the intimacy.

He didn’t even seem to notice her gesture, so intent was he on removing her remaining clothing. A moment later, he flung aside her skirts. She was left in just her stockings and shoes and would’ve felt more than a little silly if he wasn’t so grave as he drew them off. Then she was naked, sitting with her bare bottom on his wooden table, and he was looking at her as if she were Aphrodite come to life. It was a heady feeling, being regarded thus. Heady and frightening at the same time, for she was no Aphrodite. She was simply a woman past her third decade. A woman who’d had only one other lover in all her life.

“Alistair,” she whispered.

He shrugged out of his coat. “Aye?”

She didn’t know how to put her concern into words. “I don’t… that is, I’m not very experienced with… with…”

A corner of his mouth kicked up. He was only in shirtsleeves now. “Helen, lass, dinna fret.”

And he brought his mouth to her breast, sucking strongly, warmly, on her tender nipple. She arched her back in reaction, catching his head, holding it close to her breast. She stroked her fingers into his silky hair. Maybe he was right. Maybe she shouldn’t worry. Maybe she should, for this short while, merely feel.

He switched to her other breast, holding her in the curve of his left thumb and forefinger. He thumbed the damp nipple he’d just left, starting twin flickers of desire in her. She widened her legs, trying to pull him closer, but he was solid and heavy and wouldn’t move until he was ready.

A small whimper of frustration escaped her lips.

He raised his head, his cheekbones flushed, and his eye gleaming roguishly. “Is this what you want?”

He held her gaze as he trailed his hand down over her trembling belly and into the curling hair at the juncture of her thighs.

“Alistair!” she gasped. “I don’t know if—”

“Don’t you?” he murmured, his gaze growing heavy. “Don’t you know, Helen?”

And as she watched his face, mesmerized, embarrassed, and hotly aroused, he touched her there. Her lips parted in soundless wonder. His thumb rubbed her in gentle circles. His fingers softly petted her, parting, stroking, exploring.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Keep your eyes on me.”

He entered her with his finger, slowly, smiling when her eyes widened. He withdrew the finger and thrust again, his thumb keeping up the soft circling at her center. Her eyelids drooped. She felt hot. She was afraid she might make some awful animal sound if he continued, and at the same time she didn’t want him to stop.

“Helen,” he crooned. “Bonny Helen. Come and cover my fingers with your sweet dew.”

Her head fell back, lolling restlessly on her shoulders. It was as if she were in a dream. She was a wanton, a lovely desirable wanton, and he was a man worshipping her. She felt his hot mouth on her throat, kissing, tonguing, and it began. Little tremors that built to a shaking, pounding rush of heat and pleasure—so much pleasure that for a time she lost herself entirely.

When she opened her eyes long moments later, he was watching her, his hand still softly stroking.

“Did you like that?” he asked, his voice more tender than she’d ever heard it.

She could only nod, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Good.” He withdrew his hand and unbuttoned the flap of his breeches. “Let’s see if we can do that again, shall we?”

She just had a glimpse of pubic hair and dark flesh—a good deal larger than she’d expected—and then he stepped between her legs. He kissed her. Gently. Lightly. But her focus was on what was going on down there. He nudged her, and she inhaled at his heat, at the broadness of—

She broke the kiss and said breathlessly, “I don’t—”

“Shh,” he murmured. He nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “It’s simple biology, really. I am made for inserting myself in you. You are made for receiving me. Thusly.”

“But—”

He thrust, the crown of his penis parting her folds, opening and stretching her. Her eyes flew wide open.

He was watching her with a demonic gleam in his eye. He smiled slightly and thrust again. She felt him invading her, entering her.

“You see?” he purred. “So simple.”

He ground his hips one more time, and the base of his penis met her mound. He was completely seated within her. She’d never felt a fullness like this. He swallowed and she knew suddenly that he was not nearly as sanguine as he pretended. His cheeks had flushed, his eye narrowed, and his mouth curved almost in a sneer.

“An interesting fact you may not know,” he said in a low, gravelly voice, “is that once the male has ventured so far, it is almost impossible… ah!” His head tilted back, his eye closing as she clenched internally. He opened his eye, his mouth now curved down in savage determination. “Impossible for him to stop.”

He withdrew fractionally and surged into her again. “He is compelled to complete the act as if”—he thrust again, this time harder, firmer—“his very life depended on it.”

She smiled and wrapped her legs about him. He braced one hand on the table beside her hip, the other on her bottom and set a demanding rhythm. The table shook and thumped and something glass toppled over the edge and shattered on the floor.

And she didn’t care. The laughter bubbled up in her throat again, and this time she let it free. She threw back her head and laughed as Sir Alistair made love to her with his strong, quick, determined body. She grinned at the ceiling in pure joy and felt his heavy cock sliding and rubbing against her, filling her full, and she’d never felt so light.

So free.

And then another wave hit, catching her by complete surprise and tossing her high, sailing on a crest of pure, exquisite pleasure. And at its peak she looked down and saw him, thrusting still faster into her, his broad shoulders bunched and tensed, his hairline gleaming with exertion. He arched back his head and shouted. And then he went still, trembling and jerking within her, his face gone curiously smooth.

She didn’t recognize the expression on his face at first, and then she realized: it was peace.

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Second Books of Four Soldiers Series



THE ONE THING HE CANNOT REVEAL

For years, Melisande Fleming has loved Lord Vale from afar . . . watching him seduce a succession of lovers, and once, catching a glimpse of heartbreaking depths beneath his roguish veneer. When he’s jilted on his wedding day, she boldly offers to be his.

TO THE ONE WOMAN HE MOST DESIRES

Vale gladly weds Melisande, if only to produce an heir. But he’s pleasantly surprised: A shy and proper Lady by day, she’s a wanton at night, giving him her body—though not her heart.

IS HIS DEEPEST NEED . . .

Determined to learn her secrets, this sinner starts to woo his seductive new wife—while hiding the nightmares from his soldiering days in the Colonies that still haunt him. Yet when a deadly betrayal from the past threatens to tear them apart, Lord Vale must bare his soul to the woman he married...or risk losing her forever.


Another hot and seduction story, creatd by Elizabeth Hoyt.

She reached his breeches and found the buttons. “Slow.” “You think we should slow down?” she asked gently. She slipped buttons through their holes. “Well . . .” “Yes?” The flap of his breeches sagged open. “Ah . . .” “Or no?” She slid her hand into his smallclothes and found him hard and heavy, waiting just for her. Warmth pooled at her center in anticipation. She’d have him tonight—have him the way she wanted. He closed his eyes as if in agony and said quite distinctly, “No.” “Oh, good,” she murmured. “I concur.” And she slipped her other hand into his breeches to cradle him. He swayed a little before planting his feet. She was caught in discovery. Oddly, her hands had stopped shaking, finally, now that she touched the most intimate portion of his anatomy. She could feel the crisp hair brushing the back of her fingers, and her palms were filled with hot flesh. She wrapped her left hand about his width and explored him with her right. Soft skin, granite-hard muscle beneath. The slight bumps of veins, a wide flanged head. She ran her fingertips across that head, sensitive skin to sensitive skin, and felt the tiny slit. The moisture that seeped from that slit. She rubbed the moisture in little circles and at the same time squeezed with her left hand. “Oh, God,” Vale implored. “You make me weak, my lady wife.” She smiled, a secret, feminine smile of triumph, and stood on tiptoe, his cock still in her hands. “Kiss me, please.” His eyes opened, and he looked at her almost wildly. Then he grasped her arms and bent his head to kiss her. His mouth was open, wet, a little desperate—exactly the way she wanted it. She made a humming sound of pleasure in her throat and stroked Sat ope him firmly. He groaned and thrust his tongue into her mouth, his cock into her hands. She captured his tongue and sucked. His big hands dropped to her bottom, squeezing. A thrill of pure pleasure rushed through her center. He pulled back suddenly, gasping. “Sweet my heart, maybe we should . . .” No. She shoved his breeches down, off his hips. She examined his beautiful, bared cock and felt her internal muscles squeeze at the sight. “Melisande . . .” His penis was a dark red, proud and erect, his balls drawn up tight and hard beneath. She placed her thumb under the head, in that small, sensitive indent on the underside. “What?” “Don’t you . . . ?” She glanced back up at him. Her husband looked a little dazed. “No,” she said quite firmly, and leaned forward to lick his left nipple. He jerked in reaction and pulled her toward him, smashing her hands between them. She relinquished her prize and, placing her palms on his chest, pushed him backward to a chair. He stumbled a step before bending impatiently and stripping off his breeches and smallclothes, followed by hose and shoes. He sat splendidly naked in the chair and then seemed to realize she was still dressed. “But—” “Shh.” She laid a fingertip across his mouth, feeling the humid brush of his breath, the smooth satin of his lips. He closed his mouth, and she stepped back. Her hands went to the laces of her bodice, and he watched intently as she took off her clothes. The room was hushed, save for the pop of the fire and the sound of his breathing. The firelight highlighted his big body. His broad shoulders more than spanned the chair back. His long fingers gripped the arms of the chair tightly, as if he held himself in check. The muscles in his upper arms swelled with the tension. And below . . . She caught her breath as she stepped from her skirts. His hard thighs braced his erection, which pointed aggressively up. The sight made her legs tremble, made her core heat and liquefy. She met his gaze, and he no longer looked dazed. He stared at her, intent, focused, no trace of a smile on his wide, expressive mouth. She took a steadying breath and let her stays drop to the floor. She wore only a silk chemise now, fine as a dragonfly wing. As she stepped toward him, he started to rise from the chair. But she put a hand on his shoulder and placed one knee by his hip in the chair. “Do you mind?” she asked. She was gratified that he had to clear his throat. “Not at all.” She nodded and raised the hem of her chemise to her hips before climbing into the chair. She straddled his lap carefully and let the chemise fall. Then she sat. For a moment, all she could do was savor the heat of his thighs against her bottom. She could feel his body hair tickling her most intimate parts. Then she smiled and wove her arms about his neck. “Will you kiss me?” “God, yes,” he growled. He pulled her tightly against his chest, his arms strong around her back. She almost giggled; it was so wonderful to finally be held by him like this. But then he brought his mouth to hers and all laughter fled. He kissed her as if he were a starving man, and she was the first bite of bread he’d seen in weeks. His mouth was wide, moving over hers, gasping for breath, nipping at her lips. His hands were hard on her, and she wondered if she’d have bruises in the morning. She lifted a little, bringing herself closer to his cock. He froze, his mouth still on hers, as if waiting to see what she would do. She scooted forward in his lap until his penis lay beneath her, trapped firmly between their bodies. Then she slowly rubbed herself against him. The head of his cock parted her folds, and she ground her secret flesh against him. Her eyes fluttered closed at the exquisite feeling. He broke their kiss and tried to reach between them. “No.” She opened her eyes and gazed at him sternly. Then she ground against him again. His face was flushed, his lips wet. The long vertical lines about his mouth had deepened until his face looked saturnine. She ground against him, the heat building, her folds slippery now. She still held his eyes, defying him to stop her. Instead, he brought both hands between them and covered her breasts. “Do it now.” She raised up on her knees and pushed against his cock. She was panting now. He watched her and brought his thumbs and forefingers together, pinching her nipples. She gasped and arched her back, but his cock slid to one side. Frantically, she reached between them to hold his slippery length steady. She ground against him. She could feel her folds, swollen beneath her fingers. She imagined her sex, crimson and wet, flowering against his cock. She rubbed the head of his penis against her clitoris, biting her lips, striving, struggling toward that goal. Then he leaned forward and sucked a nipple into his hot, humid mouth, and she went over the cliff. Rushing, panting, she shattered in space. Her chemise collapsed like tissue beneath his tongue, and he sucked hard on her nipple. She watched him through slitted eyes, her head thrown back in pleasure. Vale. She was shuddering against him, trembling, still between heaven and earth, not wanting to return. His hands were soothing now instead of hard, running up and down her back. She quivered in his arms, her breathing beginning to subside, even as her need to have him inside her grew urgent. He shifted and wrapped his hands about her waist, lifting her without any show of effort. His cock was suddenly lower, at her entrance. She lifted her head, and her eyes met his implacable ones. He held her gaze and pushed against her, into her, stretching her passage, making her shudder with renewed pleasure. She tilted her pelvis and bore down, taking his entire length, seating herself firmly on his penis. Female to male. Wife to husband.

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