He reached out a long arm and drew her in. Slammed the door and pushed her up against it. Shoved back her hood and seized her lips. He tilted her head back and slanted his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips. Oh, heavens, she needed this. Had she become so wanton after only one taste? His hands gripped the back of her head, and she felt the pins falling out. Her hair came undone down her back. Her hands roamed, kneading, stroking his back. She could taste ale on his tongue and smell his musk. Her nipples were already peaked and aching as if they recognized him and what he was.

He drew his lips down her neck, open-mouthed. “I don’t mind,” he rasped.

And while she was trying to remember to what he replied, he hooked his hand in her bodice. He pulled down savagely, tearing the fine fabric and exposing her naked breasts. George gasped and felt moisture between her legs. Then he had his mouth on her breast, nipping at it. She actually worried that he would bite her. He seemed animal, fundamental, male to her female. He reached her nipple and did bite, a sharp pinching.

She couldn’t help but arch her head back and moan.

He had his hand under her skirts now, pushing and shoving them up as if he were impatient to find her center. She clutched at his shoulders when he reached his goal. He brushed his fingers over her, touching, feeling.

He lifted his head from her breast and chuckled. “You’re wet for me.” His voice was dark. Sexual.

He brought both hands under her legs and lifted her, bracing her back against the door; all her weight was on him. She was helplessly spread as he moved between her thighs. She felt the brush of his trousers. And then the brush of him. Her eyes opened wide and met his, gleaming and green like a predator’s.

Oh, my.

He rocked his hips, just a little. She felt the intrusion. She imagined that wide head, splitting her lips down there, and she panted, eyes half closed. He rocked again, and his cock pushed in a little farther.

“My lady.” His breath puffed over her lips.

With an effort, she opened her eyes. “What?” she gasped. She felt drunken, dazed, as if she floated in a marvelous daydream.

“I hope you do not mind”—he rocked—“my boldness.”

What? “No. I, uh, don’t mind.” She could hardly get the words out.

“You’re sure?” He licked her nipple, the devil, and she jumped.

She was so sensitive, the feeling was almost painful. I’m going to get him for this.

He rocked.

Some other time. “Very sure,” she whimpered.

He grinned, but a bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Then with your permission.”