Arran lost his will to argue; his eyes fluttered shut as her lips moved over him, her tongue circling the girth of him. She wasn’t an innocent virgin anymore. Just a touch, a kiss, and he found himself unable to deny her a bloody thing. He’d always been tender with her, conscience of her youth and naïveté. But she was different now. She was lustier. Mature. Seasoned in a way that could only come from a marriage bed and time. She stoked something unworldly in him that made him feel as if he could hurl cabers, swim oceans and wrestle bears.

She was quickly driving him to the point of oblivion, and Arran suddenly surged up. He caught her beneath her arms, and in one swift movement, he put her on her back and moved between her legs, pushing them aside with his knees. Margot clawed at her chemise, pulling it up, clear of her pelvis, and Arran pressed the tip of his massive erection against her, moving in tantalizingly slow motions against her wet, warm sex.

Margot grasped his hips, pulling him closer, arching her back so that he could feel her body pulsating against his. She was clearly enjoying herself. She was as willing a partner as a man could ever hope to have, unafraid of Arran or his body, unafraid to take pleasure where she could. She had become the sort of lover that men dreamed of possessing in a moment like this.

He slid into her body, and Margot flung her arms wide with a sigh of pure pleasure. Arran closed his eyes and lost himself in that exquisite sensation, slipping his hand between her legs to caress her as he moved with increasing urgency. She responded by raking her hands down his back and lifting her knees, locking her feet behind his back. She was breathing heavily, as lost as he was in the physical sensations of their lovemaking. Her deepening pleasure made him burn madly to give her more.

When she began to pant, Arran clasped her tightly, lifted his hips and thrust deep into her, over and over again until Margot cried out and her body spasmed around his. His own release followed, the force of it racking his body.

He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, and it was several moments before he could find the strength to lift his head again. When he did, Margot’s smile was seductive and sated. “Oh, Arran, you’ve always pleased me so,” she murmured, and kissed his eyes, his temple.

This woman was terrifying. She could snatch his breath with only a smile. She could make him overlook her perfidy, could make him forgive everything just so that he might have her. “Have I pleased you more than Sir Dalton?”

“Infinitely,” she assured him.