Jade

“Lucky Harris was getting to him. His sexy little captive had gotten under his skin. He wanted
her, and yet he could not bring himself to discipline and dominate her as he knew she secretly
desired. For the first time since the death of his traitor wife, Sebastian was afraid, afraid of his own
feelings. The bright-eyed blonde affected him as no woman ever had. It wasn't just her responsive
cries or her tempting body; it was her strong opinions, her outrageous attitude, that irreverent sense of humor. Lucky made him laugh, but it was more than that.

She made him feel alive.”
― Carol Storm, DeMarco's Captive

“Do it again," she whispered, tilting her head, offering her mouth to him.
Staring down at her swollen bottom lip, he gave it a little lick.
A small, soft moan sounded from the back of her throat.
"Ask nicely," he whispered.
"Please." She gave a lock of hair at his neck an impatient tug.
He came undone. Delving his tongue inside her sweet mouth, he walked her backward until her back met one of the pillars. With one hand cradling the back of her head for protection, his other hand held her hip immobilized, under his control. Rhythmically, he sank his tongue into her honeyed depths, mimicking the motion of making love.
She whimpered, the sound a desperate plea. Her fingers threaded through the damp hair at the base of his neck; her other hand clutched at his forearm.
He squeezed her hip, his long fingers digging into her soft bottom as he rocked her into his arousal.
For several moments, she ground her hips against him as he plundered her mouth. The kiss was no longer enough. He wanted to take her. Right here, right now. His fingertips trailed down the back of her neck to caress her shoulder, her arm, her breast. His breath hitched when she pushed herself more firmly into his hand. She wanted his touch. He complied of course: he would never deny her. Gently he kneaded her through the fabric of her dress, purposely passing his thumb over the hardened tip. She made a small sound of pleasure that nearly pushed him over the edge.
The manor, the rain, the mud disappeared. Reason and practicality were momentarily suspended. Nothing mattered in those moments. Nothing but the ever-escalating power of their passion.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“So Callie is a rake."
She blushed. "I don't think so."
Silence fell between them as he watched the wash of pink across her cheeks. He lifted her wounded arm in his hand, placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. She breathed deeply at the feel of his lips on her skin, so warm and soft, and her eyes flew to his, intently focused on her. He held her gaze, and she felt a shock of liquid heat as his tongue circled one of her knuckles.
He registered her surprise, smiling against her and turning her hand palm up, then setting his tongue and lips to work on the soft, sensitive spot at its center. Her breath quickened, and she closed her eyes to the sensation, unable to watch the erotic movement of his mouth across her skin.
He lifted his lips from her hand and, when she opened her eyes again, it was to find him watching her, a wicked smile on his lips. Reaching out, he traced one finger along the line of her jaw, sending a shiver through her. When he spoke, his voice was thick and liquid, and it sent a shock of heat down her spine. "I shouldn't give up on that part of her just yet, Empress."
She caught her breath at the endearment, which brought with it a hazy memory from long ago. He chased the vision away with the vivid present as he clasped her chin, bringing her face closer to his. "You forget, I've met the women several times... In carriages..."
His lips hovered just above hers, sending a tremor of anticipation through her, "And in theatres..."
She tried to close the distance between them and he pulled back just enough to drive her slightly mad. "And in bedchambers.
In fact," he added, his words a caress along the sensitive skin of her lips, "I rather like the rakish side of her."
And then he settled his lips upon hers, and she was lost. She was consumed by the softness of his mouth, the gentleness of the caress- so very different than the kisses they had shared before. This kiss consumed her, made her forget herself, their surroundings, everything but the magnificent pressure of his lips on hers. His thumb stroked her jaw as his mouth ate at hers, sending waves of pulsing pleasure through her.
She gasped at the feeling, and he took advantage of her open lips to plunder her mouth with deep, drugging kisses that made her dizzy. She reached for him, her anchor in a sea of sensuality, wrapping her arms around his neck and plunging her fingers into his heavy, soft hair. He made a deep, satisfied sound at the feeling of her wrapped around him, and traced a path across her cheek and down the column of her throat with soft, moist kisses that sent explosions of pleasure through her.”
― Sarah MacLean, Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

“I want to love the self that you say is you.”
― Suman Pokhrel