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  When he stopped, he noticed she was rubbing her mons against his leg. The bitch was practically in heat.

  “Open your legs,” he commanded. He slipped his hand between her thighs and with two fingers searched up high, finding her sheath drenched and slick. He rubbed his thumb against her plump clitoris and inserted his fingers into her sheath. She clenched around him.

  Her hair hung down, touching the carpeted floor. One of her hands gripped his knee. Her pinkened bottom pumped against his intrusion. She started moaning, urging him for more. Hell, he was giving her everything he had.

  Circling the distended nub, he brought his fingers up hard against the spongy wall of her sheath and pressed into her. She stopped squirming and her body tensed as she screamed. His fingers, not his needy cock, felt the hard, milking pulls of her orgasm.

  For a long minute, her body convulsed and then she went limp.

  Dorian lifted her to the bed, settling her facedown. He picked her weak body up from the middle. She braced on her knees but her head still hung down. Dorian kneeled behind her and dipped, his cock finding her hot little cunt with ease. He slid into her again, bringing her to another shrieking orgasm while he spilled into her, each deep jerk filling her with cum.

  And not even caring what he left behind.

  He rolled onto the bed and groaned. He stretched and shook himself.

  He was immodest by no means, but he’d outdone himself. He’d been in Isabelle’s home nearly twenty-four hours and he’d fucked her more in one day than he had any woman, ever.

  He ran his finger over his swollen lip and then licked at it.

  Isabelle giggled, rolled to her side and stared up at the canopy of his bed. Then she sighed, sounding almost forlorn.

  Dorian lowered his hand to her stomach. “What is it?”

  “Is it always like this with you?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that question.”

  “Is every woman you are with so thoroughly satisfied? So enchanted?”

  “They come back,” he said. She sounded jealous, not curious. “What about you?”

  “I give pleasure. I don’t expect it in return.”

  “You should. Every time you are with a man, you should make demands for yourself. You are exquisite, Isabelle. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  She placed her fingers against his lips. “You can’t change who I am.”

  “This life was never meant for someone like you.”

  “This life is what made me.”

  “So start a new life. Tonight.”

  Isabelle looked at Dorian. He gazed back at her. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. He wanted their thirty days to last longer. He wanted to know her in more than just the biblical sense.

  He wanted to break her rule.

  “Do not look at me like that,” she said.

  “Why not? It’s how you are looking at me. Do you feel it?” he whispered.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, you can’t. You promised. It was part of our agreement. I can’t.” Her voice squeaked. Her eyes flooded with tears. “I won’t.”

  “It’s too late. You already do.” He kissed her again. A kiss that promised she wasn’t just his mistress.

  “It won’t work.”

  “It will, if I move to Italy with you, sweet.” He grinned.

  Isabelle St. Hillaire never took another lover.

  Dorian Montgomery never loved another.

  About the Author

  Eliza thinks romance writing is nearly as good as the real thing. Given her choice of professions, she would have preferred to be a 19th-century archeologist, but she is perfectly happy living in the 21st century and comfortably writing about such romantic but inconceivably inconvenient times, instead.

  She enjoys traveling, movies, everyone else’s novels and a good meal out with friends on Saturday night. Her greatest flaw is that she believes there is such a thing as true love. Don’t tell her otherwise, please.

  Eliza welcomes comments from readers. You can find her email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Eliza Lloyd

  Wicked Desires

  Wicked Temptation

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