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prodding the burning opening between her open legs. Pushing through to penetrate and stretch her, he began to rapidly thrust in and out. To her amazement, it felt wonderful despite the tremors that still rippled through her, his entrance both insistent and relentlessly splendid.
    That she found pleasure again so quickly was a revelation, and Lara slipped her arms around his neck as he moved in slick, arousing friction, matching the sway of the moving vehicle.
    It was resplendently, vividly sinful to feel such wicked abandon.
    He felt huge, large yet velvety smooth and hard as iron at the same time. His shaft plunged into her time and again, his impatience apparent in the way he breathed so unevenly in her ear and the rub of his open trousers against her tender thighs.
    She expired in abject sexual joy once more, her orgasm swift and insistent, a small cry filling the carriage. Lara felt the man above her go rigid as he ejaculated, flooding her passage with scalding semen and shuddering in her arms. He held there deep inside her, his hands braced on the rocking seat, both of them uncaring of the sound of horses and the cobbled streets under the wheels.
     
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    When she could speak, Lara murmured, “If that’s fucking, you are welcome to do it to me anytime, Monsieur de Comte.”
    He laughed, his halfrigid cock still inside her. “Anton,” he reminded her for the third time, kissing the side of her neck.
     
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    Emma Wildes

Chapter Three
    It was very late and the candles had burned low, giving the huge bedroom an ethereal glow. Lifted up on one elbow, Anton lightly touched the cheek of the woman lying next to him. “Tell me,” he urged, trying to read her expression, “about your husband.”
    Lara stirred, her lashes lifting over her dark blue eyes. The tumbled black satin of her hair spilled over the pillow and sheets, framing her ivory shoulders. “I am not sure,” she said with a small smile, “that I have the strength to speak. You are insatiable this evening, Comte. What is it you want to know?”
    Did you love him , was what he wanted to ask, but it seemed an unreasonably personal inquiry, one he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask. So instead, he said, “I suppose I am naturally curious about the man you chose to marry. Surely, with your beauty, you had your pick of any man in England.”
    “You flatter me, my lord.”
    “Not at all,” he declared honestly, taking in the breathtaking splendor of her firm, high breasts, the unblemished smoothness of her pale skin and long, slim limbs. “I have never seen a woman more lovely. You enchant me.”
    “Since you certainly would qualify as a connoisseur, I thank you for the compliment,” she murmured dryly. “But the truth is, my marriage was arranged at my birth. My father had a good friend and long before I was conceived, they vowed to each other if one had a son and the other a daughter, there would be a match.”
    She shrugged against the bed linens. “I knew Peter my entire life, always accepting our betrothal. He was nice enough, if a bit spoiled.
     
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    His father was very wealthy and I think allowed him a bit too much liberty. It killed him in the end, as he drowned in a sailing accident, unwilling to listen to the men who told him the sea was too rough that day. He insisted he felt in the mood for a sail, and sail he would. The sea, however, took issue with his overconfidence.”
    “And at twenty-two, suddenly you found yourself a widow. Do you miss him?” Very lightly, Anton stroked her perfect shoulder, watching her face.
    There was a silence in which she seemed to contemplate her answer. “It sounds unfeeling to say no,” she finally admitted, “but I don’t. He was selfish in many ways. I was something he owned, and since he had always known we would marry, he certainly took me for granted. There was no courtship, which when I was younger made me feel a bit cheated, if you will. And when I failed to conceive