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The Bewitching Twin(43)

By:Donna Fletcher


“Aliss must love the man she weds for it to last?”

“And the man must love Aliss.”

Rogan shook his head. “We’ve spoken no words of love.”

“The heart knows before words are ever spoken. What does your heart tell you?”

“My heart aches for what I am about to do to her,” he admitted with sorrow.

“Does that not tell you something?”

“It tells me that the taste of revenge is strong in my heart.”

“Yet you make no effort to tell her the truth and see what is in her heart.”

“I would lose her,” Rogan said.

“Would you?”

“I cannot take the chance,” he said adamantly.

“Cannot take the chance or fear taking the chance?”

“I will not lose her,” he reaffirmed through gritted teeth.

“You may not have a choice.” Giann’s shadow drifted off, blending with the night.

Rogan lingered alone in the woods, Giann’s remark heavy on his mind and heart. With his thoughts too chaotic to make sense of them, he finally returned to his cottage to find Aliss sound asleep in his bed.

He undressed and slipped beneath the blanket to find her naked. His heart swelled with joy, not to mention his manhood. She actually had felt at ease enough with him to climb into his bed naked to wait for him.

She was uncomplicated, giving, thoughtful, and she belonged to him as he belonged to her.

He hesitated to touch her. She slept so peacefully curled on her side, her body warm and content in its slumber.

He could wait until morning when she woke instead of disturbing her now.

What if tomorrow is too late?

He answered his own question by reaching out to touch Aliss.

He ran his hand slowly over her, wanting to familiarize himself with every inch of her flesh. She was warm and soft like fine-spun wool. Her bottom curved nicely as did her waist, which was neither thick nor narrow but just right for his hand to explore.

She stirred though did not wake and he continued to touch her.

The weight of her full breast in his hand brought a smile to his face and he tenderly squeezed the supple flesh and ran his thumb gently over her nipple. It hardened to his touch and he rolled his fingers around the stiff orb.

She stirred again, pressing against him until settling quietly once more.

His hand drifted along her flat midriff before descending over the slight mound of her stomach. It was barely detectable, but so much a part of her, like her wide hips that swayed seductively when she walked. He could not get them out of his mind. He had often daydreamed of her hips swaying beneath him as they made love. Now here she was in his bed and forever in his heart.

He inched his way down, his fingers tangling in the thatch of red hair between her legs, to finally touch her intimately as only a husband could.

“That feels so good.”

Her whisper fanned his cheek and she turned into his arms.

“You are beautiful,” he said.

“You make me feel that way.”

They kissed, lingering in the taste of each other while his hands explored her.

Her erotic moan rippled his flesh and he pursued his exploration, delving into the intimacy that marked her womanhood.

She gasped and grabbed hold of his shoulders.

“I like the feel of you,” he whispered and nibbled at her ear.

“I never imagined feeling so safe, so at ease, so crazed”—she sighed heavily and rubbed against him—“with wanting you.”

He took her hand and placed it over the throbbing length of him. “I feel the same.”

She grabbed hold of him. “Do not stop touching me.”

“Never.”

“Promise?” She squeezed him.

“Promise,” he repeated.

She released him.

He kissed her before drifting to suckle at her breast like a man needing nourishment from a loving woman. He lingered there enjoying her taste and the sensation of her fingers running repeatedly through his hair, digging into his scalp, urging him to feast on her.

His hand drifted between her legs, his fingers working magic and gently entering her to entice her with thrust after thrust until she felt wet enough to accept him.

She reached down to grasp hold of him. “I want you.”

He gasped. “Guide me.”

He slipped over her, and with a gentle tug, she brought him to her.

“I want you,” she begged, rubbing the length of him against her.

“I want the same,” he whispered, rising over her, stealing a kiss and settling himself between her legs.

“Love me,” she said on an aching breath.

“Always,” Rogan chimed, and inched his way into her.

She groaned and he pulled back.

“No,” she cried. “Do not deny me.”

“You cried out in—”

“Pleasure.” She smiled.