Mad With Love (Properly Spanked Legacy #3) Read Online Annabel Joseph

Categories Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Historical Fiction Tags Authors: Series: Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
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She realized at the end of his impassioned speech, his stern I won’t, that she was holding her breath. A wildness lived in him, it had always been in him. She had known that for years, had loved it and wished for it instead of steady Lord Brittingham, then become upset when it was directed at her.

But he held the worst of it in check for her, that’s what he was saying. Because he loved her.

“I should not have called you a pirate,” she said, touching his tightly clenched hand. She tilted her head, remembering. “My mother told me you chase dragons. That you are not settled. But that doesn’t make you a pirate, I suppose.”

He looked down at her hand upon his. She fancied that he suppressed a sigh. “Your mother is right, except that I don’t chase dragons. I chase respectability and find myself too often falling short.” He gazed at her with a bitter, ironic look. “Maybe that’s why I long for you so desperately, Lady Rosalind Lionel, and why I wish to spank you when you’re not perfect. You’re the epitome of respectability. You always have been.”

Her heart broke a little to hear his words. Respectability? He might have found it one day if she hadn’t run away to elope with him. Both their reputations were tarnished now, perhaps beyond repair.

“Why does it mean so much to you?” she asked. “This quest for respectability?”

“Because it was my only chance of being good enough to win you.” His gaze then was so intense, so raw, she could hardly hold it, but she did. If he could exercise such control, so could she. If he had to spank her to fulfill his need for respectability, she would try to submit to that need, if it would only take a little of his torturous tension away.

“Do you want to spank me now?” She forced herself to ask it. “For sending you those letters and refusing to let you in my room?”

He let his breath out in a long, slow hiss. “You’re brave to ask that.”

“I’m doing it out of love for you.”

“I know.”

He stared at her lips as she sat still, preparing herself for the unpleasantness of another spanking. Would he use one of the other tools in that box? A strap, birch, or cane? She bowed her head, resigned.

But instead of proceeding with a punishment, he uttered a curse, a very bad word she’d only heard her papa say once, when a horse had trod on his boot. When she looked up at him in question, he took her face between his fingers and drew her lips to his.

She had to realign her composure, from the dread of expecting punishment to the breathless pleasure of Marlow’s lustful assault. She was helped along by the feel of his hard, masculine torso pressed all along hers. His arms came around her, squeezing her, as his ardent kiss conquered any resistance. She held his shoulders, twining her fingers into his hair which had come loose from its usual neat queue.

This kiss was not like the kiss he’d given her in Lord Townsend’s hothouse. That seemed a dream, a thousand miles away. Nor was it like the kiss he’d given her after he’d paddled her a few days ago. That had been hot, hard, and frustrated, and she’d been too sore-bottomed to enjoy it.

No, this kiss was something completely different. It was yearning and worshipful. It was a recognition of the bond between them, the life’s bond that had always been there, though Rosalind had been craven enough to question it. How silly of her. She must burn the harping notes she’d slid under the door to him. They had been petty, full of misunderstanding.

When he pushed her back upon her bed, she didn’t resist. Men and women must lie down together to prevent annulment of their marriage. He’d told her so and she didn’t want her father or anyone to take this deep connection away from them. They were meant to be together, and it wasn’t only his kiss that made her feel that way.

Although the kiss was so nice. He had gentled the fervor of his passion, transformed their embrace from fire to bliss. He lay beside her, one of his legs wrapped about hers, and kissed her lips and neck and eyes, stopping now and again to gaze down at her and brush back her hair, which had come almost completely loose from her clumsy chignon. She’d become careless at sea. The ship rocked and they rocked with it. His arms made her feel safe, and his fingertips traced designs on her skin she’d never imagined.

How was one to know that the skin of her neck was so sensitive, she might feel his caress in the very beating of her veins? How could any innocent maiden know how it felt to have one’s earlobe stroked and nibbled until her middle felt heavy enough to burst? He ran fingers down her arms, and she shuddered at the wonder of it, and still he kissed her until her whole body hummed with life. The tips of her breasts felt tender when his arm brushed across them, felt so receptive and keen she gasped in surprise and arched toward him, tightening her arms around his neck.



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