Snippet from The Veiled Heart
London 1898
Worthington tugged up her skirt.
“Hold your skirts up, Lily.”
Her hands went down and scooped up the mass of fabric.
“Higher, hitch them higher. Don’t be a prude on me now, sweetheart.”
She pulled them up higher.
Need pulsed through his body, but he wanted her to feel pleasure, to relax into a pliable mass of languid heat. He wanted her to give everything over to him.
Worthington slid down on his knees, ran his hands up her legs, her calves, her thighs. Every curve, every shape of her was perfect. He found the hole in her pantaloons and ripped, ripped them wide open.
She gasped.
Her fingers on his shoulder tightened.
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