All Chapters of Carrying The Conde's Heir: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

    With slightly shaking hands I reached for his shaft, my fingers tightened around his throbbing length. Preston closed his eyes and groaned before gritting his teeth and removing my clever fingers forcibly before he ran his own fingers along the silky curve of my inner thigh, a smile plastered on his face when he heard a gasp of primitive satisfaction from me, and then a moan escape in my mouth as he parted my legs, opened me to him.    He kneeled over me. I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, ravishing. The need inside of him was pounding in his head, wiping every thought but the need to possess me from his mind.    As he kneeled between my legs he was unable to resist the lure of my quivering swollen lips. He kissed my lips hard, then the curve of my belly, before his smoky dark eyes meshed with my slumberous golden gaze.    He reached between my legs, my body arched in response to the intimate touch, the slic

            My brows lifted. “What are you talking about now? Cheated…?” I asked irritably. “You are not making any sense.”            Her face scrunched in an effort to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. She lifted her chin and blinked hard.            “Well, so sorry,” she drawled, “if I’ve lost my edge of clinical objectively, but I’ve never been in this situation before.”            “And you think I have?”            “Yes, I get it. You don’t need to spell it out.” She had been slow, but the penny had finally dropped. She knew why I was acting this way. “You th

Preston’s             I had just filled the second champagne flute and was preparing to carry them into the bathroom with me when I heard the door open. I turned, glasses in hand, as Beatrice walked into the room, phone pressed to her ear.            I noticed that she was not smiling. A man did not have to be particularly intuitive to see that Beatrice was not happy. I wondered what had occurred in the few minutes that we had been apart to account for her change of mood, but only in passing—my attention was focused on admiring how sinfully sexy she looked in a pink bra and a minuscule pair of matching silk sorts trimmed with lace.            My throat was dry, my body hardened in lustful appreciation. I watched her advance. Each angry step makes her breast jiggle gently u

            “Was I drunk?”            My simmering hostility in my manner as much as abrupt question made Beatrice blink numerous times. “What?”            My eyes flashed. “Was I forcing myself on you? Por Dios, no, I was not!”            “But, I never—”            “So, at what point did I become a bad guy?” I demanded, cutting across her.            “I never—”            “The fact is, you were lucky enough that I was there, but you are too stubborn to admit it! You ar

Preston’s            I am not following this instinct that had taken an enormous chunk of my willpower, but the effort had faded into irrelevance beside the will power I had needed to tap into just to stop myself from taking Beatrice in my arms to comfort her.            Just the sight of her standing there, white-faced and shaking, looking so vulnerable and fragile, had awoken every protective instinct I had and some new ones. While she had struggled not to cry, I had struggled to keep my distance.            I hadn’t allowed myself to even touch her.            I just couldn’t. if I had known it wouldn’t have stopped at comforting her.            I