©Copyright Natasha Blackthorne 2014
For Adults 18 years of age or older only.
Escape into the past with intensely erotic, emotionally driven love stories. Natasha Blackthorne writes character-focused historical erotica romance featuring strong internal conflicts played out in non-traditional and unconventional situations. Her stories are most frequently about the intimate journey of the characters as they learn to open their hearts to love.
Her heroines are not perfect ladies. They are wildflowers and wallflowers who enjoy flirting with the forbidden. Whether they are bold or shy, her heroines’ strong desires and deep emotions drive the plot and drive their heroes to the point of no return.
“I haven’t been disappointed with a Natasha Blackthorne historical romance as of yet…the men, yes..they are strong and dominant, but they also support their women in everything. These men are written with strength and purpose… Thank you Natasha for helping me love historical romance once again.” ~ Salacious Reads
Regency Risks, Book Three
By Natasha Blackthorne
His stare pinned her and she remained rooted to the spot like a cornered hare.
He lowered his head. She felt her eyes widening. Her heart beat harder and harder, deafening thunder in her ears.
He put his mouth to hers.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t make a move.
Oh, God. Oh, God save me…
His full lips pressed hers, warm, soft, intense. She’d never known a man’s mouth to be so lushly sensual and yet so deliciously firm. From that touch, pleasure surged through her, tightening her nipples, and sending sparks of fire tingling into her belly and outward, all the way down to her toes. She couldn’t suppress the shudder that wracked her head to foot.
He lifted his head. Then he watched her, closely.
Edginess built inside her, combining with and intensifying the arousal pulsing in her blood. She licked her lips then let her breath out in a ragged sigh.
“Open to me, Rebecca.”
He’d spoken softly, oh so softly—but the steel beneath the gentleness sent shivers all over her. And not a little tingling excitement. Unable to bear the determined heat of his gaze, she stared at the bridge of his elegant straight nose. Dazed, afraid of him, yes, holy heavens yes, but far more frightened of the feelings that were rapidly leaping to life within her.
No, this couldn’t be happening. She had kept herself safe all these years since Jon. No emotionally dangerous entanglements. She was past all of this. He should be out chasing some young opera dancer tonight. She should be home, fast asleep in her chaste bed.
He put his hand to the corner of her jaw and applied slight yet steady pressure. “Open for me.”
No, no, she would stay closed. Stay safe, always safe from now on. She tried to jerk her face to the side.
He tightened his grip on her hair and held her in place.
She balled her fists and raised them to beat against his shoulders and chest. God, for all his leanness, his muscles were like iron.
Only the slightest shake of his head betrayed that he was even aware of her blows pelting him.
She opened her mouth to deny him.
He brought his mouth down on hers, cutting off her protest. He thrust into her mouth, the taste of his hot, wet tongue more fiery than the best whisky. She shook, not with fear but with anticipation for the next stroke of his tongue against hers.
It came and delicious shudders quaked through her. Another stroke and another. Ruthlessly, he gripped her head and angled it, thrusting deeper. Taking her breath. Sucking her very soul and taking everything.
She didn’t care.
Every inch of his long, lean body pressed hers. She could feel the whipcord strength of his powerful muscles. Could feel his trembling as though he were holding back his ardour. His erection throbbed against her stomach, huge and hard. Heated.
A feeling of letting go, as though a tremendous weight had suddenly lifted from her. As though she’d been waiting forever for this moment. Tenderness burst within her. Her limbs went weak. Her fists unfurled and she grasped his shoulders, learning his feel, breathing in his scent, glorying in his taste, his strength, his forcefulness.
If she could, she would simply melt into him. She clung desperately to his hard body, surrendering herself wholly.
He tore his mouth from hers.
She cried out in protest.
He swept her up into his arms then lowered her. Her backside touched the table and the rickety wooden frame groaned and creaked.
He swooped down on her then gripped her chin in his large hand, gently yet firmly holding her in place. His eyes bore into hers, predatory, determined. “Now, tell me that you don’t know me.”
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