Immoral Virtue, #1
He touched her still, coating warm oil over her like a salve upon her tender flesh. Nothing existed but the need he awakened deep inside of her.
His fingers, as he molded her nether lips for the blade, were like irons made to brand her. The heat, the rough scraping, his skillful touches –the sound of her own shuddering breaths – stirred her, and she feared passion might shatter her as he sat between her spread legs, watching. Even the cool wet cloth he wiped over her failed to subdue her desire.
And then he spread her further and tipped the amber vial until more of that thick oil slid over her, teasing her, like a feather against flesh. Awakening every nerve, every exposed bit of her. His fingers followed, slippery against her body. She could not stop the sigh.
“Mind yourself,” he said and she whimpered, painfully aware he would not soon grant what she most craved.
Book 3 – The Watchman