Improper Gentlemen by Mia Marlowe, Diane Whiteside, Maggie Robinson

commands.”
    Charlotte flushed but held her ground. She watched eagerly as he rapidly stripped off his coat and hung it on the coat tree. He turned to face her—and God help him, he paused nervously. His cock was thick and tense against his thigh.
    Would she spook over his guns or his lust?
    Her eyes darkened. “Take your vest off,” she whispered huskily.
    His cock surged happily.
    He removed the scrap of dark silk even faster than the heavy broadcloth. But he hung his weapons belt with his Navy Colts over the leather settee where they’d be within easy reach. Even if they frightened her, he had to protect her.
    Now only fine linen hid his chest from her and his cock was shouting its eagerness to greet her.
    She held out her hand to him.
    “ Nevermore! ” shouted his damn customers, as if they were speaking about any future for him with Charlotte.
    Even so, he kissed her again and her nails raked down his back as if she wanted to devour him. Slowly unbuttoning her fine wool jacket to further increase her excitement took an infinity of discipline.
    Ah, but when he finally opened the dove grey cloth to bare her, it was like revealing a flower. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly above her chemise’s ruffled lace and ribbon. Her sweet curves blossomed above a blue satin corset which disappeared into her skirt.
    His fingers itched to yank it open, peel everything else off, and bury himself within her. Impossible, no matter what the fire hurling through his blood screamed.
    Wild and decadent, just as he’d always dreamed.
    He kissed her breasts and traced every delectable salty trail of sweat and lust trickling across them. She moaned and pulled his head closer.
    He rumbled agreement and strummed her nipples with his fingers until they became sensitive, aching peaks. Damn it, he wanted her to feel that her corset was just as much a prison as his damn trousers were for his cock.
    She slid down the settee to lie half under him, flushed and panting, utterly desirable. Lust jolted through his veins, from his lungs to his balls. His chest was hot and tight, and even his shirt’s fine linen rasped his suddenly sensitive skin.
    He tipped one of her breasts out of its silk and steel cage. She gasped but kneaded his shoulders more deeply, her hands now moving to the same steady beat as her writhing hips—and the blood pulsing in his cock.
    “Hurry,” she whispered. Her sorceress’s voice was husky and irresistible.
    It only took a moment for his hand to find its way under her skirts. She was wet, so wet, and her cream hot as the fires of life. She tightened her legs around his finger.
    “More.” Her eyes met his under their heavy lids. She ran her tongue over her lips before she could force the remaining words out. “Not just your fingers.”
    “Here? Are you sure?”
    Her eyes had drifted shut again, but she nodded vehemently and clumsily tried to pull him closer.
    Responsive as she was, what the hell would she be like with more experience? Was there anything she wouldn’t do? Better finish this before his cock tried to find out. He’d already dreamed about fucking from behind.
    He fumbled for a condom among the shotgun shells in the table drawer. He was only slightly more steady when he unbuttoned his fly and sheathed himself.
    “Beautiful,” Charlotte murmured and fondled his hip.
    His heart stopped. All his blood rushed to the base of his spine, desperate to join her in the most primal manner possible.
    An instant later, he knelt between her legs. Some faint vestiges of intelligence were thankful that this settee was damn sturdy and disinclined to creak.
    He teased her and fondled her through the slit in her drawers until her pussy was ripe and wet and eager for him. He whispered to her about what he’d do with her pearl when they had more time, about how he’d eat her like the sweetest candy, and savor her juices like the greatest wine.
    The scent of her musk rose around him, hot and sweet to match her