My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy) by Linda Rae Sande

that long before his seed would spill from his manhood, sending his body into spasms of pleasure so intense he would pass out from the intensity.
    And remain so for several minutes.
    “I understand, my lady,” he agreed with a nod, wondering if she truly understood. Did ladies ever imagine making love to their men? Did they daydream about the pleasures that could be had in the marriage bed?
    He pulled on Blossom’s reins, forcing the horse to come up alongside him. Alistair had to drop the reins, though, in order to lift Lady Julia onto her horse. He did so without informing her of what he was about to do. Her yelp of surprise was accompanied by her hands taking purchase on his shoulders, as if she had to steady herself as he raised her to the sidesaddle.
    Julia knew her first response should have been a scolding. How dare he simply take her by the waist and lift her onto the saddle? He should have laced his fingers together and provided a step onto which she could have placed a dainty foot. Then he could lift her so she landed in the saddle in a smooth, effortless movement, leaving her skirts free to be arranged artfully along the side of the horse. And she was about to admonish him for having touched her, for having placed his hands on both sides of her waist, but she found she could not.
    She rather liked the sensation his strong hands left on her body.
    Would it feel like that if he had lifted her bare body onto his? So that she sat upon him, her bent legs off to one side of his body much like when she rode Buttercup? But instead of her knee wrapping around a pommel to keep her atop him, he would have impaled her with his manhood and left his hands gripping her waist so that he could ensure she wouldn’t be tossed off his bucking body. And once she touched him with her riding crop, she could imagine how his body would respond, his manhood impaling her deeper with each stride as she rode him. She’d have to leave her hands on his shoulders, she was sure. The power of his bucking body beneath hers would require she hang on for dear life, hang on as one large hand moved from her waist to cup a breast, while another pressed her harder onto his lifting body, a thumb reaching out to tease the soft, wet folds of flesh between her thighs until it made contact with the swollen bud that was at this very moment throbbing in anticipation. And she was about to imagine even more, but the groom had let go of her and was suddenly atop his own mount, his strong thighs wrapped about Blossom’s back in a manner that suggested he was as adept a horseman as he was a bed mate.
    Lady Julia was suddenly very jealous of Blossom.
    “Where would you like to go, my lady?” Alistair wondered just then.
    Julia stared at the groom for several seconds, suddenly feeling a bit bereft. “To my bedchamber” was not an acceptable response, she knew, but she was tempted to put voice to the thought. “To your bedchamber” was also not acceptable, but, oh, so tempting at that moment.
    “Home,” she said quietly, deciding she best remove herself from the company of the groom as quickly as possible. 
    “Home it is, my lady,” Alistair replied as he lifted the reins and gave Blossom a gentle nudge in the ribs.

Chapter 7
    A Talk While Shooting Arrows
    Gabriel paused in the vestibule of Trenton Manor and inhaled. The familiar scents of his home filled his nostrils.
    Home .
    He thought of how he used to react to this place, of how at one time, when his father was still alive, the scent would have him cringing, his shoulders stiff with fear and his breaths coming in uncertain gasps. His father had been an unpredictable man; sometimes in good spirits with news of recent successes at the gaming tables or in some risky investment, and sometimes in such a foul mood, his words would hurt as badly as if he had struck Gabriel with the back of his hand. On those occasions, Gabriel knew it was his mother who suffered the worst, for it was she who felt the