Ana María and the Fox (The Luna Sisters, #1)

by Liana De la Rosa

“No, darling, don’t. Let me look at you. I’ve been starved to look at you.”

“Will you show me how you touch yourself, little wife?”

Her confident, sure strokes told him as much as he watched open-mouthed as his beautiful, innocent bride brought herself pleasure.

But when her hand began to move faster, desperate sounds falling from her kiss-swollen lips, Gideon didn’t hesitate to offer his assistance.

Gone was the polite young woman who had charmed all of London, and in her place was this lush siren intent on finding her release, and Gideon was a mere servant to her pleasure.

With her black hair twisted about the bedsheets, a thin sheen of sweat coating her sun-kissed skin, and her lips red and raw from his kisses, Ana María—his wife—looked like a woman who had been well loved.

And because Ana María trusted him, he found the strength to go slow, stopping to allow her time to adjust to his size. His dear wife did not utter a word, although her nails bit into his shoulders as her chest moved with her strained breaths.

Everything about her seemed specifically crafted for him, from her tight wet heat, to the soft sounds she made as he pumped into her, to the fierce way she held him close.

Ana María began to roll her hips with his thrusts, not content to lie back and let him have his way with her. Oh no, not his Ana. She was just as determined to grasp her pleasure as he was.

Pushing all other thoughts away, Gideon sank into her embrace, into her kiss, and let his new wife captivate him for a spell.

“You were hardly rough with me.” Ana María pressed a kiss to his jaw. “And I quite like these signs of your passion.”

“People are quite content as long as there is someone else below them on the ladder or they believe climbing higher is a possibility.”

“You’re both men from modest beginnings, clever and successful despite the obstacles placed in your way.” She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “But where my father has always been self-serving, Gideon, you have been gracious. Selfless, even. I once believed you and he to be similar, but I know now I was wrong.”

“We will face the talk together. You are the daughter of a premier politician, and I have no doubt that you’ll have thoughtful and shrewd ideas that will help make my work in Parliament that much more effective. And one day in the near future, the feats of your clever mind will eclipse any presumed notions the public has about you, and my friends and enemies alike will know I married far above my station.”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he purred, “look at how well you take me.”

Planting her hands on his chest, she dug her fingers into his firm muscles as she undulated her hips, and the only emotion pumping through her veins was white-hot desire.

Just like that, darling. Yes, be as greedy as you want.

So good, Ana. You’re so, so good.

Isabel held the book tight to her chest, intrigued by it . . . and possibly by the man who gave it to her.

Snaring her gaze, he trailed his soapy fingertips over the backs of her calves, along the sensitive skin behind her knees, to the supple flesh on the insides of her thighs.

“I so love it when you ask.”

“Gideon,” she breathed against his lips, “we’re going to do so many great things together.”

“If you want us to fight together and accomplish great things, for Britain and Mexico, the work starts now.”

It helped that the manifest Ana María had taken from Lord Tyrell had been for a ship the earl owned that detailed trips from a known slave trader’s port in Angola to one in Brazil. Ana María would never forget the tortured look on Gideon’s face when he’d finally read the document. He had immediately shared it with Miss Assan, the reporter at the Times.

Because of you, mi amor, the Liberal forces have the supplies they need to fight another day. I’m so proud of you,

“Is everything all right, darling?” She could only manage a nod, a knot of tears in her throat. But she hoped her happiness, her love, shone in her eyes. “Now that you’re home, everything is perfect.”