Page 81 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Coach Valentine insists abstinence is important to winning,he reminded himself. Not that Jonathan had ever abstained before competition. But he’d been young and foolish, and a foil was not a fist.

All of this inner chatter was pointless, because he’d already made up his mind. Despite his wants and needs, he would rub her until she fell asleep. Thereupon, he’d tuck her under the counterpane, then go to sleep himself. He absolutely wouldnotcoerce her into having sex. At least not tonight. On the morrow, after her mill was over, all bets were off.

“Let’s get you out of this,” said the saintly sponsor residing beneath his skin. “I will be able to work your muscles better if they are not covered with fabric.”

Saintly?Never. It was a good thing she couldn’t see him roll his eyes at his own absurdity. Although hewastrying to make her relax.

Wasn’t he?

She lifted her arms, and he pulled her nightdress over her head. He tossed it onto the floor, then swallowed a cyclone of lust.

Perhaps he’d committed a grave error, because the dark hair cascading over her alabaster shoulders was too much temptation for a mere mortal to withstand.

He patted a pillow. “Face down.” He wasn’t certain if he meant for his suggestion to come out as a scoundrel’s demand, but there it was hanging between them, hoarse, unyielding, and as authoritative as the devil.

The naked woman in his bed did as he bade, leaving the back of her body vulnerable to his perusal. And peruse her, he did.

She was carved marble perfection. Michelangelo himself would be in awe. A small brown freckle on her right buttock seemed to wink at him.Touch. Kiss. Lick,the perfect imperfection taunted.

Steeling himself against her naughty freckle, he straddled her hips, then brushed her glossy hair out of the way so that he could knead her back.

Fighting his libido was no easy task. Her sensual sounds and smooth skin were akin to biscuits to a starving man. As his cock grew hard, and his breathing became labored, he tried to concentrate on her muscles softening beneath his touch.

“Oh,” she moaned.

Assuming he’d been a clumsy gollumpus, he withdrew his hands.

“Jonathan,” she said breathlessly.

Was that lust in her voice?

She wriggled her arse, a dangerous game indeed while in bed with a scoundrel. At least his small clothes protected her delicate insides from his stabbing prick.

“Be still,” he said. “Not unless you want me to give up on your muscles and fuck you.”

She gasped, then halted her wriggling.

Damnation, he was a lecherous rat.Massafor her muscles, his arse. He’d encouraged her to climb into his bed, and then he’d tricked her into getting naked. Disgusted with himself, he crawled off her.

She rolled over to look up at him, her lashes fluttering. Long, satiny strands of hair splayed over his pillow. Her pebbled nipples reached for him.

Fuck!He wanted her so much he could barely breathe. Perhaps he needed to put a few rooms between them. And a long hallway. Maybe an ocean—or two.

“Jonathan,” she said, her voice a sensual plea. “I think it will help me relax if you make love to me.”

Well, dip him in gravy and call him a hunk of beef. “But Coach Valentine’s rule?” he asked, because he needed to be sure she’d thought this through. He couldn’t live with himself if she wasn’t her best for her fight because of him.

“Fiddlesticks.” She cradled his jaw in her palms. “’Tis a stupid rule. If I can’t relax because I want you, I’m not going to fight well. Besides, what if making love gives me more energy and I fight better? Something tells me it will.”

Perhaps she was correct and unlike men, women were more energetic and aggressive after sexual congress. Now that was a bloody beautiful prospect. “Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly, since he didn’t want her to change her mind.

“Absolutely and completely.”

Thank fuck. Leaning down, he captured her mouth. She kissed him back with equal fervor.

They were panting and breathless when they broke from their kiss so that he could rid himself of his bottoms. He slid the cotton down his legs, kicking his small clothes to the floor.

Her body writhing, she reached for him. Before she had time to change her mind, he swung a leg over her and straddled her hips. Now that he had trapped her beneath him, he found her sweet lips. With their bare torsos pressed together, and her nipples scraping his chest, the thumping of their hearts synced.