Novel & Cerita Bridgerton Book Steamy Excerpt

My chest hammers against my ribcage. His breath brushes my neck. Hot, deliberate, tantalizing. He steps beside me, dangerously close, so close I can feel the slight shift of his weight. My stomach twists when I glance at the titles. Tempting Him: On His Desk Kamasutra: Teacher's Edition Oh. My. Fucking. God. I stare at the books for three whole seconds. “That’s not-” I spin to confront him, but he’s gone. Just gone. My head whirls down the dark aisle, rows of books standing like silent witnesses.

It was a fantasy series Mirabel had raved about. I pulled down the dark romance—black cover, gold lettering, with a man in the shadows. The blurb promised forbidden desire and heartbreak. Perfect. I sank into one of the leather armchairs, opened the book, and tried to read. But the words blurred. My mind kept replaying our conversations from dinner. Rhys’s voice. “Alicia Brown.” The way he’d said it—testing, tasting, like he already knew the answer. I closed the book. Leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.

Why did every mention of the past suddenly feel heavy? The patio door clicked shut. The second it did, Alex moved. He had her backed against the dining table before she could draw breath, his mouth crashing down on hers as his hands shoved her skirt up exactly the way they had under the Zoom camera. The edge of the table dug into her hips. His fingers found her again, already slick, already aching, and plunged deep. “You were dripping for me under the table while your father sat right there,” he growled against her lips. “Tell me you’re still wet for me, Bridget.”

Close enough I could taste the whiskey on his breath. “Careful,” he murmured. “You don’t get to say things like that and walk away.” My insides had broken long ago. My body knew exactly it wanted, and who it wanted it from. I opened my mouth— And the terrace door flew open. “Ethan! Man, they’re about to do toasts—” One of his groomsmen stood at the opening. Eyes wide, his gaze fell over the scene. Ethan pinning me to the wall, hand on my face, bodies inches apart.

I realized that the slow burn that had defined our attraction for months had now become a wildfire, and in its heat, every carefully constructed rule, every rational argument, every shred of propriety dissolved entirely. Dinner was a silent exchange of glances and small touches, each one deliberate and charged, the wine adding a subtle warmth to our senses, loosening the boundaries that had kept us restrained. She leaned close to pass me a dish, and our knees brushed under the table, sending a thrill up my spine that was almost unbearable. I caught her eyes, steady, calm, yet sparkling with acknowledgment, and I knew that she felt it too… the pull, the tension, the delicious impossibility of

They succumbed to the fire between them, losing themselves in the fog of desire. Julian lowered her onto the bed, his lips trailing from hers down to her neck. His kisses were relentless, leaving a burning trail of want in their wake. A loud moan escaped her lips when he found that sensitive spot just below her ear; his tongue teased it, igniting a fresh wave of pleasure that rolled through her.

His breath stank of whisky. “That gown,” he said, his eyes crawling over her body. “Looks like it was stitched onto your skin. Do you take… private clients?” Her stomach knotted, and she imagined hurling the champagne into his face, but instead, she steadied her voice. “Excuse me?” He leaned closer, lips greasy with drink. “I could make it worth your while.” His hand hovered at her waist, rather boldly. Bile burned in her throat. She inhaled sharply, ready to spit fire, but another voice cut through.

The door clicked shut, and he turned, backing me against it, his body heat enveloping me. "You're playing with fire, Isabella," he murmured, his hand tracing my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. "That man he comes looking for..." "Let him," I whispered, my voice breathy, heart racing. This was it. For doubt. For control. My hands went to his shirt, unbuttoning fully, revealing a chest dusted with dark hair, muscles honed from labor. "I want this. You."

The bedside lamp cast a warm amber circle over us, turning his dark hair glossy and his shoulders golden. He looked up at me once, eyes stormy and searching, giving me one last chance to say no. I threaded my fingers into his hair instead. He groaned low in his throat and lowered his head. The first long, slow lick from my entrance to my clit made my back bow off the mattress. I cried out, sharp and broken, the sound echoing off the posters still taped to the walls. His tongue was hot. Wet. Deliberate. He flattened it against my swollen folds, dragging upward in one unhurried stroke, tasting every inch of me like he had been starving for three years.

Elliot The air was thick with heat, the scent of her...our desire...filled everywhere. The city lights outside flickered through the curtains, painting golden streaks across her bare skin. Susan lay beneath me, panting, writhing, and waiting. She was a masterpiece...a fucking temptation I could never resist. I traced my fingers down her stomach, feeling the way her muscles clenched at my touch. She was so sensitive, so responsive, so perfect. And she knew exactly what she did to me.