Order ECSTASY online Jordan

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Guarantees! Quality! Reviews!

Trusted store!

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

▼ Our contacts (Telegram) ▼

>>>✅(WRITE TO OPERATOR IN TELEGRAM)✅<<<

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

ATTENTION!

⛔ You must have telegram installed! So that you can write.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Order ECSTASY online Jordan

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Николь Джордан - Экстаз

He rose naked from the surf, his wet, sleekly muscled body glistening in the Caribbean sun. Framed against the brilliant turquoise sea, he looked like some pagan god. Yet he was no god. He was the pirate who had stolen her virtue and then her heart. Heat and vitality and danger throbbed from him as he stood spread-legged on the crystalline white beach, commander of all he surveyed. His engorged male flesh clearly proclaimed his arousal and made her breath falter. As if he heard her soft gasp, his dark gaze riveted on her. She could never see his face, only his dark eyes that were intense and burning. He came to her then, purpose defined in every lithe stride. The sand was warm at her back as he bore her down, his hungry mouth hot as it claimed hers. His kiss was ravaging, not in force but in effect; his touch dangerously, wildly sensual as his hands roamed over her at will. He drank of her mouth, then shifted his caresses lower, gentle and ruthless at once. Pressing her head back, he kissed the arch of her throat, her collarbone, her naked breasts… His lips felt hotter than the sun on her bare skin, the blistering heat searing her flesh. He captured a nipple and suckled hard, shooting arrows of pleasure downward to her moist, feminine center. She whimpered and parted her legs for him, sighing as he nestled his swollen sex against her softness, the throbbing ache between her thighs soothed and aroused at once. Understanding her urgent need, he slid himself relentlessly within her, his huge shaft filling her, making her want to weep with ecstasy. But then he went still, denying her the release she craved. The hot darkness of his gaze pinned her as surely as his pulsing masculine flesh impaled her. His intense gaze burned into hers. He cannot make you feel what I do. He cannot make your blood run hot as I can. She turned her head aside, knowing all he said was true. She felt a sense of desperation at the thought of her impending marriage. She wanted to forget…and yet her pirate would not allow her. His hand clenched in her hair, his teeth bared in savage insistence. You are mine, do you heed me? And I am yours. You created me. He withdrew his slick shaft and sank forcefully into her again, thrusting completely home. My touch, my taste, my hard flesh driving deep inside you, making you cry out with need. The fierce intimacy of his body locked into hers and he began to move again, taking her, claiming her. Instead she lifted her hips to meet his deep thrusts, answering him with all the vigor in her trembling form. Climax exploded through her in intense, rigid shudders again and again and again before at last he found his own release. Eventually he collapsed upon her, his gasping breath mingling with hers, their fierce hunger momentarily sated. She lay back, replete, as silken waves came to lap at her, cooling her overheated skin and the blaze of passion between them…. Slowly Raven Kendrick roused from fantasy to awareness, recognizing her bedchamber. The chill light of early morning filtered through the damask curtains as she lay in bed, her body still throbbing with her powerful climax and the memory of her pirate. He was a wild, sweet fire in her blood…and he was merely illusion. With a sigh of unfulfilled longing, Raven rolled over and drew a pillow to her still-tingling breasts. He was all she would ever have of true passion. Her lover existed only in her imagination, although sometimes he seemed as real to her as any flesh and blood man. He had no identity, no past other than the one she had attributed to him. Her eyes closed on the memory of their most recent interlude. She could imagine, though. Indeed, she knew things no virgin should ever know. Penned by an anonymous Frenchwoman, the journal was a true, tragic tale of love and filled with exquisite details of carnal desire. Raven frowned defiantly. Perhaps she was wicked to foster such vivid illusions of her pirate, but in her fantasies she could be as unconventional and free as she chose. She could satisfy the deep restlessness inside her, indulge her forbidden hunger without the dire consequences of social ruin. Most vitally, she could give herself completely to a lover without fear of losing her heart and soul, the way her mother once had. Involuntarily Raven clenched her fists as the familiar dread pulsed through her. She would never give her heart to a real man. By day she had pored over her precious journal, memorizing each poignant line. Reaching into the bedside table drawer, Raven withdrew the jewel-encrusted book, her eyes blurring as she remembered. It had grieved her endlessly to see her mother waste her life away, wishing even on her deathbed for a man she could never have. The loss of her mother had left Raven achingly bereft yet filled with determination. She would never make the same mistake her mother had made, falling victim to a hopeless love. No man would ever own her soul. She alone controlled the shape of her destiny. She might have resolved to marry, but love would form no part of the equation. A rap on her bedchamber door brought Raven out of her dark reverie. Quickly returning the journal to the drawer, she bid admission, and her personal maid entered, carrying a tray. She sat up slowly in bed and allowed Nan to set the tray on her lap, even though she suddenly had no appetite. The maid poured her a cup of chocolate, talking all the while. Turning to the hearth, the maid built up the dwindling fire to ward off the November chill, then bobbed a curtsy. When the servant had left the room, Raven dutifully picked up her fork but set it down again as her stomach recoiled. In a few short hours she would wed the man she had chosen, a prominent nobleman who commanded the respect of the highest echelons of the ton. She had eagerly anticipated this day for months-so why did she now feel as if she were somehow going to her execution? Bridal nerves. Her anxiety could be attributed merely to that. Every bride had misgivings on her wedding day. She shook her head, determined to quell the knots in her stomach. As a duchess, she would be accepted by the cream of society…the society her mother had been denied after being banished to the West Indies more than twenty years ago by an irate father. Raven raised her cup of chocolate to her lips, trying to ignore her qualms. But as his wife, she would no longer be compelled to fight the despairing feelings of aloneness that had haunted her for much of her life. She was fortunate to have attracted Halford, considering the disadvantages she faced. Since then, Raven had grown to realize how very much acceptance meant to her, how deeply she cherished the feeling of belonging. To her relief and gratitude, her first Season had been a triumph. She was sought after by countless admirers and received a half dozen estimable proposals of marriage, along with several unsuitable ones. But with a hidden scandal in her past, she could give the ton no reason to challenge her entree into its select ranks, no matter how much she might like to thumb her nose in their faces. Not if she wanted to become one of them. Her unconventionality was a definite drawback, Raven was keenly aware. But once in England, she had striven to restrain her natural high spirits, repressing any sign of passion in favor of conformity, enduring the stifling rules of proper conduct because she was fiercely determined to be accepted. One of her few concessions to restlessness was her early morning gallops in the park. And when she craved passion, she turned to her fantasies and her imaginary pirate lover. Though he was only an illusion-one that sometimes left her aching with an unfulfilled longing-she was certain her pirate could satisfy her deepest hungers far more profoundly than her real-life duke ever could or would. Raven shivered, suddenly feeling the chill of the winter morning. Sternly repressing her apprehension, she set aside her tray and rose from the bed. Were this any other day, she would be riding at this very moment, but she had a wedding to prepare for. She had just drawn on a woolen wrapper when another knock sounded on her door. To her vast surprise, her great-aunt entered. Catherine, Lady Dalrymple, was an imposing figure-tall and elegant with handsome features and silver hair that lent her a majestic air. Never once in all the months of living with her great-aunt had she been visited like this. Nor did her elderly relative normally rise this early. Aunt Catherine managed a stiff smile. I merely brought you a wedding gift. I suspect Elizabeth would wish you to have them. Raven felt her heart wrench at the mention of her mother. Opening the box with curiosity, she gasped to find a stunning strand of pearls and a pair of pearl-drop earrings, not large but with a lustrous sheen that suggested great value. Raven gave her great-aunt a questioning glance, wondering what had caused this show of generosity. Lady Dalrymple usually treated her with a frosty reserve bordering on dislike. But now that your nuptials actually are at hand, I think you are entitled to have these. But I presumed you would wish to wear them at your wedding. I would like very much to wear them. Without speaking, Aunt Catherine turned to take her leave, but then turned back, arching one elegant eyebrow. I never imagined you would make such an advantageous marriage. You had so many suitors… I feared you might choose someone unacceptable just to spite us. She had indeed had numerous suitors, Raven reflected. In fact, one suitor in particular had hounded her relentlessly even after her betrothal to Halford was announced, nearly embroiling her in scandal. Thankfully her aunt knew nothing of that near disaster. Love does not ensure happiness, as your mother discovered to her everlasting grief. Raven felt herself stiffen. Love can bring great misery. I learned that lesson quite well, Aunt Catherine. Raven lowered her gaze to hide her anger, deploring this conversation. She had no wish to discuss her mother or to dredge up painful memories. The elderly lady pursed her lips together. A place in society that her folly denied her. Stung beyond bearing, Raven lifted her chin and looked piercingly at her aunt. Catherine frowned. She was facing total ruin. Her behavior was scandalous in the extreme-becoming obsessed with a married man and letting him get her with child. No one could expect him to tolerate the shame of his daughter bearing a child out of wedlock. Wedding Kendrick rescued her from disgrace and saved you from being born a bastard! Raven winced at the familiar guilt that curled inside her. She well understood the sacrifice her mother had made for her. As it was, she pined her life away, yearning for a love she could never have. And she swiftly came to regret her grievous error in judgment. She bitterly regretted her fall from grace and losing the rank and privilege to which she was raised. She missed the life she could have had and thought you deserved… Which is why she was so determined you should have a different fate. That much was certainly true, Raven reflected somberly. Her mother had been nearly obsessive about rectifying her mistake. Elizabeth had spent countless hours-every afternoon over tea, in fact-trying to instill the graces of a lady in her daughter so that Raven might eventually take her rightful position in English society. On her very deathbed, she had made Raven swear to marry into the nobility…. She knew how cruel the ton could be, and she wanted me to be protected by rank and wealth, should my past ever be discovered. Raven curled her hands into fists, striving for control. And because your grandfather would hear of nothing else. Apparently Aunt Catherine had said her piece, though, for she turned away, every inch the imperious dame. You had best make haste. Being scorned was a familiar experience to her. Elizabeth had infuriated her haughty family, imperiling their social standing by developing a passionate love for a married American shipping magnate and conceiving a child out of wedlock. Raven cringed inwardly as she remembered the man who was presumed by the world to be her father, Ian Kendrick. For twenty years now, she had been Miss Kendrick in public, but privately he had never accepted her as his child. Never let her forget that she was in truth a bastard. The terms of his marriage contract were clear: a small plantation and monthly income in exchange for remaining in the Caribbean with Elizabeth. Yet until the moment of his death in a riding accident eight years ago, Ian Kendrick had railed at his fate-being exiled to a backwater isle with barely the means to support his preferred standard of living-while his wife languished away, torn by unhappiness over her long-lost love. As for their daughter…. Raven steeled her shoulders, willing herself to calm. And why she had carefully avoided the unsuitable ones. If she married high enough, if she aligned herself with a nobleman of power and consequence, then she would be shielded from her dubious past. Admittedly she was guilty of deception for concealing her origins from her intended husband. But Halford would be getting exactly the sort of bride he required, Raven thought defiantly. She was virginal, possessed an acceptably winsome appearance, was of good blood and family connections, and had adequate countenance to fill the role of duchess. And she would willingly give Halford the heirs he wanted. She would be getting precisely what she wanted as well: acceptance at last by the polite world that had never considered her good enough. And a husband who was safe. Better a cold, loveless contract than a blazing passion that could rip her heart to shreds. She was in no danger of falling in love with her duke, although she had hopes for eventually developing both affection and a satisfying friendship with him. But theirs would be a marriage of convenience, nothing more. They would live together in civilized harmony, both understanding exactly what was required of them. In any case, her imaginary lover would keep her satisfied. She would be entirely faithful to Halford…except in her mind. Raven took a deep breath, renewing her resolve as she turned to ring for her maid. She had made her own bed, as the saying went. Her betrothed would soon be awaiting her at the church-St. And she intended to look her best for her special day. Two hours later she descended the stairway to the entrance hall where, with the aid of a cane, her grandfather stood alongside his sister Catherine. The elderly viscount stayed here on the rare occasions when he came to town, rather than open his own cavernous mansion. Lord Luttrell was tall and silver-haired like his sister, though not as handsome. Raven did think her appearance pleasing. Her empire gown was of pale lemon lustring, with an ivory net overskirt shot with gold threads. Beside the viscount, her dragon of a great-aunt agreed even while sniffing in disapproval. And Raven is not a child in the least. She turned twenty months ago. You will make a grand duchess. Raven bit back an instinctive reply. Yet to his credit, Grandfather only wanted her to be well settled in life. Despite the strain that had marked their early relationship, Lord Luttrell had welcomed her with a touching eagerness, making her feel like a cherished member of his family. And Raven had found herself immensely glad for the connection. He and Lady Dalrymple were the only blood relations she had left, other than an American half brother whom she could never publicly claim. Raven felt her own throat constrict. She, too, wished her mother could be here to witness her triumphant union. With a brilliant smile of her own, Raven stepped aside to embrace the hulking, gray-haired fellow. She was immeasurably grateful to him for standing her friend. When she heard a sudden commotion, though, she glanced curiously up the street to see a closed carriage barreling toward them, its windows shuttered, its coachman wearing a hooded cape that made him appear phantomlike. Strangely, the coach slowed as it passed the barouche, then rumbled to a halt while three armed, masked figures leapt out. When Raven stood frozen in bewilderment, the leader lunged at her and gripped her arm, dragging her toward the coach. For an instant Raven wondered if she were imagining this nightmare, but the pain in her arm was very real as she was hauled toward the open door of the coach. Instead he wrenched her around and snaked a thick arm about her waist from behind, lifting her bodily off her feet. Gasping in fury, she fought back, struggling to be free of this rough, crude oaf, but her slippered heels made no dent in his beefy shins. When she bent her head in desperation and bit his shoulder through his tweed coat, her defiance earned her a cuff to the temple from his fist, a blow so violent that she saw stars. Her own fright grew as she realized the direness of her situation: she was being abducted in broad daylight! Raven gave an anguished cry of protest, a cry that was cut short as she was shoved roughly inside the coach and facedown on the floor. She felt her gown rip at the shoulder as the coach door slammed behind her. Stunned, the breath knocked from her, she scarcely comprehended the shouts from outside the coach as the vehicle lurched forward and began to move off. Groping the swaying seat to brace herself, Raven dizzily scrambled onto the rear-facing leather cushions. Drawing a flask from his coat pocket, he raised it to his lips and drank deeply. She could smell the strong liquor in the close confines of the coach, could see the alcoholic glaze in his eyes. Suddenly he lifted the butt of the pistol, and Raven flinched, knowing he meant to strike her. Frantically she raised her arms to protect her face from the threat, but he rammed the butt into the side of her skull, and she saw no more. I have no choice. I swore a solemn promise. Yes…only you. She lay back, replete, as silken waves came to lap at her, cooling her overheated skin and the blaze of passion between them… Slowly Raven Kendrick roused from fantasy to awareness, recognizing her bedchamber. Yet it was a scandalous tome for any young lady of virtue to possess. Her wedding day at last was here. I am a bit in awe myself. She would at last belong somewhere. Elizabeth wrote to me upon occasion over the years. As for their daughter… Raven steeled her shoulders, willing herself to calm. Tears brimmed in his eyes, Raven saw when she reached him. He took her hand in his own shaky one. You are exceedingly beautiful. And she knew the viscount truly mourned his late daughter and regretted his intractability. She was not alone. I am flattered. For what?

Order ECSTASY online Jordan

Order weed online Tehran