"Let me put it to you gentlemen." A cold smile crept over his face as he relaxed back on one leg and slapped his thigh with his deerskin gloves. "Little of real value in history has been achieved without the shedding of blood. Mankind's progress may be traced in a river of gore. And if you would make something of value here," his light eyes glittered with challenge as he looked straight at Robertson, "you will have to bleed for it."
His hard body wedged itself between her upper thighs, pressed against her lower abdomen. Gradually, his deep, wondrous kisses relaxed her belated guard and he pressed his bulging manhood against her warm, pliant flesh. He lavished attention on her lips and closed eyelids, stroking the damp chaos of her hair. One swift, practiced movement removed the last barrier of his breeches and his flesh met hers. Pulsing, eager, and sensing the long-awaited fulfillment, his shaft entered her slowly, while he trapped her gasp of surprise in her throat.
Only bodice rippers can have these two scenes, impassioned talk involving lead up to American Revolutionary War and sexual purple prose consent issues, in the first 15% with its own certain je ne sais quoi.