He could do better. He would give her what she’d all but explicitly requested: pleasure uncomplicated by the past or the future—pleasure that mattered only in the present. If last night was about loss of control, this moment was its exquisite opposite.
He kneeled before her and grabbed her lush derriere with both hands. On a low growl, he pulled her into him, his face nestled into the soft juncture of her legs. He inhaled her warm, erotic scent, and exhaled slowly through thin layers of muslin, his hot rush of breath finding her quim. From his supplicating position, he watched her lips part and her eyes close to all sensation but the promise of his mouth. Still, he could do better.
“I remember something you like very much. The past has its uses.”
He sat back on his heels, ignoring her sob of protest at the separation, and grabbed the hem of her skirts before lifting them fold by fold, revealing ankles . . . calves . . . thighs . . . clad in alabaster silk stockings held up by simple blue garters. Ever higher inched her hem, exposing the naked flesh of her upper thighs and her mons pubis covered by nothing, except a wild patch of curls the color of honey. Again, he blew a stream of humid breath onto her sex.
His intention clear, he lifted her foot and guided it onto his shoulder, her quim opening for him like a hothouse flower in bloom. Her body quivered in anticipation of what came next. One steadying hand clamped around her thigh before he leaned in and flicked the tight pink bud of her sex with the tip of his tongue . . . once . . . twice . . . Her fingers threaded through his hair on a long moan.
“Again,” she demanded, her voice a sensuous combination of ecstasy and ache.
His body her servant, his tongue found a rhythm that rendered her incapable of speech, only pants and groans and whimpers as her quim grew luscious beneath his tongue, her hips tilting forward even as she counterbalanced the motion by pressing harder into the elm at her back. She was nothing more than a creature composed of carnality and lust.
His hand found its way up her thigh, and his forefinger entered her slick and hot cunny. He wanted to feel her pulse around him when she exploded in release. His tongue began alternating between hard and soft flicks, encouraging her desire ever higher, as his finger dove deeper until finally, inevitably, her body tensed for one . . . two . . . three fraught seconds before she broke and cried out her climax to the leaf-dappled blue sky above. His hands steadied her as she collapsed back against the tree, replete with satiety.
He sat back on his heels and took in the delectable and irresistible mess that was Lady Nicholas Asquith. His wife. A fierce need to possess her nearly overtook him. But this wasn’t about his need, it was about hers.
Her lust-glazed eyes slid open and locked onto his. From above, she regarded him with a wonder that he hadn’t been worthy of in years, if ever. He still wasn’t worthy of it.
Reluctantly, he placed his hand on her ankle to remove her foot from his shoulder. He would set it on the ground, and her dress would fall into place as if nothing of note had happened between them. It was one of the hallmarks of their class that they could. Already he regretted the loss of the present to the past.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her enervated body drawing up into a firmer line against the tree.
He halted. He wasn’t certain if he was viewing her through the lens of his raging lust, but he read in her eyes a desire for a different scenario.
“We aren’t finished,” she said, a subtle command in her voice.
Her forefinger reached down and hitched beneath his chin. He followed it up until he stood before her, her dress caught between them, preventing it from chastely falling to the ground. There was nothingchasteabout this situation.
It was all he could do not to moan in frustration at the idea of nothing but the lacings of his trousers standing between his cock and her naked, desire-soaked quim.
“This was for you.” He ground out the words through sheer force of will.
She reached between them and pressed her hand against his cockstand. “Thisis for me.”
Her fingers made short work of the lacings of his trousers and reached inside to wrap around him. He closed his eyes and exhaled a deep groan.
A long leg wrapped around his waist, brazenly opening her to him. The length of his throbbing cock slid indulgently along her wet slit. “And I want you to fuck me mindless with it.”
His hips responded with an instinctive slow thrust, and he slipped inside her, his eyes locked onto hers, daring her to look away. She didn’t. He slid his length out and thrust inside her again, this time slower, her silky tightness both a tease and a promise. Still, he held her eyes, but he detected a mixture of pleasure and frustration in their depths.
“Tell me what you want,” Nick demanded.
“I want—” she began on a pant.
He silenced her when he pulled out.
“I want . . .”—Her heel dug into the small of his back—“ . . . it . . .”—Her hips ground against his—“. . . harder.”
His leg bent so he could angle in further. “Like this?”
She moaned an, “Oh, yes,” and he repeated the motion. She reached around and grabbed his arse with both hands, her nails digging in, spurring him on. “Yes,” she whispered, her hips matching his rhythm.
With a will of its own, a sort of animal instinct took over, his hips thrusting harder and faster, his lips and tongue claiming hers with an untamed ferocity that matched the rhythm of their bodies. He couldn’t get enough of her.
He sensed a specific sort of intensity begin to wind within her. His strokes became short and shallow.
“Oh, yes,” she uttered with mindless abandon.
