Oh.
Slick and warm his tongue stroked her slit. “Sebastian,” she moaned.
He chuckled against her. As his tongue flicked, his thumb entered her, sliding in and out as he took control of her body—of her wants and desires.
As he took control of her pleasure.
Her booted heels pressed against his shoulders, she leaned back onto her elbows and let him touch her and fill her, deliver pleasure to her with each flick of his tongue. Oh, the sight of him—the feel of him—between her legs… In literature and in life, women were always portrayed as the more sensual of the sexes. But gazing upon this man, his eyes holding hers, daring her to look away as he pleasured her with his tongue, she knew it to be a fundamental untruth.
This man was pure sensuality.
Impossible that she’d never seen what others so clearly saw.
This man with his unknowable gaze…his wicked smile…his unapologetic arrogance…was sin personified.
Tempting her into sin with him.
She’d never been all that adept at resisting temptation.
A Windermere trait, truth told.
Another finger entered her and she lost all capacity for thought as her body became a vessel for the pleasure he delivered. Sensation built beneath his talented tongue—curled inside her sex. It was a feeling she’d come to know… Her entire being now centered in the place where the firm tip of his tongue met her most sensitive flesh…where his fingers entered her.
Then he sucked her nub into his mouth, his tongue softly brushing and teasing her…laving…stroking…a gathering of sensation occurring within her as release held itself out of reach, taunting her with promise…then all that was collapsed inward, released as if on a spring, her body filling with light and air and color as she cried out and tumbled over the edge of climax, her sex pulsing around his fingers, him watching her with that dark intensity that only increased her pleasure.
He gave her quim one final lick and lifted his head. “I’d say you liked that.”
A wicked smile on his mouth, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. It occurred to her that she should feel a modicum of shame or modesty.
She felt neither.
“I suppose this is what people are talking about when they refer to a tup,” she said.
Oh, the arrogance curving his talented mouth as he rose and stepped between her legs, his fingers making quick work of his trouser buttons. Gravity took the cloth, and his cock sprang free.Thick…turgid…ready.Oh, the heat that blazed through Delilah as he took a thigh in each hand, and his heavy length slid along her sex, his manhood hard against her opening. “Thisis what’s referred to as a tup.”
And he pressed into her, one slow, intentional inch at a time. A long moan poured from her. She didn’t recognize herself as he impaled her. So hard…so big…filling her with sensations only he could offer.
And didn’t the expression on his face say he knew it.
And—oh, heaven help her—didn’t she find it entirely too attractive.
As he began to slide in and out of her, it occurred to her that her body might be forming a dependency on this man. That when summer ended she might not be able to give him up. But—oh—how could she possibly when he made her feel likethis?
Her legs wrapped around his waist, bringing him yet closer. She reached up and pulled his mouth to hers, taking this act to another level of intimacy, as she ground against him, his full, heavy length skating along the sharp straightedge between pleasure and pain.
He sucked his breath and uttered, “Delilah,” with raw ache and need, the utterance rumbling through her so that she nearly climaxed again on the spot.
Of a sudden, he shifted back and out of her, provoking a cry of outrage. “What do you think you’re—”
“I thought you wanted a proper tup.”
And with that he tugged her forward and off the edge of the stage so her feet touched ground, immediately taking her hips in hand and turning her around. Her bottom bared to the breeze, his hand found the middle of her back and subtly pushed, leaving her no choice but to bend at the waist and plant her palms on cool stone. The hand trailed up her back and wove through her hair, her hips angled so her bottom curved up.
Over her shoulder, she met his gaze just as he pushed at the opening of her sex, entering her, his fingers clutching her hair, his other hand pressed at the small of her back as he held her steady and guided his cock in and out of her with deliberate intention. Hot sensation took wing inside her. This…tupping…felt a bit wrong…a bit perverse…a bit like what happened in dark alleyways and gardens in the dead of night…like what happened between the lines of the warnings given by chaperones…
And like everythingright.
Oh, all she could do was feel as he moved in and out of her, his breath ragged and desperate at her back. An odd feeling of power surged within her. That she could make this man—the arrogant Duke of Ravensworth—desperate for her…
