Because she loved him.
Because she had never stopped.
She swallowed violently, pushing away the errant thought. It was wrong. It had to be wrong. She could not still be in love with Clay. Not after all he had done. Not after all these years. No, it was that she wanted him. Her body remembered all the sinful, exquisite tortures he could visit upon it.
That was it.
That was all.
“I want you,” she said instead, and even that was an admission she hated to give.
He coaxed her legs to widen. They glided across his coverlet, opening her to him completely, and she almost trembled with need. She imagined he could see her folds, plump and slick, the aching bundle of flesh between them, eager for his tongue. He tormented her by kissing everywhere—her inner thighs, the juncture where her thighs met her mound, the swell just above her cleft.
“What do you want?” he asked. His fingers raked up and down her outer thighs, lightly dragging his nails over her sensitized flesh.
“Your mouth,” she whispered, cheeks growing hot. “Your tongue.”
The words fled from her. They could not be contained. Long ago, he had used his lips and tongue upon her, making her spend with nothing else. It had been so many years…it had been forever, it seemed, since she had last been pleasured. Eight years, to be specific. She did not know what it was about this man that turned her into a wanton, that made her so weak, that made her flesh come alive and her lust boil out of control, but she could not help herself.
There were some facts she had come to realize were indisputable.
The sun rose in the east.
London would forever be rife with fog.
And as long as she lived, Clayton Ludlow would make her body sing.
“Do you want me to lick you, Ara?” he asked, his voice so gruff and low and decadent that it emerged as a growl. His kissed a circle lovingly around her pearl, avoiding it. “Do you want me to take your sweet, swollen bud into my mouth and suck you until you spend?”
Oh. Good. Sweet. Merciful. Heavens.
A tiny spasm ricocheted through her with such sweet pleasure she could not keep still. Her hips jerked. A burst of wetness rushed from her core. His words were so erotic. His teasing so unbearable. She swore she would die if she did not have his tongue on her, stroking her. Inside her. If he did not do as he had asked and suck her until she came again.
“Yes,” she cried out. “Please, Clay.”
“I like the way you beg, Duchess.”
His words were hard. Harsh. A vivid reminder that this was not eight years ago, and they were not the same people as they had been then. That those young fools were forever lost to the ether, replaced by hardened, sharper versions of themselves. That time could change everything, and some things were not meant to be revisited. That practicality and reason could outweigh fate. She would have withdrawn from him had he not lowered his dark head at last and run his tongue along her slit. One hot, wet pass was all it took.
She was mindless again, moaning, arching her back. Her hands sought him. One landed in his luxurious hair, the other found his splayed over her belly. Their fingers tangled and held. He licked her again, another long, slow swipe.
A moan rent the air. She did not know if it was hers or his. She rocked against him, pelvis thrusting against his face. Thedespicable thingwas at work within her, and it wanted satisfaction. It wanted Clay Ludlow taking her apart, climax by climax.
At long last, he gave her what she wanted, taking her throbbing pearl into his mouth. He sucked long and hard, and this time there was no doubt who the cry echoing through the chamber belonged to. It was hers. And he was…oh, he was…
He was far too much. And not enough. And everything all at once. The world fell away. Everything disappeared, even her surroundings. All that remained was him and his glorious mouth, bringing her to her peak.
He worked the underside of her bud with his teeth. Gently nipped before flicking his tongue over her in steady, fast pulses. The hand that was not entwined with hers moved from her hip to between her thighs. He traced her seam, parted her flesh, and sank a finger deep inside her.
She clenched. Bucked, took him deeper. A second finger joined the first, sliding in and out as he alternated between sucking and licking her swollen pearl. His knowing probe found a place inside her she had not known existed. In and out he pumped, curling his digits, her channel growing wetter and wetter until the sounds of him pleasuring her filled the chamber.
Her breathy moans of helpless need. The sodden harmony of flesh colliding, of licking and sucking and claiming. Of receiving pleasure and giving pleasure. Of surrendering to the passions that had always been simmering between them, just beneath the surface of their every interaction since he had reappeared in her life.
Something deep inside her tightened like a knot. She was on the precipice, the place between her legs throbbing and heavy. Her nipples hard, her breasts achy and full. Even her skin seemed as if it were on fire.
“You taste so good,” he whispered, his tongue flicking back over her again.
Her release jolted through her, sudden and ferocious. One moment she was undulating her hips against his delicious ministrations, and the next everything had exploded. She had exploded. Pleasure roared through her, white hot and overwhelming, so strong her shoulders curled forward, rising off the bed. Her body gripped his fingers, bringing him deeper. More wetness rushed from her, bathing his fingers, soaking his mouth.
