“You even taste sweet here,” he murmured, his tongue flitting over her tender skin. “Sweeter than any confection. Violets and sugar.” He worked his way to her ear, licking the hollow behind it until wetness slid between her thighs, and she jerked once more against his solid body, seeking relief and finding none, only more aching stimulation. “Better than chocolate. You are delicious, Frederica.”
She rubbed her cheek against his, eyes closed, drowning in decadent sensation, awash in him, on fire for him. How she wished she could stay here forever, in this chamber, at his side. With him. His kisses skimmed over her throat, along her jaw. And then his mouth was on her again, and she was lost.
*
Insatiable. That waswhat he was. Lost in her.Ravenous.He inhaled her delicate, floral scent, willed himself to slow down, to savor her the way she deserved. He took her mouth as he would take her body, with reverence and gratitude. Her tongue played against his, her fingers dragging over the wool of his jacket. There was desperation in her hands, need in her touch, in the soft sounds of surrender in her throat.
Those sweet hums of pleasure urged him on. He forgot about his teasing game to make her demand what she wanted from him and gave in to his own rising need. One hand cupped the ripe fullness of her breast, thumb strumming over her hard nipple, while the other parted her folds. Slick dew coated his fingers as he found the plump bud of her sex and stroked.
She jerked against him, and he swallowed her cries with his kisses, taking everything he could. But it was not enough. He wanted more. Wanted her on his tongue, to drink her, to lick her, to make her scream. His hunger for her was a potent, raging beast inside him that demanded to be fed.
He tore his mouth from hers, raining kisses back down her body to the curve of her breast. Then lower, until he was between her spread limbs, caressing the silken skin of her inner thighs.
“If you won’t tell me where you want my mouth, darling, I’ll have to choose myself,” he warned.
She was open to him, and he took a moment to admire her before he lowered his head, his tongue parting her folds, licking up every trace of her he could get.She tasted so good. He could eat her and eat her and never have his fill.
He hummed his approval, his lips closing over her pearl. She thrust her cunny into his face shamelessly, her cries ringing through the chamber. He slid his hands around her arse cheeks, parting them, opening her even further. Slowly, he worked his way to her entrance, running his tongue gently over her in slow, steady swipes.
The urge to possess her, to stand, open the fall of his breeches, and sink home, was strong and relentless. He had never bedded a virgin before. The notion of being her first, of introducing Frederica’s body to pleasure, being the only man who had ever been inside her, made his cock hard as marble. He kissed her there, gently, tenderly.
And then he was feasting on her again, sucking her into his mouth, using his tongue and lips until he sensed how near she was to exploding. Her fingers were in his hair, gripping fistfuls and tugging, and he did not give a damn, for the surprising sting of it pleased him.
He continued plying his torture, working her needy flesh as she grew wetter. She was on the precipice now. Her breaths emerged in ragged pants, her low moans the headiest sounds he had ever heard. One more swipe of his tongue and she cried out, her body tremoring beneath his hands and mouth as she sobbed her release.
But he was a sinner, and when it came to Lady Frederica Isling’s pleasure, gluttony was his vice. This time, he did not stop, even after her shudders subsided. He continued sucking, exerting greater pressure, and then used his lower teeth to gently graze the sweet spot where he had noted she was most sensitive. When she moaned and writhed beneath him, he bit that plump, delicious bud, and he was almost instantly rewarded by the rush of her spend. He caught it with his tongue, swallowed it down, a part of her that was now part of him.
And then his body was moving of its own volition, standing. Shedding his jacket, tearing off his waistcoat, hauling his shirt over his head. She watched, eyes glazed, mouth slack, her breasts rising like offerings, those luscious nipples hard and eager for his mouth. Her legs were still spread, the swollen, wet lips of her cunny glistening like a beacon. She looked like an angel who had been ravished by the devil, and in a sense, that was precisely what she was.
He toed off his shoes, and in a rush, he stripped away his breeches and stockings until he stood before her in nothing but his smalls. In one swift tug, they were gone as well, and he was nude, her wide eyes going to his prick. He was large and thick, and he knew it. Her tongue swept over her lower lip as she stared. Duncan gripped himself, groaning at how ready he was, that the touch of his own hand could elicit such startling sensation, his ballocks drawing up and heat shooting straight to his spine.
“That is your member?” she asked in a hushed tone, her vivid eyes never straying.
Beneath her curious gaze, he grew larger still, straining against his hand, which could not resist another pass over his turgid flesh. The way she watched him—wide-eyed and riveted—made him want her even more.
“Aye,” he said, running his thumb over the head. He stepped into the vee of her thighs then, positioning himself at her channel, her cream making the tip wet. It took every bit of his restraint to hold himself still, to keep from pressing forward as his body demanded. “This is the part of me that will go inside you. Here.” For one brief, breath-claiming moment, he canted his hips, his cock sliding against her.
“Oh,” she said, eyes still wide, gaze burning into his at last. “I know.”
She knew? This gave him pause. He raised a brow, studying her, his wayward little innocent who had somehow found herself in the clutches of London’s darkest beast, and who, instead of running, had begged him to take her innocence. She possessed so much depth. Just when he thought he had peeled back her last layer, he found yet another.
“How do you know, my wicked angel?” he could not resist asking. Perhaps her mother had warned her, in anticipation of her impending nuptials.
Thoughts of Frederica marrying some spoilt fop, of another man touching her breasts, taking her nipples in his mouth, and claiming her cunny for his own, enraged Duncan. She was his, damn it. Except she was not. Not beyond this night, and he had to remember that. He closed his eyes for a moment, gripping his cock harder, trying to battle the warring factions of possessive rage and delirious lust careening through him.
“A book,” she whispered, looking suddenly shy, a glorious flush tingeing her cheeks. It was so at odds with the brazen manner in which she was nude before him. So very Frederica—at once pure and yet capable of such divine depravity.
Of course it was a book. He ought not to have been surprised at her admission. Part of him was, and yet part of him understood curiosity and observation were her nature. She wanted to see, know, experience everything. Perhaps that same inquisitive spirit was behind her decision this night. Whatever it was, he did not dare question it, not when he was so near to everything he wanted.
With his free hand, he cupped her cheek. “Where did you find such corrupt literature, my lady?”
She turned her head, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm that arrowed straight to his cock, all the while holding his gaze. “It was my brother’s, I believe. I found it in one of his trunks.”
“And of course you read it all rather than leaving it to its mysteries.” He smiled. That was his Frederica, fearless and undaunted by the forbidden. Her boldness had brought her to him, and regardless of what came to pass after this night, he would always admire her for it.
No other lady could compare.
“Twice,” she said, confirming his thoughts.
