He glanced up at her, and his eyes were obsidian, holding her in their thrall. “I’m going to taste your perfect, pink cunny now. I’m going to lick you and suck you until you spend, and I want you to watch.”
A trickle of wetness seeped from her core. His hot breath fanned over her in a tantalizing caress as he spoke. His mouth was so close, his wicked words bringing her ever closer to the edge. She felt swollen and needy and greedy, every part of her body tensed, ready and willing for whatever pleasure he would visit upon her.
She moaned and attempted to rock toward him, but his hands on her thighs kept her from making contact with him.
“I’ll give you everything you want, but you have to obey me.” His thumb stroked over her engorged flesh, making her entire body twitch. “If you stop watching, I stop. I want there to be no doubt who is bringing you pleasure. Understood?” He gave her another slow, maddening swipe with his thumb.
Bridget ought to object to his demand she obey him, but there was something about the deep, delicious sound of that word in his voice which heightened her desire. She cried out, half whimper, half plea for more, even though she didn’t know what more was. All she knew was she wanted it. Wanted anything he had to give. He blew over her flesh.
“Sayyes, husband, Bridget.”
He was pushing her, and she wanted him, but even made desperate by the sensations he brought to life within her, she balked at his demand. She was aching, needing something she did not understand. Her breasts and nipples felt full and needy, so she cupped them, and it felt so good she rolled her hips.
His thumb rubbed her in a circular motion, then up and down. The friction was delicious, but then he stopped just when she felt the slow buildup tightening within her.
“Sayyes husband, darling, and play with your nipples while you watch me.”
Oh God.
She couldn’t say it.
Couldn’t do it.
Couldn’tnotdo it.
“Yes husband,” she said at last, pinching both her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers as he watched.
The words and the action heightened everything. More wetness dripped from her center. Leo made a growl of approval in his throat. “Now I’m going to give you what you want. Don’t stop watching, and don’t stop touching yourself.”
His authoritative tone did nothing to diminish the fires burning through her blood. She wanted him so much he could say anything, do anything, and she would watch and she would tell him whatever he wanted to hear. Bridget was merely that desperate for this man, that drawn to him, that owned by him.
His tongue flicked over her then, over the sensitive bud hidden between her folds. It was shocking. Beautiful. It felt as if she had been catapulted into heaven for a brief, incendiary moment.
And then she fell down, landing in iniquity and sin, and there was no greater joy. Nothing she could ever experience again in her life would be better than the Duke of Carlisle’s tongue upon her there, in that secret place. It was a revelation. The wet slide, the skilled play…oh. Too good. Far too good. She was lost. Close to breaking. Her body had tightened, and she knew she would fly apart at the slightest provocation.
He moaned against her, as if he were as lost to desire as she was, and the sound heightened her every sense. All the while, he never broke eye contact. Nor did she, watching him as he pleasured her, torturing her breasts as he had asked. She had never imagined her own touch could feel so good, but with their gazes connected and his tongue lapping over her, she felt almost as if the touch were his instead.
His mouth closed over the taut bud that longed for him the most. He sucked and sucked. Used his teeth until she was crying out, squeezing her nipples into hard pink buds that longed for his tongue. And still he continued, undeterred. The guttural sounds he emitted made her wild. It was as if he relished every lick, every suck. As if he could not get enough of her.
And she knew the feeling well, for she was certain she could never get enough of him either. Not enough of his kiss, his mouth, his tongue, his beautiful body, those long fingers, the full, massive length of him, hard and ready. She wanted to suck it. To take him in her mouth and pleasure him the same as he was doing to her. She wanted him to lose himself in the same way, and she wanted to be the one responsible, and…
Oh dear heavens, oh dear heavens…
She was going to spend. The spring was coiled, tightened. He had worked her into a fine frenzy, and he had done it so well. She lost control. The dam inside her burst, and she cried out, shuddering as a great rush of pleasure washed over her. She came hard and fast, the sweet, liquid rush of her release leaving her losing herself in the oblivion of his dark, possessive gaze. He licked her seam, lapping up every last drop that emerged from her.
“I could lick your pretty little cunny like this forever.”
Dear God.
She wanted to respond, but he had robbed her of the capacity for speech. She was boneless, weightless, mindless. And his words… They left her without words of her own. They left her with an answering, delicious ache inside her. If he wanted to use his tongue upon her in such a delightful way forever, he would not find her an objector.
He kissed her sex, making another deep sound of satisfaction in his throat that she felt all the way to her toes. And then he and his wicked mouth and hands moved back up her body in slow, sweet torture. Kisses on her belly. A tongue in her navel. Kisses higher. He gently removed her hands from her breasts and sucked one nipple into his mouth, before biting the other. And then his mouth went higher still, finding her throat, his lips pressing over the place where her heartbeat hammered against her skin. He kissed it. Sucked.
“I want inside you,” he said against her skin. “You are mine now, Bridget O’Malley. I mean to keep you.”
She was not meant to feel an exquisite rush of something tender and bright and beautiful inside her at his declaration. Something warm and unexpected, piercing her heart. Something that felt a lot like love.
Love. Grá.
