He filled his hands with them. They were heavy and full, silken and warm. The lust turned into a desperate hunger. He was voracious for her. Ash lowered his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth.
“Oh,” she said on a sigh, and instead of protesting, she threaded her fingers through his hair and arched her back.
Bloody fucking hell.
He played his tongue over the pebbled little bud, gratified when she moaned. She even smelled like summer here, and her breasts were gloriously sensitive. He raked his teeth over her nipple lightly, before drawing her back into his mouth and sucking hard. He was ravenous for her, and needy too, so needy. He could not get enough of the sounds she made, the sensation of her sweet skin.
How had he ever supposed he could woo her for another?
How could he have imagined she could ever be anything other than his?
She felt like his, in his arms. She tasted like his too.
He had to touch her now. Ash grasped a fistful of her gown, petticoat, and chemise, raising it. He moved to her other breast as his hand found the decadent curve of her bare thigh, the sweet place where her stockings ended and there was nothing but Pru’s skin on his.
His ballocks were drawn tight.
And he had not even touched her cunny yet.
All the blood in his body seemed to have rushed to his cock. He had never, in all his days, wanted a woman more than he wanted Pru. His fingers found their way between her thighs, parting her soft, slick folds. She was hot and wet. So wet. She wanted him.
It was his turn to moan his approval. He found her pearl, and she jerked. He flicked his tongue over her nipple as he stimulated her, slowly at first. Nothing more than gentle, slow circles. Her breathy gasp told him she liked his touch. So he went faster. Stroked the swollen bud, working his fingers over it.
He was attuned to her every sigh, her every soft mewl, to the rocking of her hips, the way she shifted to grant him greater access to her, to the tightening of her fingers in his hair. Because he was going mindless with the need to pleasure her, to make her come, to give her the sweet rush of release, to stake his claim, he bit her nipple and increased his pace. More moisture bathed his fingertips.
Her essence.
He could not wait to suck his fingers clean.
To taste her there.
But they had time. The rest of their lives. This was just the beginning.
He kissed his way back to her lips, over her breasts, up the sleek column of her neck. And then his mouth was on hers once more. This kiss was deeper than all that had come before. It was laden with carnal promise. With acknowledgement, too. How badly he longed to sink a finger inside her sheath. To replace it with his cock.
Slowly, he reminded himself, stroking her pearl, his tongue sliding inside her mouth. She clung to him, kissing him, and in the next instant, her body stiffened. She cried out, tremors quaking through her as she spent. He swallowed her cry, relentlessly working her until a second, smaller orgasm shuddered through her. Until she was gasping and limp in his arms.
Then, and only then, did he remove his fingers from her sweet cunny, allowing her skirts to fall. He broke the kiss and could not resist sucking the fingers he had just used to pleasure her into his mouth as she watched. Her lust-drunk eyes widened. The taste of her, summery and sweet, musky and earthy, blossomed on his tongue.
Next time, he would taste her truly, lick her until she screamed.
“God, Pru,” he managed. “You are so sweet. Sweeter than I could have imagined.”
His words seemed to serve as a return to reality for her, and he instantly wished he could recall them, for her brow furrowed, and she froze.
“This was wrong,” she said softly. “You are dallying with me, Lord Ashley.”
She could not be further from the truth.
“I promise you I do not dally with you,” he vowed, determined to keep her here with him. Determined to keep her in his arms for as long as he possibly could.
Her frown deepened, however. “What are you suggesting? Forgive me, but I fail to see how continually seeking me out, kissing me, undoing my bodice, and…doing what you have just done is anything other than dallying with me.”
“I want to marry you,” he bit out.
And instantly wished he could recall those words.
Poorly done of him.
