And as she did so, she massaged his cock.
Just the way she knew he liked.
He inhaled. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Cleaning you, of course,” she said, slanting him a deceptively innocent glance from beneath her lowered lashes. “I fear the cream ice soaked through. I must make certain you are not all sticky.”
Her fingers made short work of the fastening on his trousers, opening the fall. And then she took his cock in her hand, stroking. The sight of her small, elegant fingers curled around his thick, ruddy rod made him nearly wild with lust. His mettle was already seeping from the slit at the tip. He was so damned ready for her, wild with need, all from her appearing before him and then touching his cock through the barrier of his garments.
Yes, he was pathetic.
She stroked him from root to tip.
He wanted to stop her. Coming in his wife’s hand in the midst of the afternoon after he had been wallowing in cream ice and self-pity was hardly ideal. But her grip on him tightened, her thumb swirling over his cockhead, slicking his own moisture over him.
All that emerged from him was a groan of surrender.
“You are fortunate I arrived when I did,” she told him, voice low, her lips so near to him that her hot breath feathered over his tip.
Yes, he was. He agreed with her. Completely.
But she could not possibly be thinking of doing what he thought she was.
There was no way his prim wife was about to take him—
Her lips closed over his cock. Just the tip. So softly, as if she feared she would break him. Her tongue swirled over him tentatively.
The day was getting better by the moment.
“Darling,” he ground out, still feeling it his gentlemanly duty to protest. She was his wife, after all, not a woman of experience. “You do not need to do this.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, the gentle vibration sending a shock of exquisite sensation through him as she released him, then slid her tongue along his length. “And what if Iwantto do this?”
Could she? He would not lie—he had imagined her lips wrapped around his cock more times than he could count. He had wondered what it would be like, how she would react. However, she was new to intimacy, a novice to lovemaking, and his wife as well. With other lovers, he had known how to read a woman’s acquiescence, her need for him, to determine whether a bed partner would prefer dominance or submission, powerful passion or tender seduction.
With Jo, he was adrift. Everything he had learned about other women paled. Because she was not any other woman. She was herself. And that made her so very different. So very special.
Once upon a time,wifehad been a word he had revered. A title he had intended to bestow upon one woman. It shocked him to realize now that what he felt for Jo was far more potent, detailed, complex—necessary—than what he had ever felt for Nora.
Jo took him in her mouth once more, sucking, obliterating his ability to think. All there was in that moment was Jo’s lips closed around his shaft, her tongue flicking over him, the warm wetness of her mouth engulfing him.
“Damn it, Josie,” he bit out, his fingers sifting into her hair.
The gentleman in him dissolved. He was now a beast. Desire took up the reins. Hair pins fell to the Axminster as she laved his rigid flesh, keeping her fingers wrapped tight around the base of him as she lavished attention on his length and cockhead.
She made a carnal noise that sounded like a purr. “Do you like this, Decker? I have been wanting to make you as wild as you make me. I was not sure it would be the same for you.”
Oh, it was the bloody same. Indeed, he would venture to say it was better. There was something so damned glorious about her inexperienced attempts to bring him pleasure that heightened his desire. That made him more desperate for her than he had already been before she had gone on her knees. And that, it went without saying, was a tremendous feat in itself.
Good God, he would spill cream ice in his lap every day if he received this sort of attention as a result.
He clenched his jaw and counted to ten, trying to keep himself from ramming his cock down her throat. That was what he wanted, what he craved—her taking all of him, sucking him until he spent and then he could watch as she swallowed his seed.
“I like it,” he forced out, knowing she needed the validation.
She could hardly know what she did to him. How badly she made him want her. How effortlessly she brought him to his knees, even whilst she was the one who knelt before him.
“Tell me what I should do,” she murmured.
