She kissed him back, their tongues tangling. She wondered if he could taste the tang of himself the way she still did, mingling with sweet strawberry. He groaned, deepening the kiss, his lips moving over hers with greater demand. If he did notice, he did not mind.
His hands slid to her waist, anchoring her to him.
Without ending the kiss, he began moving them as one. Slowly, intently. He guided her backward, and she went willingly, following his lead. She was his to command. His always, body and heart, everything she was.
Something firm pressed into the backs of her knees through her gown and underpinnings. He broke the kiss and gave her a gentle nudge.
“Sit, darling.”
“Why?” she asked.
“No questions.” He kissed her again. “Sit.”
She did as he asked, lowering herself to the upholstered cushion with as much elegance as she could muster with her hair unbound and her body, mind, and heart at sixes and sevens. Her heart gave a queer little thump, almost as if it stumbled over itself.
“Decker,” she protested.
“No objections, either.” He towered over her, all dark, brooding handsomeness. “It is my turn.”
His turn for what?
But then, he lowered himself to his knees, and she had her answer without ever posing the question. The smile he sent her was doused in sin. He clutched the hem of her gown and lifted it to her waist. The heavy, embroidered silk pooled in her lap, along with her petticoats and chemise.
Her intent, however, had been to shower him with affection. To show him, without words—and later, with words—that the circumstance of his birth did not matter one whit to her. All that mattered was him. Guilt pricked at her at the notion of him feeling as if he must reciprocate, for that had never been her intention.
“You do not need to—”
“Hush,” he interrupted, his grin deepening. “Hold your skirts for me, darling. On this, we are in disagreement, I am afraid, for Idoneed to make you come. It is only fair.”
Well, when he phrased it thus, who was she to argue?
Jo’s sex was already throbbing with need after having brought him to release. Having him at her mercy had only made her want him more rather than sating her. And now, here, she had the most delicious offer of him making her spend in return.
She grabbed fistfuls of fabric, watching him as he caressed his way up her stocking-clad calves. His fingers dipped into the hollows behind her knees, stroking. She felt a rush of wetness at her core and clamped her thighs together to stave off a bolt of longing.
But Decker was having none of that, of course. His knowing touch moved higher, to her thighs, gliding over her with such reverence, she ached. His head dipped, and he pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses up each of her shin bones, all the way to her knees. His hands moved to her inner thighs, parting them, exposing her most intimate flesh to him.
And though he had seen her before and the act was not unfamiliar, she nevertheless knew a trill of forbidden excitement as air kissed her there. And then, his eyes, bright as the summer sky and so deliciously knowing, were upon her as well. He looked at her as if she were the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. Whenever he looked at her, she felt as if she were.
“You have the prettiest cunny, Josie,” he murmured. “Perfect for me.”
She could not stifle the whimper of yearning that escaped her as he caressed higher still, bowing his head like a supplicant to deliver a stinging trail of kisses along her inner thighs. Just when she thought she could bear no more of his teasing, he spread her open, parting her lips. His hot breath fanned over her flesh.
“So pink and glistening and beautiful,” he said. “And all mine.”
“Yes.” The lone word hissed from her, all she could manage. It said enough—she wanted him to do what he would to her. To lick her, suck her, bite her, bring her to the same glorious heights of pleasure he had before. She was frantic, bursting with need.
This time, he did not lavish attention upon her pearl first. Instead, he sank his tongue deep inside her in one unexpected thrust. The invasion had her writhing on the chair, seeking to bring herself closer. She thought she could spend from his tongue inside her alone, just like this. Already, she had been so perilously near to coming undone.
“You are so wet, Josie.” He licked into her again. “Did you like sucking my cock?”
She was breathless from both his tongue and his question. “Yes.”
“Naughty wife,” he murmured against her. “I approve wholeheartedly.”
It was the first time in their marriage that he had referred to her as his wife directly. She could not contain the warmth that suffused her at the word. But when his tongue flicked over her pearl, everything else was dashed. He teased her entrance with the tip of his forefinger. So light—the pulses of his tongue, the shallow thrust inside her. It all heightened her desperation. She had learned that her husband was a master of drawing out pleasure. Indeed, he was a master of pleasure. Full stop.
Each time he touched her—each time they made love—was more decadent than the last.
