As he uttered those unwanted words, he slid a finger inside her sheath. Just a shallow thrust. She inhaled at the sudden invasion. He moved slowly, rubbing her, allowing her body to stretch and relax around him. Readying her, it seemed, and with each knowing caress heightening her desperation to a raw crescendo.
“You…” she began to speak, but words fled her once more when he sucked her nipple again, then used his thumb to pleasure her nub while he moved in and out of her passage.
“I?” He prompted wickedly, lashing her with his tongue.
Think, Helena. What were you about to say?
She struggled to form thoughts, but making sense of anything with the weight of his body atop hers and his mouth and fingers working magic was an impossible feat. In and out, shallow dips, his thumb swirling.
“Yes,” she managed, finding the word at last. The only word that mattered, aside from mayhap three others.
But she would save them for another day. For now, they remained her secret, locked deep within the hidden depths of her heart.
“Yes,” he echoed, and then his fingers were gone.
Her throbbing core cried out at the loss. She had been so close to release, and now she was left aching and writhing beneath him. She pumped her hips upward, desperate to find him, to make contact.
He kissed a path down her belly. “Patience,” he whispered as he went. “Have patience, hellion.”
For some reason, the sobriquet, which she had supposed he used as an insult the night before, sent a strange frisson of something else through her now. Warmth. Longing. Love.
Different love, stronger than before. This connection between them—the physical bond—moved her in a new way. Deepened her emotions. Strengthened everything.
“Huntingdon, please.” She was restless beneath his traveling lips. Wanting more.
He kissed all the way to her center. When his tongue flicked over her pearl, she jolted. His touch there had been incredible. His mouth was incendiary. It was shocking and wicked. She had read about this as well, but words could not begin to describe the delicious sensations coursing through her.
He drew on her there, just as he had done with her breasts. Then he feathered fast, decadent strokes over her, alternating between sucking, licking, and nipping. His hands moved as he pleasured her, caressing her hips.
Her fingers fisted in the bedclothes as he feasted upon her. She could not keep a low moan from rumbling free. His dark head between her thighs was at once startling and beautiful. His groan of desire vibrated her already pulsing pearl, sending a ripple of decadent desire through her everywhere.
She was helpless, pinned to the bed by need. His hands coaxed her thighs wider still, opening her to him. His tongue traced back down to her entrance, thrusting there in the same manner his fingers had worked her. She writhed, moaning, trying to get him deeper.
And then, his fingers were back upon her pearl, teasing her, taking her to the edge.
“Spend for me,” he urged her. “I want your cream on my tongue.”
The vulgar words should have shocked her, but she liked them. There was something so wicked about hearing them, so unexpected, emerging from Huntingdon himself. They made her wilder.
So, too, did his mouth. His tongue moved faster, his fingers swirling over her with increased insistence. And she was soaked, the sound of her wetness echoing in the chamber with erotic abandon. But the sounds mingled with her responses only seemed to increase his ardor. He buried his face deeper between her legs, his fingers biting into her hips.
It was all so good. Too good. And she was close. Too close… No, she was already there.
The frenzied rush of her release caught her by surprise. One moment, she was near, the sensitive place between her legs throbbing and pulsing. The next, she felt as if she had come apart. Her eyes slid closed, bursts of light dancing on her eyelids. Something inside her contracted, then pulsed. Wave after wave of bliss crashed over her.
A whimpered moan escaped her lips as she gasped to catch her breath. Her heart pounded as fast as the hooves of a spooked horse galloping into the distance. She was nothing more than splintered shards. And although she had touched herself in the dark sanctity of her own chamber on many nights, nothing had ever compared to this complete owning of her most intimate self.
Nothing wrought by her own fingers had ever brought such soul-gripping pleasure. Her eyes fluttered open to find his gaze on her. For a moment, she feared this was all he would allow, that he would flee back to his chamber as if this wicked interlude had never been.
But first, Huntingdon pressed a kiss to her sensitized flesh, and then he moved. Up her body, his mouth warm and wet upon her bare skin. Her hip bone, the curve of her belly, the hollow of her waist. Higher. Each breast. Her nipples. He sucked one again as his fingers found the secret places where she burned for him most.
She clutched at his shoulders, body bowing from the bed. Wanting more. Wanting him. Wantingeverything.
And he was right there, settling over her, his powerful body once more a delicious weight. He kissed a path over her collarbone. Dragged his mouth up her throat. She trembled with the violence of her own need for him, not at all abated in spite of the pleasure he had already bestowed upon her.
“Huntingdon, please,” she said. “I need you.”
Inside me.
