And him. Oh dear sweet heavens,him.
Her mind and her body were fixated upon Beast’s knowing mouth and tongue as they worked in tandem over her eager sex. Kisses were dotted over her folds, in a worshipful, slow manner that told her he had no intention of rushing this tryst to its inevitable conclusion. Rather, he wanted to savor. To prolong.
As he lashed her bud with quick, stimulating licks that sent sensation careening through her, Pamela had no complaints in the matter. She wondered if she might keep him forever on his knees before her, paying homage to her as if she were a worthy deity instead of a broken widow who had gone far too long without a man’s touch. She, who had been unkind and cold toward him, even when he had driven her home so she needn’t wait in a cold carriage alone whilst the repairs to the carriage wheels were made. She, who had questioned his name and everything about him and had meant to brain him with a fire iron.
For her, whom he had no reason to spare such gentleness and tender, sensual abandon, he licked and laved and stoked the fires of her desire ever higher. No one had ever pleasured her the way this man was, with a frank lack of inhibition or worldly cares. He was fully making love to her with his mouth, groaning into her as if he found her delicious. His hands caressed her hips as he held her still and fed off her as if he were starving, and ravishing her sex was the only relief that would sate him.
The rough stubble of his beard abraded her inner thighs, the intimacy strangely thrilling. His callused fingertips dug into her hips, then lower, cupping her bottom and pulling her to him. He drew on her pearl, using that hot, beautiful sinner’s mouth to suck hard enough she would have thought it would hurt.
It didn’t hurt, however. Instead, the sensations he drew from her were nothing short of exquisite. Her hips jumped from the cool upholstery of the chaise longue. A moan tore from her. Her eyes fluttered closed as she gave herself over to him completely. His tongue glided hot and sleek, licking her up and down, and when he sank inside her, the invasion made her gasp and shudder as a tiny spasm rocked through her.
It felt filthy and wrong, his tongue buried deep. But good also. So very, very good. Beyond good. How had she forgotten what sensual pleasure felt like, how she could wallow in its splendor? She had ignored her needs for so long, but now they were all loosed, and she was helpless to do anything but surrender herself to the bliss.
In and out he thrust, the wet sounds of his tongue plunging into her ready passage echoing in the quiet of the chamber, interrupted only by the crackle of the fire in the grate. Some fleeting part of her mind cautioned she should be ashamed of herself. That shewouldbe ashamed of herself, with the rising sun and the return of her wits.
But Pamela was beyond the point of fretting over the inevitable regrets she would have when this shocking fever subsided and she was once more in possession of her faculties. How had she never known this existed, that this awful, wondrous pleasure could be had? And how could it be that this man, this near stranger, could visit such thrilling pleasure upon her, and she would not just welcome it, but revel in it?
She did not recognize herself, this woman she had become. This daring widow who could command her own pleasure, who would accept the shockingly rude demands of a man below her station, a bodyguard who haunted the halls of Hunt House by night. But she was beyond the point of caring. Perhaps this had been inevitable.
She had kept her true nature buttoned up, banished, hidden away, for four long and bleak years. Most women in her place would have taken a lover long before now. Perhaps even another husband. But no, she wouldn’t think of that. All she wanted was this roaring, impossible flame of desire.
Pamela had planted her hands on the chaise longue’s seat, but now she couldn’t control the impulse to reach for Beast. Her eyes opened to the erotic, carnal sight of him, still fully dressed compared to her own shocking, pale nudity. She ought to be embarrassed for her having tossed away her night rail, for sitting in the midst of her brother’s gold salon where she had spent countless hours on embroidery and other proper distractions, wearing nary a stitch. Nude, as a man she scarcely knew spoiled her with his clever tongue. For allowing Beast to pull her into his lap, to kiss her and touch her, to take what he wanted. To give her what she wanted, too.
Her fingers sifted through his hair, finding it silken and soft, so soft. Such a disparity between this man’s cold, harsh mien and his hard, muscled body, that softness. Everywhere she touched him, she found not a hint of spareness. He was honed and sharp, all angles and ice. But for her, he was burning hot, and she wanted that heat, that flame. Wanted to pitch herself into the fire along with him.
She was on the edge, the knot of desire drawn taut deep in her belly. But she needed more. And as if he sensed it, he dragged his lips back to her swollen bud, sucking and laving, before one of his long, callused fingers found her drenched opening and slid inside.
Pamela cried out at the sensation, bucking her hips, drawing him deeper. In the dim recesses of her mind, it occurred to her that as delicious as he felt inside her, it still wasn’t what she wanted most. That thick, long ridge she’d felt pressed against her was what she wanted, impaling her, filling her. Like everything else she was thinking and feeling, it was forbidden. She knew she mustn’t. She had already come too far.
There was the sharp edge of something on her tender flesh. His teeth, she realized. He had nipped her there, and now he was drawing out the exquisite sensation, worrying her little bud, alternating between sucks and licks. A second finger joined the first, and he worked in and out of her, a slow and maddening rhythm that brought her quickly to the edge.
“Oh,” she gasped, grasping handfuls of his beautiful hair now, gripping him because she knew that if she let go, she would fall backward over the opposite end of the chaise longue, go crashing to the floor.
She was like a wilting flower, bending to his whim, limp and helpless in the very best possible way. He growled, the vibration against her clitoris making her buck against him, seeking more. More friction, more of his tongue, more everything.
His fingers slid deep and then curled, stroking a place inside her that was so deliriously pleasurable that it almost bordered on pain. An intense quake began in her core and then released through her. He flicked his tongue over her, plunging in and out with quick, hard strokes as she splintered apart. Her body bowed forward, a moan forced from her, the intensity of her orgasm stealing all her breath.
His hands slid from her hips to her lower back, holding her to him, his mouth never leaving her as he drew the tremors of release from her body. Beast played her as if she were an instrument, as if he knew her better than she knew herself. When the last wave undulated through her, he withdrew, his fingers sliding from her cunny with a wet sound that would have embarrassed her had she the capacity to properly think.
Which she decidedly did not.
She was still grappling with the aftermath of her powerful orgasm, her heart thudding hard in her ears, pumping fast and furious. He pressed a reverent kiss to her sex, then another to her stomach, his lips slick with the unavoidable evidence of her own desire. Silently, he rose, and she took note of the fall of his trousers, the hard ridge of his cock plainly outlined, showing the effect she’d had upon him.
Pamela had never been a selfish lover. In her marriage, she’d discovered she greatly enjoyed the act of pleasing a man, found joy in exploring the masculine form, so different from hers. The urge to return the favor rose, but Beast was already moving away from her in neat, succinct strides. She clutched the end of the chaise longue, sanity gradually returning to her.
She was naked, and she’d just allowed a man to pleasure her for the first time since Bertie. What had she done?
As the ramifications swirled through her, Beast returned, carrying the gown she had discarded. Calmly, he drew the night rail over her head. Cheeks burning, she forced her arms through the holes, pulling the skirt down to cover herself.
She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, keeping her gaze upon her trembling hands twisting in her lap instead.
“That never should have happened,” she whispered, as much for her own sake as for his.
Why, she knew not. The damage had already been done. Speaking her misgivings and guilt aloud did nothing to ameliorate her sin. She had been intimate with another man. He had brought her to climax with his mouth.
Dear God.
“Don’t,” he said, the authority in his voice forcing her to look up at him.
