“Yes,” she whispered.
“Your cunny.” Slowly, he rotated his palm over her mound, applying a bit of pressure. “This is where you ache, isn’t it, Bess?”
“Mmm,” came her incoherent response.
“You’re aching for me here, aren’t you? I can feel it through your gown.”
God, she was wet, the linen of her night rail dampened instantly. She was so responsive. The discovery made a fresh onslaught of lust go roaring through him.
He rocked his hand against her some more, loving the slack expression on her face, her eyes glazed with desire. “I can’t wait to have you completely naked, to bury my face between your pretty legs and lick you until you come on my tongue.”
Wicked, filthy words. Words that were not fit for the ears of a virgin. But he was beyond control now, and Bess didn’t appear to mind. She was gripping his banyan, moaning softly, her body arching into his.
“Oh,” she said, clutching him as if she would pitch to the floor without him to keep her upright.
He didn’t wait, lest she cling to her prim sensibilities once more. Torrie peeled her nightgown down her shoulders, past her waist, until it fell to the Aubusson around her feet.
And she was naked.
Gloriously, beautifully naked.
The full effect of her curves—all pale and pink and hauntingly lovely—rendered him speechless. For a moment, he could do nothing more than stare, drinking in the sight of her.
When he found his voice, it was little more than a husky rasp. “Get on the bed.”
She did as he asked, seating herself on the edge, looking uncertain and yet just as hungry for him as he was for her.
“Good,” he praised. “Now hold on to the bedclothes, love.”
She swallowed hard, her fingers clenching on the counterpane.
Torrie went to her, dropping to his knees on the carpet. Her legs were firmly pressed together, keeping him from the full sight of her pink, glistening folds. His hands found her calves, caressing past her knees to her thighs.
“Relax for me, Bess.”
Gently, he guided her knees apart, and she allowed him the intrusion. He kissed her inner thigh, the scent of her filling his head with roaring flame. He could lick and kiss every inch of her, and it still wouldn’t be sufficient to slake his need.
His hands found their way to her hips, caressing up and down, and she came to life beneath his touch. He felt the tension seeping from her, the last of her worries giving way to desire. Her hesitance fled, and his prim, proper governess slowly faded away. His lips moved with a will of their own, chasing every bare expanse of skin he could kiss. Up her inner thigh, her legs parting more fully in welcome. And then higher still, until he had her just as he wanted, in full bloom, her cunny pink and so very wet, glistening in the candlelight.
He couldn’t wait another second.
Bowing his head like a true supplicant, he licked her slit, then kissed the plump bud at the top of her sex. The taste of her was floral and musky. Woman and abundance and spring blooms bursting to life.Perfection.Sweet, sleek perfection. His tongue dipped, teasing her clitoris, running over and around as he lapped her up.
She gasped above him, seizing his shoulders, fingernails biting into his muscles in painful pleasure. “Torrie!”
She sounded scandalized. He didn’t give a damn if she was; this was what he had been born for: pleasing this woman. Pleasinghiswoman. With his head firmly buried between Bess’s thighs, it was as if everything in his life—all the frayed ends and jagged pieces—had somehow formed together. He didn’t feel broken. He didn’t care about the past he couldn’t remember. All he felt was alive. Gloriously, thoroughly, recklesslyalive. Heart thundering in his chest, cock pulsing, her cunny rocking rhythmically against his mouth as her instincts took over.
He sucked hard on her pearl, then ran his teeth over her until she bucked beneath him, moaning. She was wet, decadently so, her juices dripping down his chin. And it made him harder than stone. He groaned, licking into her, rubbing his face deeper into her cunny until he didn’t know where he ended and she began. He savored her, the sound of his feast echoing in the stillness along with her labored breathing.
It was all so good. Too good. Too much.
He rocked back on his bent knees, gazing up at her, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “You’re so wet, Bess.”
He meant the words as praise, but he realized his error when she frowned, her knees moving quickly back together. “Forgive me. I’m sorry.”
“My God, don’t be sorry.” He kissed each of her knees, caressed her upper thighs. “It is a good thing, love.”
“It is?”
