“I want you to kiss me.”
Her words surprised him. He had been intent upon ravishing her. So close to the exquisite paradise that awaited between her thighs.
He glanced up. “Where, spitfire? I’m afraid you’ll need to be specific to get what you want.”
“On my lips first.” She tapped the lushness of her bottom lip.
And he surged toward her, something about the innocence of that gesture coupled with her command that riled him beyond measure. He cupped her nape and took her mouth with his. She made a sweet sound of helpless desire, threading her fingers through his hair. She kissed him as if she were starved for him, giving him her tongue. He sucked on it and gave her his in return, and she moaned, grasping at his hair with sharp little tugs that made him wild.
He wanted to mark her. To rake his teeth down her throat. To claim her in every way he could, so that she would never forget she was his and, likewise, that he was hers. A stinging rush of need overwhelmed him, the force of it so strong that his hands trembled on her thighs, his fingers likely digging into her skin so tightly, he risked leaving a bruise.
Realizing how firmly he held her, he gentled his hold, tore his mouth from hers to stare at her, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, heart hammering so loudly he wouldn’t be surprised if she heard its frantic beats.
All for her. Each one.
Somehow, he found the presence of mind to ask another question. “Where else would you have my mouth?”
Wordlessly, she pressed two fingers to her throat.
He followed them with his lips, kissing the skin, opening to suck hungrily at her silken flesh. “Where else?”
His voice was hoarse with wanting. He thought he might explode from the wondrous agony of desiring her.
Her fingers dipped to her bodice, to the faintest hint of the valley between her breasts, almost entirely hidden by the modest cut of her gown. He kissed her there and then moved beyond, his mouth finding the hard peaks of her nipples through the layers of gown and chemise and whatever other feminine frippery thatkept her from him. He sucked and licked and bit, gratified by the throaty moan she gave him in response.
He wanted to tear the gown in two. To rip it away from her and lay her naked in his bed and fuck her for days. To never leave this chamber or her side.
To the devil with obligations. Why could he not have her now? He had intended only to bring her pleasure. To make her come on his lips and tongue and then tend to his own desire discreetly after she had gone.
But now he wanted to be inside her. He wanted her in his bed. He never wanted to pretend they were strangers again. How could they, after this? How could they when the passion between them was so undeniable, so right?
Still, he was proving himself to her. Giving her the control. Allowing her to dictate to him. He tamped down his ravenous needs and raised his head with great reluctance. “Where next?”
“Must I tell you?” she asked, her gaze already heavy-lidded with her own passion.
She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her. And thank Christ for that. Because he would die if he did not have her.
“Yes, spitfire,” he told her thickly. “Tell me.”
“Here,” she whispered, and then her wicked fingers moved beneath her raised gown and petticoats and chemise. She pressed two fingers to the apex of her thighs. To the gorgeous heart of her.
And ye gods, he nearly came right then, at the sight of her fingers pressing against her intimate flesh. It looked so wicked, so perfect. He wondered if she touched herself there and thought of him.
But then her fingers moved, and her legs widened in further invitation, and he forgot the ability to think entirely. He buried his face between her legs, starving for her, licking her seam andfinding her entrance, thrusting his tongue deep. She cried out, her fingers clutching his hair again. He suckled her bud, licked up and down her folds, drunk on the taste of her, musky and delicious.
Still not enough.
He hooked her knees over his shoulders, brought her flush against him, her body angled perfectly for his appreciation. He lapped at her lightly, teasing her until she was writhing against him, and then he gave her what she wanted. More pressure. More suction. His fingers, parting her and sinking deep. She was soaked. Her inner walls clung to him.
Weeks had passed since he’d last been inside her, but it may as well have been a century. She felt like heaven, slick and sleek and hot, gripping him tightly, and his cock was leaking, pressed insistently to the fall of his trousers with the will to replace his fingers.
Soon. First, he wanted her coming undone. Wanted her breathless and flushed and helpless, at the mercy of his relentless need to give her pleasure. He devoted himself to her, using his tongue, his teeth, everything he could. She was close. He could hear it in her voice, in the panting gasps of breath she let out as he nibbled on her tender bud and then sucked hard, fucking in and out of her sultry heat with determined thrusts.
Closer.
He tongued her with wild abandon, feasting on her cunny as he gave her another finger, stretching her tight sheath. And then she was twisting in the chair, her bottom sliding forward, her body stiffening, her fingers tightening in his hair as she cried out his name and she pulsed around his fingers.
“Oh God. Maxim.”
