There.
On her aching sex.
Eleanora nearly swooned. She wasn’t entirely an innocent; one couldn’t be, given the life she had lived in her earlier years and the people with whom her mother had surrounded herself. All denizens of the underworld in one form or another, whether noble lords who were indecent voluptuaries or actresses who were seasoned mistresses. Mama and her friends had talked, particularly when they had been in their cups, without regard for who was listening.
Yes, she had known such an act—shocking and sinful and intimate as it was—was possible and, more than that, enjoyable. But knowledge and experience were two entirely separate entities.
Because Nando’s lips on her throbbing flesh was a revelation. And then he deepened the kiss, his tongue flicking out to tease that sensitive bundle of flesh that she sometimes toyed with alone in the dark of night, until the pressure building inside her bubbled over and pure bliss rocked through her. Recently, she had touched herself with thoughts of him in mind. But she had never imagined his beautiful face buried between her thighs. Nor had she imagined how impossibly good it would feel, the velvety heat of him laving her swollen bud, of his mouth sucking on her until her toes were curling in the air, until her bottom was rising instinctively from the bed and she was pressing herself shamelessly against him.
She felt helpless, on the edge of something incredible. His gaze found hers, relentless and scorching, and the intensity of his stare and the pleasure he was giving her were sooverwhelming that with a whimper, she fell back against the bedclothes, her eyes fluttering closed.
His mouth left her. “No hiding, Eleanora. I want you to watch as I make you come.”
Oh, he was wicked. She should ignore his command, and yet she braced herself on her elbows, surrendering to his whim as she had everything else this evening. She had already decided she would be his, so why not indulge both him and herself? Later, she would have nothing but the memory of these lone moments of sinful surrender to keep her warm through the lonely nights.
“Mmm,” he hummed, the vibration making her bud pulse, and then he resumed his sensual torture, licking and sucking until she was writhing beneath him.
Her hips pumped in desperate rhythm, and he cupped her bottom with one hand, still favoring his wounded arm. He released her with a lusty, wet sound that should have embarrassed her and yet had the opposite effect.
“Perfection,” he praised before capturing her swollen nub and sucking hard again.
It was more than she could withstand. The pleasure that had been building to a crescendo finally burst, and she threw the back of her hand over her mouth to stifle the moan she couldn’t hold in. Wave after wave of pleasure washed through her, leaving her lying limp and sated, certain she would never be able to move again.
But he wasn’t finished. His tongue flicked, fast and frenzied, working the flesh that still buzzed from her release back into a state of desperate need.
“More,” he demanded, sucking, licking, nipping. “Come on my tongue again. I want you screaming my name.”
She intended to tell him that she wouldn’t be screaming at all because she was far too dignified for such a response, when he lapped at her entrance. Any hint of coherent thought vanished.
A few shallow strokes, and then his tongue sank inside her. And it was glorious, the slick glide of him penetrating her slowly, again and again. Her hips swiveled, her fingers clasping the bedclothes in a tight grip as her body twisted and tangled around him, seeking more, more, more. He gave it to her, plundering her deep. Again and again, the friction of his stubble against her highly sensitive folds taking her closer to her second pinnacle.
He made a low sound of approval, rubbing his face in her sex as he filled her with his tongue. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, he stroked her pearl with his thumb. Pure sensation seized her in a ruthless grip, so powerful that she couldn’t hold it off even if she wanted to. She was helpless to do anything but surrender, riding out her pleasure, her heart galloping.
When the last wave swept over her, she was out of breath, collapsed in the bedclothes. Nando lifted his head for a moment, his mouth and chin glistening with her wetness, his breathing ragged, his blue eyes scorching. To her shock, he licked his lips, as if savoring the taste of her, like she was delicious and he couldn’t get enough.
“You need a cloth,” she protested, trying to scramble into a sitting position, embarrassed by the mess she had made of him.
He shook his head. “No cloth. I want you all over me so that when I go to sleep tonight, it’s to your scent.”
His words ought to have left her cheeks stinging. Instead, all she felt was more desperate longing. She took in the sight of him, so impossibly gorgeous and strong, bare-chested. Her nipples ached, her breasts were heavy and full, and every part of her felt as if she were meant to be here, in this moment, with this man.
“Once more,” he told her, the tone of his voice leaving no question as to what he meant.
He intended to pleasure heragain.
Eleanora wasn’t certain if she would survive a third such climax, and yet she knew he would wring another from her with his expert hands and mouth.
“I’ll swoon,” she protested lightly.
He grinned. “I’ll be gentle, sweetheart.”
She thought she might burst. Such care, all for her. He was a more-than-proficient and generous lover. He was, she knew instinctively, the sort that her mother’s friends had sighed over once upon a time. Hers until she had to return to the world she now inhabited and left this unfettered wanton she’d become behind forever. There could be no place in Eleanora Brett’s life for sin. The only pleasure she could know was from her own shy fingers, nervously exploring hungry skin.
How lonely and empty the life she’d forged for herself seemed, compared to this decadent taste of freedom and iniquity. But then, Nando was joining her on the bed, helping her to position herself with her head on the pillows, as if she were to spend the night sleeping at his side. It wasn’t sleeping he had in mind, however, and he made that apparent when he leveraged himself on his uninjured forearm and dipped his head, his lips latching on to the peak of her breast.
He slid the hand of his injured arm slowly up her inner thigh, until his long fingers trailed deliberately over her seam. He grazed her almost painfully sensitized bud, and she jolted beneath his touch, renewed need burning instantly to life. He sucked hard on her nipple, and her back arched from the bed, her body desperate for more of his lovemaking.
When her hips danced beneath his ministrations, his swift inhalation made her realize she had jostled his injured arm, which he had taken care to keep mostly still.
