She did as he bade, moving to him across the blanket. He guided her so that each knee was on either side of his hips, and she was poised over him.
“Perfection,” he praised, lowering his head to take one hard nipple into his mouth and suck greedily.
A gasp tore from her, and she arched her back. He moved to her other breast, taking the pebbled bud in his mouth anew and groaning as he suckled, his tongue lapping over her aching flesh.
When he released her, she was panting, trembling on her knees as he palmed his cock between them.
“Closer,” he instructed, helping her to sidle over him, until her lifted skirts obscured his length from view, and the blunt head of his cock strummed lightly over her inflamed flesh.
He felt so good.
She whimpered, trying not to fall on him.
How in heaven’s name was this meant to work?
“Easy, darling,” he crooned, gliding his cock up and down her seam now, through her swollen folds, slicking himself in the wetness that seeped from her. “Are you ready for me?”
“Oh yes,” she managed, her thighs clenched in anticipation.
“Then sit on my cock.”
Wrong words, sinful words, wicked words. Words that made her moan and do his bidding, sinking down on him. He helped her, guiding himself to her entrance as she lowered herself, and then his cock was there. In her, invading her. Demanding as she impaled herself on him, every glorious inch sending uncontrollable pleasure through her.
Finally, she was seated atop him, and he filled her completely, the angle of his penetration so exquisite she almost wept as he lavished attention upon her breasts anew, his clever mouth making her tighten on his cock.
“Ride me now,” he urged, his hands settling on her waist, showing her what he meant.
She rose, his length gliding through her, and then sank back down, filling herself with him. It was too much. It was exquisite.
“Oh God,” she keened, half certain she was about to die. “Rhys.”
Her hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, and he sucked her nipples as she began moving faster, with greater intent.
“Find what feels good to you,” he urged against the curve of her breast, before flicking his tongue cleverly over the peak. “Make yourself come on my cock.”
A strangled noise escaped her that was not even a word. She rode him faster, harder, bouncing on him until her breasts jiggled, angling her body in a way that made him stroke that place inside her that seemed specifically made for pleasure.
“Yes,” he urged, his expression taut with his own withheld desire, allowing her to use him. “Take your pleasure from me.”
Harder, faster. She watched him as she fucked him, thinking it the most intense experience of her life. That nothing before could have prepared her for this fierce abandon. For the glory of making love to him purely because she wanted to. Because she could.
“Fuck, Miranda,” he ground out, moving beneath her, his hips following the rhythm she had set. “Your cunny is so wet.”
These vulgar words were offered as praise. She loved it. And, it was possible, she lovedhim. The thought jolted through her in the same moment Rhys slid a hand under her skirts, his thumb unerringly finding her clitoris and stroking.
She spent with a cry that sent a bird noisily winging away from a nearby tree branch, pure bliss rocketing through her like fireworks blossoming across a night sky. She clenched on him, bringing him deep inside her as wave after wave of release hit, rocking on him, selfishly taking everything she could, all thepleasure, in case she would never again know such ecstasy. She was still riding him when he stiffened beneath her.
“I’m going to come,” he rasped suddenly.
Through the rushing in her ears from the force of her release, the warning in his voice spurred her onto her knees. His cock slid from her, and then he gripped himself, the hot spurt of his seed painting her inner thigh.
He had been close to spending within her. Agonizingly close. And it astonished her to realize she had wanted him to. That some part of her had thrown caution to the wind in favor of pleasure.
It was in that moment, her heart pounding, skin flushed, hair unbound, half naked and covered in the Duke of Whitby’s spend, that she realized there was one person even more perilous to her future than he was.
And that was Miranda herself.
CHAPTER 14
