He let out a ragged breath and lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “All right,” he said softly. “All right, take the blame, then, Lizzy.”
Her gaze darted up to meet his.
He ran his thumb over her cheekbone, and his voice was barely a whisper. “You’re frightfully foolish not to have wanted me, yes. Anyone can see that you should have.”
She smirked. “You arrogant wretch. You have wanted to say this for months.”
He nodded at his crotch. “You have more buttons to undo.”
She threw back her head and laughed, but she went right at the buttons, and then she tugged the fabric of his trousers out of the way and then she made a very surprised noise.
He shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the back of the couch. “I know. But you don’t have to—”
“Why is yours that big?” she said. She was touching him now, though, exploring him, her fingers fluttering over him.
He laughed helplessly. He had heard this before, but he was never sure why, not exactly, because it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen other men without their clothes, and his prick might be thicker than other pricks but it wasn’t longer. Women, though, seemed to be appreciative. He’d had a strumpet be disappointed when he wouldn’t use it on her, once. She had pronounced it perfectly shaped, but he’d been paying the woman, and he didn’t actually believe her. She would have said anything for more of his coin.
“I can’t even fit that in my—anything,” she said. “I certainly can’t put it in my mouth.”
“I never… you don’t have to…” He groaned. “Your hand is lovely there. I am very drunk. I don’t…”
She wrapped her hand around the base of him.
He grunted in approval.
“I can hardly wrap my fingers round you,” she breathed. “I am sorry, Fitz, we can’t get married after all. I have no idea what todowith this.”
“All right,” he said.
“No, I—” She let go of him, and she scooted up. He opened his eyes and her face was looming over his as she continued to speak. “You are always so serious, are you not? I didn’t mean that.”
“No? Going to marry me, then?”
“Yes, of course I am,” she said, grinning down at him, rather impishly, he thought. “But first, you said I could take the blame, and I need that, so if you please?”
“You don’t need to take anything,” he said.
She bit down on her lower lip, and something surged in him, or maybe it was the fact he was drunk or maybe it was that she still seemed like some dark thing made of shadows and magic or maybe it was the air on his bare, aching member, he didn’t know.
He spoke again, his voice deep and insistent. “Nothing except the tip of me. That’s what you must take, Lizzy. You can fit that in your mouth.”
She let out a breath, a whoosh of very noisy air and she shuddered, and he felt it against his body, and he might have made an answering shudder, but then her face was in his lap.
He made some strange garbled noise, and he—not to his credit—thrust his hips upward, at her face, which was—
She seized him around the base again with her hand, gasping and she did it.
They both moaned.
Her mouth was hot and very wet and indescribably erotic, more erotic than he thought he could bear, maybe because it was her, or maybe because something was very wrong with him, very unrighteous, and the words that started tumbling out of his mouth were the opposite of righteous, to be sure, were the very worst and most awful things he could have ever spoken.
“You see?” he whispered, and he was reaching down, brushing her hair away from her face, looking down there because he wanted to see it, wanted to see her mouth on him, God help him. “I fit just fine.”
She moaned again.
“You can take more,” he said. “Just a little more.” He was the worst man in the history of England, and he hated himself, except it felt good and she wasdoingit, and— “That’s just right,” he breathed. “That’s perfect. Very good, Lizzy. So good.”
She descended further on him, even further, and his eyes rolled up in his head, and it was absolute perfection—
