"Let's see if we can improve the vocabulary," he growled.
He moved down my body, his hands running down my sides, mapping every curve. He pushed my tank top up, bunching it under my arms, exposing my breasts to the cool air. He stared at them for a long moment, his pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue.
"Perfect," he breathed. "So fucking beautiful."
He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth. The sensation was blinding. He sucked with a rhythm that matched the pulsing between my legs—wet, hot, and demanding. His tongue swirled around the areola while his hand kneaded the other breast, pinching the nipple until I was writhing, my hips bucking off the mattress.
"Beau... please..."
"Please what?" He murmured against my skin, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down my sternum, over my stomach. "Please stop? Please read more about the Duke?"
"Please touch me," I begged, my voice ragged. "Touch me... down there."
"Patience, sweetheart. The Duke took three chapters to get to the good part. I'm just taking a few minutes."
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and panties. "Lift."
I obeyed instantly. He stripped them down my legs, tossing them aside. He didn't look away. He knelt between my legs, spreading them wide, his eyes fixed on me.
"So wet," he observed, his voice thick. " glistening. See? That’s better than 'weeping.'"
He leaned down, gripping my thighs with hands that felt like iron bands. He blew a soft breath against my clit, and I shivered violently.
"I'm going to worship you," he promised. "Every part. Until you can't remember the damn book."
His tongue hit me—broad, flat, and confident.
I screamed, the sound muffled by my own hand. He groaned in response, the vibration against my most sensitive flesh nearly undoing me right there. He didn't tease. He devoured. He licked long, slow strokes from my opening up to my clit, savoring the taste of me.
"Taste like honey," he mumbled, not stopping. "Like mine."
He settled into a rhythm that was pure torture. His tongue flicked against my clit—fast, light, precise—while his thumbs rubbed circles into my inner thighs. My hips lifted, seeking more pressure.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Grind on me."
He slid one finger inside me. It felt huge, stretching me, sliding into the slick heat. Then two. He curled them up, hitting that rough patch of nerves that made my vision blur.
"Beau—I'm close—I'm so close—"
"Not yet." He withdrew his hand and stopped his tongue.
I whined, a pathetic, needy sound. "Why?"
"Because I want to watch you fall apart." He looked up, his chin wet with me, his lips swollen. "I want to be deep inside you when you come. I want to feel it."
He sat back on his heels and shoved his sweatpants down.
My breath caught. He was magnificent. Thick, angry-hard, darker than the rest of his skin, veins spiraling up the shaft. A drop of clear fluid beaded at the tip. He was so big I wondered if I could take him, even as my body screamed for him.
He fumbled a condom on with shaking hands—a moment of desperate reality that made it even hotter.
Then he crawled over me, interlacing his fingers with mine and pinning my hands above my head.
"Look at me, Winnie."
I opened my heavy lids. His eyes were black holes of desire.
He lined himself up and pushed in.
