She’d buy his blasted tome of works. Her fingers went white around her fork. And one for John, too. Make him suffer through reading the trite musings on love and beauty that only a man too young to have real experience could write.
John scored her clit with his teeth, and Netta almost lost the game right there. The end of her fork hit the table, and the contessa shot her a worried frown.
Netta dropped the fork and tore off another bite of the roll. If she kept her mouth busy chewing, it couldn’t get her into any trouble.
With his nose nudging her clit, John slowly plunged his tongue in and out of her cunny.
She panted, pressing the half-eaten roll to her lips to muffle any sound. Nothing had ever felt so good. Or so wicked. Or reckless. One last evening of abandon before the real world intruded. Before her real life, with its fears and duties and frustrations, came knocking.
Her hips rocked into his devilish mouth. She didn’t want this to be her last game with John, but if it was, by God it was a masterpiece.
Her skin heated, sweat gathering at the small of her back. Her fingers clenched, crushing the poor roll.
John traced his way up to her clit, using the pressure at the tip of his tongue to flick that hard nub. Shivers shot from her core to her nipples, turning them into aching points.
“Oh God,” she murmured, softly enough she didn’t think John could hear.
But the poet did. “I agree. Byron’s behavior has been scandalous.” And he turned back to his other companion.
The tingling in her body pooled low. The rest of her felt numb; only her sex and John’s tongue existed. She was at the point where sheneededthe release. It was as critical as breathing. If John didn’t play this game all the way through, she would rip his ears off before taking care of herself.
She wanted to spread herself wider, take everything John had to give, but her body didn’t listen. It coiled tighter, tensing all of her muscles, drawing her legs together and trapping John’s head within her thighs.
Her breath caught once. Twice. And with one last swirl of his tongue, she went over the edge.
She bit into her lip, struggling to keep silent as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. John kept working his tongue, drawing out every crescendo until she could take it no longer. She shoved the remainder of the roll in her mouth, pretending to moan over its buttery goodness as she reached under the table and pushed at John’s head.
She might have poked him in the eye. So be it. She succeeded in disengaging him and that was all that mattered.
Her body calmed and she took her first deep breath since John had touched her.
And starting hacking as flakes of bread went down her windpipe.
The contessa reached over and gave her a sound thumping on the back.
Tears streaming, Netta gulped some wine and held up her hand. “I’m fine,” she told the other guests. “He just went down the wrong way.”
John shook against her thigh.
“It!” She cleared her throat. “Itwent down the wrong way.”
Conversation around the table started up again, taking the focus blissfully off of Netta. She sagged back, all of her muscles succumbing to a satisfied languor. She was definitely counting that as her win. She reached beneath the tablecloth and John took her hand, squeezing it.
The poet started and looked at the table as though he could see beneath it. “I do believe something is touching me. This is the second time I’ve felt it.” He pushed his chair back and started to reach for the tablecloth.
“It’s only the family dog,” Netta said. “I’ve been feeding him table scraps.” She picked up the last of her roll and shoved it under the table.
John growled, but took the bread.
The Duke of Montague, Marcus as he’d insisted on being addressed, arched an eyebrow, shaking his head, but turned back to his wife.
Netta flushed. Her host knew there was something shifty happening at his table, and since he was good friends with John, he probably suspected its nature.
But with her body feeling as satisfied as it did, she couldn’t find it in herself to care overmuch.
She sliced a bite off the squab, her appetite making an amazing recovery after her impressive show of fortitude.
John tugged on her gown.
