Only Julia—impetuous, tenacious, bold, heartbreakingly enchanting fiend—refused to understand. Even now she showed no fear, walking her fingers down the side of his member, meandering slightly as if she were tracing his veins. He gawked as she learned, inspecting closely, as if to satisfy herself rather than bring him release.
Ah, minx—his mouth spread into a half smile—cocks simply weren’t that interesting.
Adolescent men found them singularly fascinating, of course. But only after the first few times they awoke drenched in sweat, prick hard as a rock and aching. Figuring out erections and ejaculation tooksomestudy, naturally.
For men…and apparently for Julia.
She paused, frowned, and then, she leaned forward. Her breath baked his shaft with muggy heat. He opened his mouth a second too late for protestation.
She engulfed his cock in soft, warm, wet, weightless suction.
He dropped his head, gaped at her slick, crimson lips, and groaned.
She glanced upward while she lashed him with her tongue, eyes gleaming with ascendant control. He liked to bind—liked to tease and play…but when she looked at him with that heated flash of possession, he would have willingly yielded to her rule.
Base desires?
She didn’t appear to agree.
She released him. Her glistening pucker nearly buckled his knees.
“Does that help?” she asked through her lashes.
He must have mumbledsomethingin response, because she tilted her head and asked, “More?”
He repeated the incoherent sound.
“You know, Rayne?” She adjusted her position on the bed. “I think I like you better this way. Make that noise if I do something right.”
She closed her mouth around him once again.
Noise? She wantednoise?
He gave her French…and English…and not-quite-scholarly Latin. Any word his fractured mind offered up. She absorbed his babble, altering and improving her technique.
She was a whirlwind. A force of nature. And he no longer gave a damn if she and Farring had purposely trapped him—so long as she never intended to let him go.
He cupped the back of her neck, turned his face toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes. Everything left him except the feel of her soft mouth and lathing tongue.
His lust had crawling vines, weaving around his tendons, tightening in his groin.
“Julia…” He ground out her name as a warning.
Of course, she didn’t fully understand. And he was too far gone to insist.
He came like a man frozen in a direct lightning strike. Pleasure percussed through every vein. A staccato release of sharp, bright notes rupturing into unwieldy pulses that sent signals back through his body as light. And through every excruciating, lewd moment, her hands anchored his thighs.
He sucked in air, as if he were drowning, then expelled a torrent of words—more than a few of them horribly vulgar. Her favorite words. His most demolishing release.
Then his knees gave way, and he tumbled onto the bed at her side.
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Chapter Twelve
Julia moved over as Rayne hefted himself onto the bed—a great, lumbering mass of a man, fully spent. Exhausted. He said nothing. And she couldn’t speak.
She didn’t have words for what they’d done or what she’d experienced, just an ache in her jaw and a faint taste on her tongue—sharp and unfamiliar but not completelyunpleasant.
