She didn’t understand, too overwhelmed by an acute mixture of need and embarrassment over her wanton response. “What do you…”
Her words trailed away when he gently pressed her thighs open, exposing her most intimate flesh to his searing gaze. His expression was rapt as he stared at her. She knew that she was wet for him. Could he tell how much she yearned for him by looking alone? What must he think of her?
“I want you to remember who it is that makes you come,” he murmured, drawing slow, tantalizing circles on her sensitive skin, while widening her legs farther. “I want to hear my name on your lips when it happens. When the pleasure is tearing you apart, I want you to know I’m the man responsible.”
There was meaning in his voice, in his words, an almost hard edge that belied the way he looked at her, as if she were a goddess to be worshipped. Sybil didn’t respond. She couldn’t even if she’d wanted to, because in the next instant, his head lowered and she felt the slick glide of his tongue on her.
And sweet God, the pleasure of it. So intense, so unlike anything she’d felt before or could have imagined. He lappedat her as if she were delicious, groaning in what could only be deemed appreciation. It was as if he sought to consume her, his tongue licking, swirling, traveling up and down her seam and then somehow, impossibly, inside her.
His name spilled from her, a prayer, a shocked note of praise. He was going to kill her with this. She was going to explode into thousands of tiny, glittering shards like the stars in the night sky. And when she thought she could bear no more, he guided her legs over his shoulders and feasted upon her with even greater abandon. When he found her tender bud and suckled her there as he had her breasts, it was too much. Pleasure washed over her, sudden and sharper than a blade. Her entire body tightened as a rush of bliss hit her, so powerful that she was helpless to do anything but surrender.
“Everett,” she gasped out, hips rocking against his face as she rode out the sheer glory of what had just happened.
But he didn’t stop the suction, even when the furious force of her crisis had lifted. Instead, he suckled harder, trapping her there, his to pleasure without mercy as he sank a finger deep into her channel. The invasion, coupled with his mouth, was glorious. She trembled beneath him, her sheath tightening around that questing finger that seemed to know just how deeply to stroke her.
With a desperate sound, she twisted against him, her body already on the precipice of coming undone yet again. Another finger sank inside, widening her, thrusting in and out, the sound of her wetness positively indecent. And yet it only served to make her wetter still. She was panting, restless, reaching for more. He released her bud and mercilessly lashed it with his tongue as he worked his long fingers into her body.
She was going to come again. It was too soon. Too much. Every part of her was acutely sensitized. But she couldn’t stop it. He had built the fire within her, and she was helpless to doanything but twine her fingers through his hair as he ate her with wild abandon.
This time, she came with a strangled scream that froze in her lungs as the pleasure fractured something within her. She shuddered and quaked, the intensity even stronger than the first release he had given her. She felt a great rush of moisture seeping from her as those wicked fingers plumbed deep.
Sybil was still flying on a cloud when he switched positions, lowering her legs from his shoulders and rising over her on the bed. The fingers that had been within her now wrapped around his big cock, which was ruddy and ready, a pearl of moisture seeping from the tip.
He was beautiful in his nudity, so broad and powerful, so perfectly masculine. His lips and chin glistened with her, his lips dark red from his efforts, and heaven help her, she liked to see herself on him. Liked to see his sangfroid set aflame, to watch him raw and unfettered, his eyes glinting with feral possession.
“You’re mine,” he said, his voice a low, silken growl as he notched the tip of his cock to her entrance. “Say it.”
The pressure drove her mad. Her flesh was throbbing with every rapid beat of her heart, and she longed for nothing more than for him to sink inside her. But he wasn’t moving. Not until she gave him what he wanted.
“I’m yours,” she told him, hips swiveling, seeking.
With a sound that was part snarl, part moan, he thrust forward, entering her in one stroke. It was hasty and unexpected, but she experienced no discomfort as she had the first time. Her body was slick and ready for him. She clenched on him, wanting to keep him there, feeling so full of him that she nearly came again. That was how wondrous he felt, thick and hard and demanding inside her.
He lowered himself over her, until their bodies were pressed, hip to hip and chest to chest, her nipples rubbing against thewiry hair of his chest. Everett sealed his lips over hers, and he kissed her. She needed no spurring to open for his questing tongue, tasting herself on his lips.
She moaned as he began to move again, sliding almost completely from her and then sinking deep, until their hip bones met yet again. He hooked her legs around him, kissing her as he made love to her with long, hard strokes that made her swollen bud abrade against him and sent a new wave of pleasure breaking over her.
She moved with him, holding him to her, following him thrust for thrust, her tongue gliding against his, swallowing his growls and groans, contracting around him as the bliss once more became uncontrollable and unconfinable. As she convulsed around him, he suddenly stiffened, sinking into her again in one harsh motion, the hot jet of his seed pulsing inside her.
CHAPTER 10
“Riverdale, you simplymusthost a ball.”
Everett stared in horror at his mother from across the dining room table, thinking that this was the precise reason he hadn’t invited her to his nuptials in the first place. She couldn’t help herself. She simplyhadto intervene and could never resist the lure of societal claptrap.Mamanpossessed an insatiable appetite for pageantry and playing hostess, for planning every detail from the buckles on a footman’s shoes to every bloom used in a bouquet to the ingredients in pheasant soup.
He had just scarcely forced himself to accept the notion that he had a wife and to perform his husbandly duty to produce an heir. The last thing he wanted to do was to host a bloody ball.
Everett returned his attention to the plate before him and gave the Bayonne ham awaiting his delectation a vicious saw with his knife. “I must do nothing of the sort, madam.”
“Oh, but of course you simply must,”Mamanwent on, either unable to read the censure in his voice or unwilling to do so.
Perhaps a bit of both.
“Now that you have a duchess,”Mamancontinued with oblivious cheer, “it is only right that you introduce her as your wife in grand fashion, as befitting her new role.”
Everett suppressed a sigh. If he’d had an ordinary marriage, one in which his wife had not proclaimed her love for another man on their wedding day, then he might have agreed. But this was no conventional union he shared with Sybil.
And even so, the last ball he had suffered through hosting had been years before, in honor of Verity’s coming out. There had been precious little need for frivolous merriment since that day, and he hadn’t missed a moment ofMamanflitting about for weeks, fretting over food selections and musicians and a damned guest list mostly filled with people he wouldn’t piss on if they were ablaze.
