His jaw ticked. “Words not fit for a lady’s ears.”
This dear man’s honor knew no bounds. She’d have to breach them if her endeavor was going to be successful.
“Stop thinking of me as a lady and tell me.”
His pupils grew, and he stared down at her with eyes as black as the sea at night.
“Tell me,” she insisted.
His throat moved. He exhaled. And then he said, “I want to fuck your mouth.”
His words, she believed, had quite the opposite effect than he’d intended. Because rather than frighten her or dissuade her in any way, heated longing pooled between her legs.
She lifted her knee and straddled one of his thighs. “Very well. You have my permission to do just that.”
This time, when she opened her mouth to take him in, his hand landed on her head.
His muscles remained tense, but she no longer felt as though he was a reluctant participant. He’d taken hold of her braid, wound it around his hand, and used it to guide her.
Gentle at first, and then with greater purpose, he helped her move on him. And he was talking to her, telling her what he liked, instructing her.
Violet rolled her hips over his thigh between her legs, her own desire growing with his.
Simon’s motions increased in vigor, striking her with a bite of fear. Rather than cool her ardor, however, that tension, the possibility of something unknown, only heightened her own excitement. He was large and insistent, his hand working her up and down his shaft, slick from her mouth but also beads of his seed. He tasted salty. She inhaled through her nostrils, taking him deeper and grinding down on him.
Carnality rolled through her like white lightning. “Fuck your mouth,” he’d said.
The words rang in her ears until she heard her own voice chanting the words in her mind.
Fuck my mouth.
Fuck my mouth.
He felt harder, hotter, and the pulsing more insistent.
“Violet.” It seemed he was pushing her off him, but she instinctively knew his release was near. Focusing on the breaths through her nostrils, she took him one last time, deeper, and then he was throbbing and pulsing at the back of her throat.
He pushed his hand between her leg, and not a second later, as though being tossed by a violent wave, she found her own release.
Spiraling, her nerves took in every sensation—his scent, the springy texture of his hair, the sounds of his satisfaction, and the taste of his seed.
And when it was over, she collapsed into a boneless heap. Tonight, she wouldn’t have to dream of his taste in her mouth. Because he was right here, in her bed.
A Happy Announcement
Typically, Simon wasn’t the sort of person to be disturbed by everyday annoyances, but whether it was the fact that he was both figuratively and literally working with one hand tied behind his back or the nature of pressing issues themselves, the last few days had set him on edge.
The doctor was insisting he wear the sling another week, Greystone had gotten himself into a tangle between Lady Isabella and Miss Diana Jones, Posy was becoming increasingly impossible to rein in. Furthermore, Violet’s former fiancé was, indeed, reportedly alive and on a ship sailing for England.
The only times he wasn’t bothered by any of it were the moments he was able to spend with Violet. She made him happy. He wanted more of those.
He needed more of those.
The one night he’d spent with her in his chambers—the night she’d pleasured him—Simon had nearly been caught exiting her room. When he’d told Violet about it later that day, she’d been horrified. For herself, but mostly for him. If he were to be sacked by Greystone, she’d pointed out, he’d have no way to provide for himself and his sisters. And she’d told him that she couldn’t allow that to happen.
And so, for now anyhow, her chamber was off-limits.
Meeting in secret was necessary, and both had agreed to it. But the constraints of doing so were wearing thin.
