When her tongue lightly investigated the slit on his tip, he tangled his fingers in her coiffure.
“Suck my cock properly, wench,” he said in mock command.
She gave him a playfully pert look. “Like this, Your Grace?”
His hips bucked at the sudden, scorching bliss of her mouth surrounding him.
“God, yes.” His breath turned ragged. “Exactly like that.”
She came up then plunged upon him again, her head bobbing in a rhythm that made him pant. His fingers dug into her scalp as she took him even deeper, faster, the wet sounds of her sucking arousing him beyond belief. When he felt himself nearing the edge, he tried to pull her off.
“Sweeting, I’m going to spend,” he grated out.
“Good.” Her hungry eyes and lush, swollen lips mesmerized him. “I want to taste you. Drink your pleasure as you’ve drunk mine.”
He hissed out a breath as she impaled her mouth on his rampant prick. She took him deeper and deeper still. So deep that her lips met his swollen stones. Feeling the intimate massage of her throat, he could hold back no more. He let go, blowing his seed with a roar, giving himself over to her loving kiss.
Maggie barely had time to savor the taste of Rhys before she found herself hauled onto his lap. He shoved her skirts up, and there was a distinct tearing sound when the fabric didn’t cooperate. She should probably care that the emerald silk was being ruined beyond repair, but she didn’t.
Desire heated her Goode blood, and she welcomed it. Reveled in the wanton excitement that pulsed through her when her pussy came into contact with his cock.
Despite his recent ejaculation, he was still hard.
“Rub your pussy against my cock.” His voice had the hungry, commanding tone that she loved. “Slide your petals along my rod, make it wet, but don’t put it inside you.”
Shivering with excitement, she did as she was told. Pleasuring him had fed her own arousal, and her movements dampened the thick, pulsing length of him. Her hands on his shoulders, she gyrated her hips, moaning as she found the right angle, the one that made her pearl glide against his steely bar. The friction made her wetter, desperate, the need for release coiling in her core.
“Frig yourself on my prick.” His eyes were hot, hooded. “Come on me.”
With a breathless cry, she did. Her culmination was lightning in her pussy, blissful shocks sizzling into her limbs, making them boneless. Then he was driving inside her, his massive girth opening her, prolonging the rapturous tremors and setting off new ones. She was coming, coming, the pleasure unending.
“Ride me,” he rasped.
His hands gripped her hips, guiding her to rise up and down on his fleshy pole. Their gazes held, and she found it unbearably erotic that they were both fully clothed, yet intimately connected: eyes to eyes, cunny to cock, heart to beating heart. Their fit was tight, lush perfection. As he drilled upward on her downward glide, desire gushed between them.
“God, I’ll never get enough of this. Of you,” he growled. “I want to get so deep inside that you’ll never get me out...”
She soared over the peak again. He caught her against him, holding her close even as he drove toward his own finish. He uttered love words, dirty words, his rod slamming into her again and again. Suspended in bliss, she took what he had to give, wanting it, loving him. At the last possible instant, he pulled out, crushing his mouth to hers. His groan rumbled down her throat as his satisfaction pulsed hotly against her bottom.
His lips brushed her temple, his voice hoarse. “My duchess, my Maggie. Just mine.”
Cradled against his chest, suffused with love, she smiled.
33
“Did you sleep well, Mama?”Glory asked.
At her daughter’s innocent query, Maggie nearly choked on her tea. She, Glory, Rhys, and Hypatia were having an early breakfast in her sitting room. She made the mistake of looking at Rhys, whose twitching lips and gleaming gaze betrayed that he, too, was thinking of the nocturnal activities that had kept them up half the night.
Not only had they made love again upon returning to the hotel, but he’d awoken her at dawn, his ready cockstand tucked against the curve of her bottom. Not an uncommon state for Rhys, she’d discovered.
Merciful heavens, but the man liked his mornings.
“Bonjour, my love,” he’d murmured. “I have a question.”
“Is that what that is?” She’d twisted her head to look at him, eyebrows raised.
He’d grinned. “We’ll get to that later. But first my question. While you were married, how did you take care of yourself?”
