“You can do better?” she blurted.
He gave her a lazy smile. Then he did something with his tongue that made her arch against the desk, panting.
“You’re sensitive, angel. Have you ever come from having your tits sucked?”
She didn’t know if it was his wicked language or his question that caused the spasm between her legs. She surmised that by “come” he was referring to the clandestine relief she’d discovered in the privacy of her bed. If what had transpired thus far was any indication, her self-induced releases were nothing compared to the pleasure this stranger could give her.
Staring up at his handsome face in wonder, she rocked her head against the desk. “No.”
He flashed a grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”
He set his mouth upon her again, this time applying suction. The hot, deep pull tautened some invisible web of sensation inside her. As he suckled, pleasure blazed from her nipple to the apex of her thighs, molten pressure mounting at her core. He left to tend to her other breast, his fingers continuing to play with the nipple he’d abandoned. She whimpered as he rolled and tugged on the stiff bud while his tongue lavished attention upon its twin.
Desire built and built. Her legs moved restlessly, the place between them throbbing with desperate need. He gripped her hips, yanking her down toward him, and she gasped when his thigh hit her exactly where she needed it. Her hips moved of their own accord, rubbing her sex against the rigid column of his leg. The friction opened her floodgates, and she moaned as bliss inundated her.
When she had the strength to lift her eyelids, she met his intent gaze.
“Was it good?” His crinkled eyes and knowing smile told her that he knew it was.
“It was splendid,” she admitted.
“You’re splendid.” His lips skimmed the surging curves of her breasts. “I can’t wait to see if you taste this sweet everywhere.”
“E-everywhere?” she stammered.
He was kissing his way between her ribs, over the rapid rise and fall of her belly. Before she could regain her wits enough to stop him, he pushed her thighs apart, his big hands holding her splayed as he put his mouth…there.
“Heavens.”
She didn’t mean to shriek, but the hot swipe of his tongue on her most intimate place was definitely shriek-worthy. Strangled sounds tore from her throat as he pleasured her in ways she hadn’t imagined, not even in her most carnal fantasies.
“Devil and damn, you’re sweet.” The growly edge to his voice made her tremble against the desk. “As ripe and juicy as a peach. Eating your pussy just makes me want more of it.”
His gaze holding hers, he dragged his tongue up her quivering seam. She shuddered at the sensation and at his deliciously lewd language, which was enriching her vocabulary by leaps and bounds. When he licked his lips, shameless arousal poured through her. He was enjoying this as much as she was…well, perhaps notquiteas much. Her head fell back onto the blotter as his mouth swirled fire over her senses.
He found her secret spot. Flicked that hidden peak of sensation with his tongue. Her hips bucked, a garbled plea leaving her lips.
“That’s it, angel. Rub your pretty pearl against my tongue,” he said in guttural tones. “Show me how much you like my mouth.”
Whimpering, she obeyed. She rode the slippery friction, faster and faster. Then he captured her pearl between his lips, sucking and lashing it at the same time…and she soared on a crest of pleasure once more.
He lifted his head, his eyes smoldering. He slid a finger inside her spasming sheath, and she jolted—not from pain, but from the startling sensation of having something enter where nothing had gone before. Her intimate muscles squeezed around his thick digit.
“Such a sweet girl, coming in my mouth,” he rasped. “I can’t wait to screw deep inside you, feel this tight, wet little pussy holding every inch of my cock…”
His words stirred as deeply as his finger, releasing a torrent of yearning. Years of suppressed need broke over her. At the same time, she clung to her last vestiges of sense: now that they’d arrived at this juncture, she needed to bring up a critical matter.
“There’s, um, something…”
She didn’t usually fumble with words, but this was an awkward topic, one that no amount of practice had quite prepared her for. As she tried to recall her rehearsed phrasing, he stripped off his waistcoat and shirt…and her mouth went dry at his virility.
His shoulders and arms were corded with ropey sinew, and delineated blocks of muscle paved his torso. Light brown furring covered his chest, the hair narrowing into a line over his abdomen, the trail leading into the waistband of his trousers. Her gaze dipped lower, her heart pounding at the sizeable bulge of his manhood.
That part of him would soon be inside her…and could lead to irrevocable consequences if she didn’t use precautions. Specifically, the French letter tucked alongside the pistol in her skirt pocket.
He reached for his discarded waistcoat; the sight of the sheath he withdrew filled her with relief, along with an absurd urge to laugh. Not only was he prepared, he was nonchalant about it. The fact that he took responsibility for the consequences of his pleasure spoke volumes about his character.
He cocked a brow at her. “What were you saying?”
