Then he was kissing her neck, prickling her skin with his night beard. He kept going, and to her shock, she felt his mouth on her clothed breast. Before she could push him away, he closed his lips over the throbbing tip. Wet heat engulfed the sensitive peak as he suckled her through linen.
She didn’t recognize the sound she made. “Oh my stars, Godwin?—”
“Call me Conrad,” he said. “I want to hear my name on your lips while I suckle your sweet tit.”
When she gasped his name, the intimacy of it burned her tongue. Yet his was even hotter. She writhed with bliss as he laved, flicked, and teased her engorged bud.
“Rose-flavored Turkish delight,” he muttered.
Her head spun. “P-pardon?”
“Your nipples. They’re the same color as my favorite confection.” His eyes gleamed down at her. “However, you are far sweeter.”
He moved on to her other breast, consuming her as if she were a treat. Whimpering, she gripped his hair, lost in the slide of rough silk between her fingers and the masterful pull of his mouth. He played with her other breast simultaneously, rolling the swollen tip between his finger and thumb. The sensations spread from her breasts, building and building, until every fiber of her vibrated with need.
“Let go, Gigi,” he said thickly. “Go over for me.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he pinched her nipple while drawing the other deep into his mouth. The bite of pain and heated suction tugged at the knot at her center, and it suddenly released. Unraveled by bliss, she cried his name, and he growled, covering her mouth with his. Pleasure crested, rolling through her in luxuriant waves.
Slowly, she drifted back. She felt warm and lax, as if she were wrapped in a cloud. Touching his jaw, she felt the contrast between its hard edge and the tender press of his lips. He lifted his head, a gilded forelock dangling upon his brow. It added boyish charm to his handsomeness, and she couldn’t resist brushing it back.
“Was that good, duchess?”
There was nothing boyish about the knowing rasp in his voice.
“It was,” she said shyly. “I…I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“That is just the beginning.”
She felt her eyes widen. “There is more?”
He cupped her between her legs. She jolted at the intimacy, the way he casually laid claim to a part of her that no man had touched. As if he gleaned her thoughts, his lips curved in a wicked smile that made peril feel like passion and risk seem like reward. He rubbed his palm in a circle, and her thighs quivered anew.
“Oh, there’s more,” he said.
Chapter Eleven
Gigi awakened to flickering darkness. Her eyes widened as she registered that her cheek was pillowed by Conrad’s hard chest, her trousered leg thrown wantonly over his. He held her close, his hand on her hip. His even breathing told her he was asleep—peacefully, this time.
Oh my stars. What have I done?
Even as panic began to set in, she couldn’t regret her actions. As promised, Conrad had shown her “more.” He’d stretched atop her, and the memory of being covered by his sleek, muscular form sent a thrill through her even now. Despite the layers of clothing, the thrusting friction of his heavy, turgid length had made her moan and buck her hips.
“That’s right, duchess,” he’d coaxed. “Rub that sweet little pussy against my cock. Do you feel how hard I am for you?”
She’d felt him, all right. He’d ground his steely cock against her peak, showering her insides with white-hot bliss. He’d done it again and again, and she’d clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, trying to get closer.
“You’re so wet.” Feral intensity had sharpened his features. “I can feel you soaking through your trousers and mine.”
She’d felt a jolt of embarrassment. “I’m sorry?—”
“Why in blazes are you sorry?” he rasped. “I love how wanton you are. I cannot wait for the day when I get to be inside you—to feel your drenched pussy squeezing my prick.”
A combination of shock and pleasure had cut off her reply. He’d thrust harder, faster, and awash with need, she’d held on to his shoulders, chanting his name. Pleasure crested, this pinnacle even more intense than the last…especially since it was shared.
“Bloody Christ,” he’d roared. “Gigi.”
The tendons of his neck had stood out in stark relief, the muscles of his chest bulging. He’d lunged heavily, as if he wanted to pound her into the stone. In that instant, no matter how wrong it was, she’d wanted more. More of those guttural sounds from his throat, more of his harsh breaths, more of the wonder blazing in his eyes.
