“I’m not an innocent, Hunt,” she whispered the admission.
Somehow, he had known, and that did not take away from his opinion of her. Delia St. George was still the strongest, most captivating woman he’d ever met, and nothing she ever did in the past or the future would change his opinion of her.
“Good,” he said, leaning forward and pulling her head back. “Because there is nothing innocent about what I want to do with you.”
He kissed her, hard and rough, rougher than he had that entire night.
“What do you want to do with me?” she asked breathless, reaching for him again.
Hunt gave her a wicked smile. “Put me in your mouth.” He stood, waiting patiently for her.
Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, Hunt believed he had pushed her too far. He was aware that his bedroom behavior was vastly different than his public appearance.
Squeezing his member, Delia slowly leaned toward Hunt, her eyes, pools of deep brown, grounding him in place.
He couldn’t move or breathe, as she kissed the tip of his cock with her sweet lips.
“Open for me.” It was a gentle demand, as his fingers gripped her hair.
She opened her pretty mouth, and Hunt slid inside. “That’s it,” he rasped out, his voice strained.
It took everything in him to not set a grueling pace. She’d told him that she was experienced, but he could surmise that she’d never done such a thing in her life. Though he did not hold her other encounter against her, Hunt was filled with pride at being the only man she’d allowed such intimacies.
He moved gently, allowing her to get accustomed to the feel of him, moving steadily in and out. The grip on her head guided her, his head falling back, as pure bliss coursed through his entire body. If he died right then and there, Hunt would’ve been the happiest man in England.
From the moment he’d met her, all he could think about was her, and here she was, his at last. He’d never thought about marriage or love. His father had given him the worst example of both. But now, with his hellion, he dared hope for more.
“Delia,” he groaned as she found her own rhythm.
One of her hands was wrapped around his cock, as her mouth continued to work him.
Hunt’s legs began to shake, his climax crashing toward him faster than it ever had with any seasoned woman.
“That’s enough,” he rasped out, his control faltering.
She stopped, staring up at Hunt with that fire he loved. It was like he took her favorite treat away.
Pulling her up, he crashed his mouth to hers. His lips were hungry and demanding, as he tasted himself on her tongue.
Hunt placed her on the bed, his hands roaming every inch he could touch, memorizing every detail of her. The moans she made when he pinched at her dark nipples, the breathy mewl that swept through the room when he entered her with one finger—slow and steady.
Bloody hell, she was tight.
His turgid cock was hard and aching, but Hunt was determined to enjoy her. She wasn’t one of the doxies at Sinners, or a woman he would just enjoy and move on as if nothing happened.
No, Adelia St. George was the type of woman you spent forever with.
Hunt’s lips worshipped her, kissing a treacherous path from her jaw down the long, smooth column of her neck. He stopped to enjoy how her body arched into him, as his fingers worked in and out of her, the walls of her sex gripping him.
“Hunt! Please.” She begged so prettily he couldn’t stop the arrogant smile on his face.
Adding a second finger in her, he nipped at her jaw before taking her bottom lip with his teeth. She quivered, wetness flooding his fingers.
“What do you want, my hellion?” he asked before licking down her jaw, back to her neck, to the swell of one of her enticing breasts.
Teasing her nipple with his tongue, Hunt wrapped his lips around the dark bud and sucked while the speed of his fingers increased. When he bit down lightly, she cried out his name, and Hunt feared they would wake the entire inn.
Her body shivered beneath him, his hand soaked with her essence, but he wanted more.
