She pursed her lips. “You forgot to mention modest.”
“I would never lie and say I was that,” he said. The skirt was at her knees now, and he skated his fingers over the flesh there until she arched up with a shiver of pleasure. “I know my…talents. Why should I not be proud of them?”
She could hardly think now. The skirt was around her thighs and his fingers were warm against her skin when he parted her drawers and touched her.
“What talents exactly?” she gasped as he left her skirt in a pile around her waist and placed his hand flat against her sex.
He lifted his gaze to her face and grinned. “I’m so glad you asked.”
He inched down her body, making his movements carefully so he did not create any more pain that he had to. He settled between her legs, lying on his stomach so he didn’t have to support much of his weight on his bad arm.
“Lucas,” she whispered, but hardly got his name past her lips when he leaned in and blew a gust of warm air against her sex. Her body was so ultra-sensitive that she bucked at the sensation.
His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, very good,” he murmured, then ducked his head and licked her.
She fisted the coverlet in his hands with a mewling cry at the sudden and unexpected feeling of his mouth on her so intimately. At the very unexpected electric pleasure that he created. Experience or no, she’d never felt anything like it. Never imagined a man doing such a thing or that it would create such a sudden, immediate and volcanic reaction through her entire trembling body.
It was magic, pure and simple.
And it was relentless. Because of course—it was Lucas driving it. He stroked his tongue over her in long, even strokes, swirling the tip around her clitoris every time.
“Please,” she gasped out, her fingers coming down into his hair, pulling him close, pushing him away, uncertain how to get more and yet lessen the intensity of what she was experiencing.
He glanced up. “All in good time, my dear,” he whispered, then returned to his work.
She collapsed back, her eyes fluttering shut and her world becoming nothing but sharp sensation. She found herself lifting her hips to him, meeting the rhythm of his tongue over and over again as pleasure built within her.
And as it did, his focus changed. No longer did he lave her entire sex. Now he focused entirely on her clitoris. That sensitive nub of nerves sent shockwaves through her. She was on the edge and she wanted to fall and fly.
He sucked her and she got to do both. Wave after wave of intense pleasure rocked through her. She arched against him, her hips slamming out of control as he drew the sensation out further and further, past the point where she felt she could bear it, past the edge of what felt like sanity and safety. It was everything, and it pushed out the boundaries of her small world until it felt like she could do anything.
Slowly, the pleasure faded. Eventually, he lifted his head, smiling up at her with feral, male confidence.
She couldn’t even move, but it didn’t matter. He inched back up her body, unbuttoning her dress, shoving it down her arms. She lifted her hips to let him glide it away. He left her chemise, but removed her drawers.
“Roll over on your side,” he said.
She did so, facing away from him. He lay on his good side next to her, his mouth against the back of her neck, his breath hot and steamy against her skin. The hard thrust of his cock pressed to her backside and he spread her open, smoothing her wet entrance before he speared her body in one long, heavy stroke.
She ground backward against him, burrowing into the crook of his body as his arms came around her. He rolled his hips as he thrust, probing deep inside her sex, pressing her body in ways she had never felt before. She met him stroke for stroke, that pleasure she had only just abandoned returning in rapid and even more powerful succession. She came a second time, moaning his name as he increased the power and pressure of his thrusts and finally, as he grunted out her name, he withdrew and she felt the heat of him pump between their bodies.
She shivered and he drew her closer, his mouth brushing her skin, tattooing her with his whispered, empty words of desire. And she drifted off to sleep with all that in her head. And nothing else that normally troubled her.
Chapter Eight
Lucas scanned the document he had pressed between the pages of a book Diana had loaned him, trying to find some hidden meaning or clue within the words. It had been four days since the visit from Stalwood, and finding time to review the documents he’d been given was not easy.
Not that he was complaining about how his time had been spent. Diana was a skilled lover, responsive, and never one who simpered or played games with his desire.
Of course, she was also a taskmaster who insisted on working on his healing too. That was their relationship now. Pain and pleasure. Sometimes one immediately following the other.
But he was feeling better. Stronger than he had in a long time.
The door to his chamber opened and she entered. He shut the book immediately, hiding the document he didn’t want her to see, and smiled over at her. She was wearing a plain gown with a striped skirt and her hair was half up, as usual.
“You left bed far too early,” he drawled. “Why in the world do you insist on dressing?”
She laughed at his question but didn’t stop at the bed. Instead, she moved to a panel that was in the corner of the room. Carefully she drew it aside and revealed a tub there.
