Lydia let out a playful gasp. His words were lewd…and arousing. Distracting. Her thighs wiggled as she imagined the feel of him there. Those rose-scented, soft lips tasting the part of her that had been neglected so long.
Denny slid to the floor. “What are you about?” she asked.
He popped his head back up. “Thought I might request an audience with your beautiful cunt. Worship her on my knees. Study her intricate design and say prayers for her mercy on a mere sinner.”
“Isn’t that blasphemy?” she asked faintly as she felt Denny draw her hems up her calves.
“Probably,” he said, kissing the inside of her knee when the dress traveled higher. “But then, I am a disreputable sort of fellow.”
He was like a magician, transforming Lydia before her own eyes, lifting the weight of wrong choices and making her feel like the young woman she’d lost in the wake of her hasty nuptials.
“May I see it, my dear?” he asked, licking at her thigh, but moving her hem no further.
George Wickham was the villain of her life; of that there was no doubt. But Lydia felt incandescent rage at GeorgeDennyright now. Why did he need her permission? Why couldn’t he just take what he wanted and absolve her of feelings of shame? Would begging for pleasure at his hands make her all those things the men in that dark room whispered she was?
But his mouth on her soft skin made her legs tremble.
Lydia pulled her dress higher to show Denny the apex of her thighs.
“So close,” he said, expelling air with each word so the puffs ruffled her hem and traveled underneath to glance over her heated skin.
And this was when she made a mistake. Her hips moved somehow, completely on their own with no involvement from Lydia’s rational mind, and her hand may have lifted her dress the barest inch higher.
Denny groaned. “Let me see it,” he begged, coming closer to where she felt hot and needy for him. “Spread for me, you darling minx, so I might give you the sweetest little kisses.”
“Denny!” she hissed, scandalized by his words…while slowly opening her legs to his gaze.
“Oh, that’s a good girl,” he said, stroking her thigh, staring at the place she’d exposed to him.
“You shouldn’t be that close,” she sniffed. It was lewd, entirely too shameful for a young woman from a good family to be sostudiedin this way.
“But how else will I kiss it?” he asked, dropping a peck right on her quim.
Lydia gasped. “You’re not supposed to be—”
“I intend to look my fill,” he said, his aristocratic accent slicing through her arguments. “You see, you have these pretty little swollen lips here.” He ran a finger over one, and Lydia emitted a noise that could only be considered primal.
“Both sides, plump and ready to hug my cock,” he said, grunting as he adjusted himself over his breeches. “A fat little button at the top, positively throbbing for want of a touch, no matter what words you say.”
When he brushed the backs of his fingers over that place, all of Lydia seemed to squeeze with some approaching crisis, the sensation so overwhelming she didn’t realize Denny was removing her slippers and placing her stockinged feet on the edge of the bed.
Her knees were high and spread now, and her thighs framed Denny’s head, still appreciatively surveying her cunny.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked, her voice sounding a million miles away as she imbibed pleasure with abandon.
“Wanted to better see that lovely little hole,” he said. He came closer and stuck his tongue exactly there.
Lydia was shocked, grabbing at the bedclothes, one foot sliding from its place as she reflexively kicked out. And all the while, Denny thrust his tongue in that place as if he wielded a cock, tupping her with relentless strength, stretching her channel.
“I didn’t know it could, oh,” she moaned when he moved his tongue up to those cunny lips he’d admired. He was ruthless, somehow moving from one side to the other before she registered what was happening and leaving her quim a wet mess in the wake of his ministrations.
“Like honey, my dear, pour it out for me. I’ll lick every drop.”
She gasped at what he suggested. That…wetness had nothing to do with her! He was responsible; it was wholly him! Why, she should tell him to stop drooling and blaming—
But when he moved to the bump that seemed to beat with a percussive, relentless force, Lydia’s mind went blank and all objections vanished.
“So many nights I wanted to beg you to let me taste this, Miss Bennet,” he moaned between licks. “I’d be outside the barracks beating my cock until it was raw just thinking of being able to suck you like this.”
