Again, it stole through him—the same sense of misgiving from when she’d asked, “Would you like to kiss me?”
A little nervous laugh escaped her. “It’s been a while, but isn’t that what men like?”
“What men like?” At last, he was able to grasp what was tickling at the back of his mind. “But Tilly?”
“Yeah?”
“What about what you like?”
She blinked.
And, at last, he understood how to proceed with her. “Last night…” he said, low. It was that desperation making his voice gravelly. “I seem to recall you liked this.” He traced a finger lightly along the sensitive skin of her neck. “And if you liked that, then perhaps you’ll like this.” His mouth followed the trail of his finger along that creamy column, his other hand untying the closure of her cloak. “Do you like that, Tilly?” he murmured against her.
“Oh, yes,” she exhaled, her head angling to grant him greater access.
Cloak fallen open, his gaze arrested on her décolletage. His mouth went dry. Oh, Tilly’s glorious breasts. They were the stuff of myth, so perfect they were. His finger trailed down that deep valley, his mouth following. One practiced tug of her bodice, and there they were, nipples peaked beneath the gossamer muslin of her chemise. He licked, then sucked a hard pink nip into his mouth through the fabric, his tongue swirling around the nub that had gone as hard as a cherry pit, dragging a low moan from Tilly.
Full and heavy were these breasts of Tilly’s. He had large hands, but they weren’t nearly up to the task of containing her.
Then her breasts weren’t enough.
He needed to taste other parts of her.
Desperation had him on his knees…meeting her gaze as he lifted her skirts…his eyes asking permission…her eyes granting it.
Perhaps it was that rake blood yet roaring through his veins.
Blood still het up from the feel of the dice in his hand…driving him…spurring him on…
That hot, wrong feel of vice ripping through him.
But he didn’t think so.
In fact, he knew it wasn’t.
It was Tilly.
And Tilly wasn’t wrong.
She was everything that was right.
He shifted forward, ducking beneath her skirts, immediately surrounded by warmth and the scent of Tilly…the heady scent of her sex. Unable not to, he inhaled deeply, those elements of her rushing through him straight to his cock, which throbbed…which ached.
He lifted her leg and at the line where her wool stockings ended, he began a trail with his mouth and tongue along that sensitive skin. A tremor quaked through her, he could feel it—the desire…the longing…the anticipation…the desperation…
He touched his tongue to her.
She gasped—then melted against him.
Oh, she liked that.
He didn’t have to ask.
Slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world, he slid his tongue along her slit and produced a most gratifying little mewl of pleasure and frustration from her.
His blood blazed into a conflagration—lit by this…lit by her.
He entered her with one finger, as his tongue concentrated on the sensitive nub of her sex. Her body was now beyond melted. It had gone molten, as his tongue flicked against her, his finger sliding in and out of her. What a sweet, delicate cunny Tilly had—slick and swollen with desire and need. And though she’d gone molten, he sensed the moment a specific tension entered her. Release had started teasing, and she’d begun reaching for it. He pushed his finger deeper, increasing the rhythm of his tongue. She was close…so close…
