He smiled as he kissed his way down over her rounded stomach and set his teeth on her clit.
“Oh …” She climaxed immediately.
He scissored two fingers inside her, raising himself up on one elbow so that he could see her flushed face as she writhed against the pillows. She had the audacity to scowl at him, which amused him greatly. Without removing his fingers, he leaned to one side and opened the drawer beside his bed, where he’d had the forethought to leave a bottle of oil.
He shifted his thumb until it brushed over her arsehole. “Would you like my cock here?”
“I—” Her breath hitched. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, please, Mr. Laurent.”
“I’m not sure I like your tone.” He eased the tip of his finger inside her. “You should be more … needy, more desperate, more grateful.”
“Grateful? I’m the one who lured you up here to have your way with me.”
“But I like it when you beg.” He unstoppered the oil and applied it to his index finger. “Hands and knees, I think.”
He flipped her over, kneeling behind her, spreading her thighs wide so that she was open to him. He slid his oiled finger in, and she shuddered and arched her hips. He carefully added a second, giving her time to adjust to the pressure. His cock was already hard again, but she wasn’t quite ready to take him—yet.
“More,” she gasped.
“As you wish.” Three fingers now, and he was able to move them back and forth, widening and preparing her with every subtle twist. “I wish I had a dildo to fuck you with while my cock fucks your arse, but I was not prepared.” He paused. “Perhaps you might fuck yourself?”
He watched in approval as she did exactly what he suggested, the heel of her right hand pressed tightly against her clit while her fingers pumped inside her other channel. He oiled his cock and pressed the head against her now slick arse. A small undulation of his hips and he was in her tight passage. He pushed deeper, his hips now aligned with hers, his fingers drifting upward to her breasts, where her hard nipples awaited his caresses.
“Harder,” she said.
He wrapped his hand in her long hair, drawing her head back to expose her throat.
“Don’t worry. I’ll attend to you properly,” he promised. “You won’t be able to sit down comfortably tonight to eat your dinner without squirming and remembering me pounding into you so hard that you screamed.”
He suited his words to his actions, forgetting all caution to give her what she craved and what he needed, a blessed release from a chaotic day. The need to come gathered at the base of his spine, and he redoubled his efforts, flesh slapping against flesh, his grip on her hip sure to leave a bruise—not that either of them would care.
He roared as he climaxed, and she screamed as predicted, her whole body straining back against him like a bow. He resisted the urge to flop over her like a beached whale and eased back.
“Stay there.”
His words were met with a muffled groan. He went into the dressing room, washed himself, and brought a wet cloth back to the bed. He took his time cleaning Carenza’s most intimate parts, using the roughness of the cloth to instigate another climax that made her shudder and curse his name.
He sat beside her on the bed, stroking her shoulder. Her golden hair was a wild tangle, her mouth swollen from his kisses, her cheeks ruddy. He wanted her again, but the chime of the clock reminded him that their idyll must end.
“Shall I carry you back to your own bed?” he offered.
“Only if you wish to damage your back.” Carenza opened one eye to study him. “I’m quite capable of walking.” She paused. “I think.”
“I could toss you over my shoulder like a bale of hay,” Julian suggested.
She made a face. “As if you’ve ever worked in a field.”
He lowered his shoulder, wrapped one arm around her waist, and pulled her from the bed, making her shriek with laughter. After marching straight through the dressing rooms and into her bedchamber, he deposited her on the bed.
“My lady.”
A small gasp behind him made him go still.
Carenza looked past him and smiled. “Bea, you’re early. I thought you’d be attending to Allegra first.”
