He paused for a second and pulled his head back from her flower.
Her labia, pink when he had begun kissing her thighs, were now swollen and flushed red. He wondered briefly now at how little he had known of women’s anatomy, how secretive and hidden it all was compared to the hard cock that insistently throbbed below his waist.
Arabella’s hands were groping across the bed.
“Alasdair, Alasdair, Alasdair. Please, please.”
“’Tis good for ye? Arabella?”
But all she could do was groan and say his name and, “Please.”
And so he put his mouth on her again and focused himself on the bud, licking at it savagely and adding his grunts to hers as she tensed under his hands. He briefly considered nipping at the little protuberance lightly with his teeth and then thought better of it and instead gave her dozens of quick, fierce licks and then she spasmed rhythmically, her thighs squeezing his shoulders, her flower contracting under his tongue, and a small gush of sweetness hit his lower lip.
He did not know what to do now—the sailors’ stories did not say whether he should continue or stop. He thought of the sensitivity of his own cock right after his own climaxes and thought he should stop, as he had when he had touched her with his finger.
He put his tongue back in his mouth and waited.
Her body relaxed. Her legs went slack and one almost slipped from his shoulder, but he caught it and held it. His lips were still on her labia and he lightly kissed her, away from her bud but on her outer lips that were still engorged.
It was awfully quiet.
“Arabella?”
He took the other leg off his shoulder now and stood so he could see her.
Her hands were over her face.
“Arabella?”
Her soft, white abdomen heaved.
He lay down next to her and gently took one of her hands from her face.
She was crying. Large tears coursing down her face, her nose running, her lashes darkened and clumping from tears.
“Oh, my darling Arabella, did I hurt ye?” He gathered her to his chest. What a fool he had been. She had likely not wanted to tell him that he had been too rough with her, with his tongue. He was glad now that he had not bitten her bud.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she raised her face to his, her blue eyes brimming, “Oh, Alasdair, that was wonderful. Wonderfully wicked. You’re a miracle. Can I really be so lucky as to be married to you?” And then her lips were on his and her tongue replicated in his mouth what he had done to her introitus and a grateful wash of relief mixed with lust came over him.
But he wanted to be sure. After a minute of Arabella ravishing his mouth with her own tiny tongue and lips, he pulled his mouth away.
“Ye liked it?” He could hear his own voice had become gruff.
“I loved it almost as much as I love you, Alasdair.”
“I dinnae stop too soon? I dinnae want to hurt ye.”
“I don’t know. Next time, don’t stop and we’ll see.” She suddenly had a worried look on her face. “There will be a next time, won’t there? This isn’t something people only do on their wedding night, is it?”
He grinned and she squirmed delightedly and he remembered that he must make more of an effort to smile since his dimples gave her so much pleasure.
“I intend to kiss yer flower as often as ye let me, Mrs. Andrews.”
She whispered, “Maybe even again tonight?”
He let go of her then, intending to slide down the mattress and onto his knees again, but she clutched him and smiled shyly. “No, no, not yet.”
“Yer wish is my command.”
