She kept her mouth on him but looked up, and his eyes had gone dark again. But he still counted. “Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven?—”
His voice was hoarse with lust.
She paid more attention to the underside of the head, the place that had been so sensitive when she had teased him in the church, and, oh, he was growing.
Tongue and lips and hand. And his voice. “Eighty-four, eighty-five?—”
A tighter grip on his even bigger cock. More tongue and lips and stroke, stroke, stroke, lick, lick, rub.
A hand on her head. She daren’t look up just now, she must put everything into giving him pleasure. But the counting had stopped.
Another groan from him. His fingers tightened in her hair. She bobbed faster, faster, faster and he was as big as he had ever been before.
And she was too short now, too short on her knees when his cock was angled upwards.
“Sit,” she said, gasping, strangled. “I need you to sit.”
He shuffled to the bed, his breeches around his boots hampering his steps, and she followed him on her knees, not wanting to get too far from him, not wanting him to move his hand from her hair.
He sat. She got between his legs, intent on his cock. Dark red now, mighty.
“Susannah,” he said.
“Henry,” she said, not looking at his face but only at his cock. She bent her head, took him in her mouth again.
He was close. He was thick and straining. She could feel the blood throbbing, hot and restless, under her tongue.
She stroked, she licked. She sucked.
“Oh, my God. Oh, God. Susannah.”
His knees came up, both his hands grabbed the sides of her head, his body jerked, and he erupted. A pulsing warmth filled her mouth, and she swallowed his seed. Yes. Moonlight and marshmallow root.
She milked his cock gently with her hand and mouth until she was sure his release had completely subsided. Finally, she let go of him and looked at his face.
“It’s not possible,” he said.
She shook her headnobut said “Yes, it’s not possible,” as seriously as she could.
“I can’t believe . . .” He stroked her hair with something akin to awe.
“I just wanted another taste of you. And I didn’t want to wait.”
He smiled. It was the smile of a scoundrel, a rogue. Her earl was a naughty man, proud of his cock.
“I think you got more than a taste.”
“Yes.” She waggled her eyebrows and licked her lips.
And he laughed—helaughed—as she rocked back on her heels and put her hands on his thighs to lift herself up. She was still wet, still muddy, but she collapsed onto her stomach on the bed beside him, and he lay back, too.
She barely thought of how she’d have to wash the counterpane. Barely, but she still thought of it. Yes, she was a woman in love with her man, but she would always be Susannah.
He turned his head so their faces were inches apart and they were gazing into each other’s eyes.
“It’s all right,” she said.
“What is, love?”
