Years of patience and training kept his attention fixated on every rush of breath between her teeth, every twitch of muscle in her face and hands, anything to indicate she was not pleased with his movements. But with every pass of the flat of the blade against her thigh, she clutched at the rug beneath her, lost in the sensation.
The mewling sounds she made—God, they were erotic.
His erection strained and pulsed in his trousers, nearly spending at the sight of her unguarded passion. Massaging the beast into a more comfortable position, the hand with the knife moved upwards but an inch and her gasp was of unadulterated pleasure.
He watched her head roll side to side and her hips make the most wanton little bucks, moving the blade back and forth, closer and closer to the glistening center of her.
And he couldn’t wait a second more to taste her. Securing the blade under his arm, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and ran his tongue along the seam of her sensitive lips.
“My God!” she gasped.
He smirked and blew a stream of air across her bud. “Quiet, my dear. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience the staff, remember?”
Her fingers tangled into his curls, nails digging into his scalp. “Again.”
He smiled and pushed his tongue inside, the heat of her blazing, the sweet taste of her exquisite.
“Yes! Percival, please!”
His name on her lips was a command of the highest order, and Percy set about his mission with single-minded determination. Fingers parting her folds, he angled his mouth, finishing each thrust of his tongue to lick the bottom of her cleft.
Her pants grew short and breathy. Her hips rose to meet each intrusion as if designed. She was on the edge, waiting for him to bring about her fall.
Without looking, he pulled the knife from under his arm and flipped it, handle first. Timing his thrusts, he buried his tongue into her folds and pressed the heel of the knife against the center of her arousal.
She arched, hands coming to her mouth to muffle screams of pleasure.
Her climax rocked him to his foundation. Every squeeze of delicate muscle around his tongue choked the thoughts and ideas of what pleasure really meant. This woman had lain completely at his mercy—knife in hand—and she hadn’t hesitated.
He lapped at her wetness, the taste of her addicting, the sounds of her aftershocks music.
It was blasphemy that such a creature existed without his knowledge. He’d had other women before her—no, there’d been no others and would never be again, not like this. Percy knew it in his bones.
He rocked back on his heels, surprised to find himself unsteady and lightheaded. The woman was a force, taking the very blood in his veins and turning it to euphoric mist.
Quieting, the awe in her voice was not unfounded. “There’s no way a mere duke could be so divinely wicked.”
He lay back, grinning, and willed his pulse and body to come back to Earth. “A man does like to make an effort.”
“Was that normal?”
To think what had just happened between them hadn’t been the work of the Devil himself was laughable. “No,” he said, not needing to see her to know she was smiling with him. “That was extraordinary.”
“Good to know.”
He smirked at her prim tone and sat up.
She lay sprawled on the rug, the cream fabric surrounding her tousled hair and angelic face like the backdrop of sun filled clouds.
“You are a marvel, Daniella.”
She smiled and the sun shone through. “A lady does like to make an effort.”
He laughed and found himself lightly tracing the slope of her calf, completely at ease despite the marital consequences if they were discovered.
And yet... “I don’t wish to be insensitive, but you must realize, despite what we just did, I have no intention—”
“Of offering marriage?” She snorted, though the flippant sound didn’t match the sudden distance in her gaze. “Save the speech, Your Grace. I have no intention of making demands.” She rose up on her elbows, her lovely hair draping over her shoulders to provocatively curl around her breasts. “I told you, I’m not one for hysterics.” She paused. “Orone for gossip.”
