Before she could say a thing in response, he kissed her thigh before returning to his task. He sucked as if she were the most delicious dish he had ever sampled and he needed to savor her now lest he was never again afforded the opportunity to taste her. As before, the pleasure was intense. Blissful.
He licked her. “Are you ready, love?”
She would have answered, but she could not speak, for he had once more begun to stimulate her. He was driving her wild. Her hips bucked against him as she sought more. More pressure, harder, faster, morehim.
He slid the berry between her lower lips. His mouth closed over her pearl, sucking at the same instant he slid the strawberry inside her. Not the entire fruit, but the bulbous end of it, whilst his lips and teeth and tongue brought her to the brink. He sucked and gently thrust the berry into her channel. She was slick, pulsing, so ready for him. In and out, he thrust the fruit, until she was sure it was coated in her essence.
She ought to be ashamed and she knew it. This display, her on her back, legs spread for him to feast upon her as if he were a starving man, her body undulating mindlessly against his mouth and tongue. The berry.Dear, sweet Lord in heaven, the strawberry. He had lodged it inside her passage now, stretching her, and left it where it was before throwing his entire attention into pleasuring the highly sensitive, engorged bud of her sex.
He caught her between his teeth and tugged, then sucked so hard and long, worshiping her hungry flesh as if she were a goddess and he was pledging his allegiance to her. She did not miss the reverence in his touch, in his kiss, his caress.
She moaned and thrust her hips from the pillows, her heels digging into the carpet, woolen and solid beneath her. He was lashing her pearl with his tongue now, then nipping her once more, and sucking. Sucking so hard, so long, so deliciously, she could not…her spend was inevitable. She gave in. Her body was like one tightly drawn knot, cinching, bringing her ever closer, and the waves of delirious pleasure were pounding upon her until she could not resist. She shook, her pinnacle rocking through her with the force of an earthquake.
Damian’s face was buried between her thighs, his tongue continuing to expertly tease her pearl while his finger sank inside her, joining the strawberry as the last tremors fled her. He pulled it from her, raising his head. His expression was a gift, slack with pleasure, unguarded and vulnerable. His beautiful mouth was reddened and slick with her own juices.
She swallowed against a wild rush of pleasure at the sight. At her mark upon him. He licked his lips beneath her scrutiny, as if he reveled in every last drop of her. As she looked on with helpless fascination, he lifted the strawberry he had used to pleasure her to his lips. His teeth bit into it.
“Delicious,” he said.
Oh, he was wicked.
And oh, how she loved that wickedness. How she longed to bask in it. To bask in him.
Always. It was as if his intensity poured into her soul, and it remained there. She knew she could not remove it now, not even if she wished to do so. Damian Winter was a part of her, so deep and so true he could never be removed. Not from her heart, not from her memories, and not from her life.
Nor did she want him to be. Even if this time they had was fleeting, and even if she knew they could not remain lovers forever, being with him had changed her irrevocably.
Another urge struck her. The urge to make him reach his pinnacle the same way he had just brought her to wild, blissful release.
With her mouth.
“I want to bring you pleasure,” she told him. “It is your turn.”
“No, love, this was for you,” he returned, chasing her pronouncement with his lips.
As they kissed, the muskiness of her and the sweet tartness of the strawberry mingled. It was forbidden and potent and she wanted him more than she could have imagined. The effect this man had upon her was dangerous.
* * *
Floating hell,the effect Mira had upon him…
Demon was out of his mind with wanting her. She was ruining him for any other woman. Mayhap she already had. Everything about her was intoxicating, and it spoke to him on a different level. He spent all the time they were apart thinking of her, longing for her, counting the bloody minutes until he knew she would arrive. This evening, she had been an hour late on account of some social engagement. The wait had seemed an eternity.
He slowed the kiss, need clamoring through him with a fury that would not be denied. Her lips curved in a smile as he dragged them over hers, and he loved how she did that, as if they were sharing a secret. And in a way, he supposed they were. He was her secret lover. He still did not know her true identity, and it was likely that he never would.
Demon did not know why the notion should cause a pang in his heart, but it did.
One which he could do nothing about.
So he tamped it down and set about the task of stripping Mira bare. She was dressed in a white gown that set off her bold tresses and blue eyes in a way that had made him long to take her up in his arms and carry her away the moment he had first seen her earlier that evening. He took great care in removing the fine, embroidered gown now with her aid. Next came her stays, petticoat, and chemise. Her slippers and stockings, he saved for last, relishing the sight of her, all lush curves and beautiful femininity in a sea of pillows.
“Damn it, woman, you are perfect.” He punctuated his pronouncement with kisses to the skin he had revealed.
Starting with her ankles, then up her calves. Higher. To her knees, his mouth settling in the sweetly scented hollow there. She shivered beneath him, moving as if she could not contain her eagerness.
“I am far from perfect,” she told him on a breathless gasp as he found her thighs and urged them wider apart.
She allowed them to fall open, giving him the perfect view of her pink flesh, glistening from the pleasure he had already given her, the plump, pouting bud of her sex calling for his lips and tongue and teeth once more.
