Page 115 of A Story of Love

“What?” he asked, trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly. His lips curved wickedly, and he made no effort to remove his hand. He also showed no trace of the sleepiness of only a few seconds before. “Let me,” he said, his voice a low purr.

“Let you what?”

“Let me make you come. I know that you did not achieve release when I selfishly rutted you for my own pleasure.”

“I’ll l-let you do that if you tell me what you meant.”

He lifted an eyebrow, the erstwhile irksome gesture squeezing at her heart for some reason. “You mean about not having had another woman for twenty years?”

She nodded.

He glanced significantly down to where her hand still gripped his arm.

When she released him, he said, “I meant exactly that.” He slid a thick finger between her netherlips and circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with a skill and ease that said that hadn’t been something he’d given up for the past twenty years.

Frankly, it felt so good that she shamelessly didn’t care.

“Spread your legs a little for me, love.”

She narrowed her gaze at him.

“I promise I’ll keep talking. Just let me play.”

Lori spread her thighs wider. “Tell me why you’d do such a thing?” she asked in a voice that did not sound strained. No, not at all.

His lips flexed into a frown and his gaze went vague, but his finger never faltered in its mesmerizing rhythm. “I wasn’t any better behaved than Percy—I was just more fortunate.” He gave her a wry smile. “I made the vow after Percy got the first girl pregnant that I would not add another bastard to the family line.”

“And that means—”

“That means I have not had sexual intercourse for more than twenty years.”

Lori stared.

“Why do you look so flabbergasted?” His finger lightly nudged her in such a way that she tensed and pushed her hips at his hand.

“It seems not to fit with your rake status,” she admitted in a not entirely steady voice.

“Is this not rakish enough for you?” he asked, caressing a part of her so sensitive that she gasped and threw back her head.

He chuckled, his finger moving away from the too-sensitive spot and drifting lower, toward her opening.

Lori bit her lip when he lightly probed her.

“You are sore,” he said.

She nodded.

His finger continued its journey down. And down.

Lori tried to snap her thighs shut, but he rolled over, moving with startling speed, until he was once again between her legs. This time he pushed his knees wider, to keep her thigh spread.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as he resumed his stroking. “Fast!” she yelped as he prodded a part of her that she’d most certainly never seen and had only ever touched by accident.

He ignored her question and slowly, deliberately, lowered himself onto the bed until his elbows kept her legs apart. And then he lowered his mouth to her clitoris, although his finger still practiced its startling caresses.

Lori soon stopped caring about his distracting digit, her body racing toward bliss almost before she knew what was happening.

After she had climaxed not once, but twice, he rolled back to the side, his big hand lightly cupping her sex, the possessive gesture so arousing that she didn’t want to contemplate what that meant.