Page 44 of The Boxer’s Belle

“Can I taste you?” he whispered against her lips.

“What?”

Miles pulled back, gaze catching hers before dipping to her mound—still covered by linen—and back to hers. “Please. A hundred times I’ve regretted that I didn’t that night. A thousand. A thousand thousand.”

“I— That is done?”

“Probably not in your circles, Lady Arabella.” His cheeky dimple appeared between her fingers. His hand slid higher still, shifting to her inner thigh and continuing its journey impossibly slowly. “You’ve found yourself a coarse, working-class man, darling. We get our hands dirty—hands and anything else the chore requires.”

“I am not a chore, Miles Weston,” she retorted primly, even as she shifted her hips to encourage his hand.

“You’re a little bit of a chore. No reason to fret though, I like hard work.”

Bella flicked his nose in punishment.

“Please, Bella.” Miles punctuated the request by finally reaching the apex of her thighs and sliding his fingers along her damp flesh.

A part of her wanted to know if he would truly beg, but it was overshadowed by curiosity. She always did like to know things she wasn’t supposed to.

She nodded.

“Yes,” he hissed and twisted to lie back against the pillow. Before she had a moment to catch her bearings, he had hauled her by the thighs up to his chest.

“Miles!”

He froze, dimple deepening. “Say it again.”

“You cannot simply drag me about like a sack of potatoes… Miles.”

“You like it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You like that I can put you where I want you—that I’m not like all those polite little lords. All those years, watching me at the heavy bag, hauling hay and grain… I saw your gaze wandering while I dug that field—don’t try to deny it. All this strength and I just use it to mind you.”

Her stomach swooped at the truth of his words. But Bella was constitutionally incapable of agreeing with him when he was at his most cocky.

“Are you going to get on with it, then?”

Miles dipped his head in a single nod. “Aye.”

He gathered the folds of her chemise with one hand as he shifted her weight over a shoulder with the other.

“Oomph.” Bella pitched forward, catching herself with one hand on the armrest and the other clutching his hair.

As soon as she regained her balance, she loosened her fingers, moving the other hand to brace against the armrest as well.

Miles caught her hand and set it back atop the damp strands of his hair.

Bella raised a brow at the man who offered an impish grin. “Don’t hold back,” he murmured before diving beneath her skirts.

She’d had no notion of what to expect, but even if she had, Bella never could have anticipated the slick slide of his tongue along her center. “Miles!”

The answering smile was pressed against her folds before his lips closed around the little bundle of pleasure above her opening. Bella’s fist tightened involuntarily around his locks, earning a groan.

Breathy moans ripped from her chest with each swipe of his tongue up and around her bud—nearly achieving perfection on instinct alone.

“Other way,” she demanded with a jerk of her hand. Miles complied immediately, changing the direction of his rotation even as his fingers dug into the flesh of her waist.