Page 37

And oh, God, what was he doing? Gwen cried out, hips jerking.

Michael instantly lifted his head, his eyes landing unerringly on hers, brows knitted together, watching her, assessing her.

Her teeth began to chatter and he untwined an arm and began lightly petting between her splayed thighs, his fingers curling and uncurling at the knuckles, as he petted the moist tuft of red hair.

“Walter never kissed you here?”

Tingles of pleasure rippled through her body, and she gasped, but his touch didn’t waver. Instead, he lowered his face to nestle against the tender inside of her thigh, the scrape of his jaw and the warm, steady drift of his breath against her most private place a counterpoint to the teasing glide of his fingers, layering sensations atop her already pulsing, eager quim.

“I’m at a loss to imagine how he resisted the temptation.” He brushed a kiss against her thigh. “Or why he would deny himself the pleasure of tasting all these sweet, tender parts.” He dropped his head between her thighs, and his chest expanded, shoulders broadening on a deep, full body breath as if he meant to fill himself with the scent of her. He exhaled a low, appreciative groan, and his shoulders drooped. “You’ll be delicious… honeyed and swollen for me, all tantalizing textures and soft, welcoming heat. I’ll be gentle with you, my pet, lick you until you come on my tongue.”

He drew back then, but only far enough to press a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh. She could feel the barely restrained eagerness in the hungry stroke of his tongue. These weren’t just wicked words said to arouse; he meant it… wanted… that. And despite the gentleness of his touch, his hands were shaking.

“Perhaps you didn’t want that from Walter?” He’d eased back a fraction, but his attention remained entirely upon her mons, glistening on display like some kind of wicked floral centerpiece. He dragged the tip of his nose slowly up the centre of her quim and the muscles of her back and buttocks writhed, her breath trembling from her chest. “But do you want it from me? Will you give me the pleasure, Gwen?”

There was nothing of reticence in the nod of her head; the arousal he’d awakened and coaxed to life was now churning inside her, a swollen, intolerable ache she would have done anything to relieve.

His expression softened, and he smiled—not the triumphant, grating smile he’d flashed earlier, but something tender and pleased, almost sweet.

“Thank you,” he said, clear and steady. For several heartbeats, he simply looked at her with quiet delight, every trace of cunning gone from his face. He lowered his head, pressing that sweetness into a soft, lingering kiss just above her curls, and an entirely different sensation bloomed in her chest. Something that had nothing at all to do with arousal.

He shifted to rest his cheek against her belly, remaining still until his breaths lost their ragged edge. Only when he had attained some private measure of control did he resume his downward descent, branding a hot trail of kisses along her flesh, then nosing through her springy curls to flick his tongue lightly against her swollen nub.

Abandoning both her silence and her grip on the sheets, Gwen buried her fingers in his hair with a guttural moan that made his breath catch—and then stutter into a quiet, pleased sound that vibrated through her core.

With slow, catlike licks, too gentle to quell the ache he’d caused, Michael lingered right where she needed him but without any of his previous urgency—remaining just there until her breaths sawed in and out of her lungs and little sparks of light fired off like dancing embers behind her lids. Gwen whimpered, his name woven into the soft, broken sound, and Michael answered with his kiss… pressing the flat, wet surface of his tongue against her pearl. He held there as if counting out each beat of her bounding pulse before drawing the bud into his mouth and suckling lightly. She scraped her nails against his scalp, canting into his wicked kiss but he only lightened the pressure, then drew back to blow a stream of humid air across her already glistening folds.

“Steady now. This sweet pussy has been neglected far too long. Let me have my way, just this once, hmm?” The words were deliciously indecent, cut like glass in his crisp aristocratic voice, and damn it all, but she loved them. Loved the effect they were having on her body, which had declared itself a free and sovereign nation, utterly independent from her mind with every shred of its allegiance to Michael and his wicked tongue.

“Tomorrow I’ll give you whatever you want the moment you want it,” Michael said. “But this first time, I want to savor every drop if you’ll let me. Take my time with you.”

When she did not answer… could not seem to form a single word with her lips, he bowed his head and pressed a chaste kiss, directly to her opening, then slowly slid his tongue inside, licking into her with hard, deliberate thrusts.

The muscles there clenched and fluttered, as if urging him deeper inside—greedy for more of that heady sensation… as though, if he could lick deep enough, he might tease free the knot, coiled at the very centre of her being and release her from this restless desire. He continued the onslaught, but the decadent sensation swelled and gathered without cresting, building until she thought she might die.

A vague sense of anxiety began to spread through her, insistent beneath the blur of sensations.

She would expire, caught in his glorious whirlwind of unfulfilled lust, splayed and wanton beyond her wildest imaginings. As was the case with everything Michael did, he’d secured every avenue of escape, tightening the snare of her desire so gradually and inexorably that she hadn’t recognised the depth of her desperation until she was well and truly caught.

She made a choked sound, a plea spilling from her lips. God she needed more. Needed… something. Michael lifted his head, his gaze finding hers at once. He blinked several times, and some of the wildness left his face, replaced by a dawning concern.

Gwen could only guess at what he saw in her eyes, likely a reflection of the same wildness that had filled his only moments before, but whatever he saw there changed something in him. His expression softened, the urgency draining from his features as though her comfort had become more important than his own desire.

“There, now. I have you. I’m sorry, Gwen. Just…is this better?”

Oh, and it was. She groaned out with relief as something long and blunt—his finger—eased into her pulsing channel. She rocked into the pressure, one hand rising to knead her breast.

“Christ, you’re breathtaking, Gwen.” A ragged breath left him. “Not only now. Not because of this.” His gaze searched hers. “You with ink on your fingers… woodchips in your curls…” His voice dropped. “I would do anything to please you.” His finger slid with no resistance, in and out, a slow rhythm that was nevertheless building something powerful within her. Crooning softly, he added a second finger when she whined. “I know it makes me the very devil of a man in your eyes, but I could not walk away. Couldn’t make myself give you up.”

He tucked his head between her legs once more and pressed his mouth to that aching bud at the very centre of her need. This time, his kiss, while no less gentle, worked her with intent. Hot, wet, glorious pressure that brought nonsense words tumbling from her lips as she begged him to give her more.

And heaven help her, but he obeyed, exerting himself for her, sucking and lapping wildly, saliva mixing with her own dew to drip around his finger, down the crease between her cheeks.

With a snarl, he hoisted her pelvis higher against the flexing muscles of his shoulders, spreading her cheeks and chasing the moisture with his tongue, sucking hard when she cried out, her muscles twisting at the unexpected rush of delight.

“Be still,” he growled against her pucker, and God above, but her body leapt to comply, her muscles falling pliant and supple, remaining so as she greedily accepted everything he would give her. Only once he’d thoroughly cleaned her with his tongue did he loosen his grip, allowing her to slide lower, so he could settle his mouth on her quim.

Lost to desire, Gwen splayed her legs wider, pressing her heels into his back and her clitoris into his open mouth without a single care for what she might look like. How she must sound. And the noises he made with his mouth were positively debauched.