A Breach of Promise (The Rules of Engagement #1)(24)

“Only a small amount now to ease the way, love. Much more when I come.”

“Come?”

“Spend. Spill. Ejaculate.”

Her lips formed a silent “O”. “Do you wish me to kiss you there now, Marcus?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes, love. I do. Very much.”

She drew her lips softly over the top of the satiny head and traced the rim with her bottom lip. His fingers curled in her hair. He trembled. Experimentally, she licked the saltiness of him from her lips. She flicked a gaze back to his face to find him watching her, his expression guarded but sharpened with want.

“Does that repulse you, Lydia? You need go no further if it does.” Deep indigo eyes searched her face.

“No,” she said. “It’s just strange. I didn’t know what to expect. Do you like it?” She kissed him again, dragging her lips across the silky-smooth crown.

“God, yes.” His answer was deep and hoarse. “Grasp me lower. Use your tongue.” He released her hair to slide her hand down to the root of his staff. She trailed with her tongue, with tentative licks tracing his length along the purple vein back to the crown. She circled the head, licking, probing the slit, her movements growing more confident at his sounds of pleasure, the caress of his hands in her hair and along her cheek. A slight smile curved his mouth now, but no sign of the sweet agony, of the frenzy of want he had invoked in her. She had bucked and trembled with need, had pled for release. She wondered what it would take to inspire the same desperate need in him. Emboldened Lydia parted her lips and drew him slowly into her mouth.



Marcus held himself rigid under her ministrations, his self-control on thin threads as she delicately lapped and rasped at his cock. While he never would have dreamt she’d be so bold, the sensations she inspired teased and frustrated more than appeasing his need. Every tender stroke of her pink tongue tempted him to prod her mouth. His entire body was coiled taut while she unknowingly tortured him, yet filling her mouth with his staff was something he could never force upon her. Subconsciously, he shut his eyes, his fingers stretched to cup her head.

Open your mouth. Please take me. Give me blessed release.

Hot, wet heat answered him, engulfing the head of his cock, her tongue caressing as she slowly descended, inching down his shaft, racking his body with a shudder and sending sparks of light behind his closed lids.

His fingers splayed across her nape, guiding her gently, encouraging her deeper, steadying her erratic efforts into a smooth rhythm. Marcus threw back his head and lost himself in the carnal pleasure of her mouth.



His flesh was smooth, hot and heavy, his thick length filling her mouth. At first she was frightened and thought she might gag but his trembling body spoke to her, encouraging her efforts, his gentle hands and quiet words soothed and relaxed her.

“Yes, love,” his voice was a hoarse rasp. “Relax. Breathe deeply. Take me in. Use your mouth the way you used your hand.”

Lydia remembered how he had suckled her breasts and how the drag and pull on her nipples had send ripples of rapture to her womb. Taking him deeper, she tightened her lips around him and drew harder on her ascent, pulling with her mouth until nearly releasing, swirling her tongue around his crown and then taking him in again.

He responded with a guttural sound, his reaction filling her with dark delight. His knees buckling, he braced one arm on the door. She increased the pressure and pace. He groaned. His hips jerked. His head was back, his lashes shadowing his cheeks, his chest heaved. Lydia’s belly tightened and liquid heat pooled between her thighs at the evidence of his passion. She clasped his buttocks, pulling him in to her, relaxing her throat, drawing him in, dragging him out, working her mouth and tongue, encouraging his shallow thrust. Concentrating on nothing more than giving him pleasure.



Marcus’ mind was a dark and dizzy void, his body a conflagration of sensation. His legs weakened, he leaned heavily against the door. He raised his lids to half-mast, slanting a gaze down at this incredible woman, this wickedly wanton virgin who threatened to possess his soul. Her eyes closed, her lush lips enveloping him. His ragged breaths mingled with the sultry sucking sounds of her mouth. God, how he could lose himself forever in that wet, velvet heat.

Every muscle tautly coiled, his sac grew heavy and tight, his breath seized. He was going to explode. But God help him, not now—not in her mouth. Clenching his jaw, fighting for every ounce of control, he reached for Lydia, palming her head, slowly withdrawing. She looked up at him, lips swollen, eyes drifting to his still-turgid shaft. Her face fell.

Marcus endeavored to explain. “A gentleman doesn’t spend in a lady’s mouth…not uninvited anyway.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But you have not…released.”

He pressed his back to the door and fisted himself, hissing through his teeth. “May we continue this conversation later?”



She watched in fascination the hard jerking motion of his hand as he vigorously pumped, the contortion of his face, the seized breath, the harsh spasms of his body that followed in concert with spurts of milky fluid from his member. The low groan as he sank back against the panel. The long moments before his breathing and the throbbing pulse in his neck regulated. He gazed at her through hooded lids and she felt as deflated as his erection.

“You finished alone,” she said.