A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(29)

"No," she answered softly. "I just didn't know...what you expected..."

"I would never ask anything that repulses you, Diana. The act of love should only bring pleasure. Don't take me in your mouth unless you want this. I kissed and tongued you because I love the taste and scent of you, because it excites the hell out of me to make you come with my mouth. Do this because you are hungry for me, because it excites you to take me to the brink of the abyss, or don't do it at all."

He was hard and hot and throbbing in her hand, and she could see the stark desire in his eyes. He wanted it so badly, yet he still did not demand. The knowledge was bolstering and incredibly arousing.

"Yes," she said. "I want you in my mouth. I want to taste your desire, to give you bliss."

***

She dipped her head, and her parted lips were gliding over him with more confidence, her tongue circling his crown, exploring the tiny slit and the bead of salty moisture with delicious, little darts. His breath hitched.

"Good. That's very good," he encouraged, gently cupping her nape, riffling her silky hair. "Open your mouth now, Diana, and take me in. Slowly. Breathe through your nose. Use your lips, your tongue. No teeth," he added brusquely.

She closed her eyes and opened to him, laving with her tongue as his length slid inch by inch into the wondrous wetness of her mouth. "Relax, Diana. Pull me deeper," he commanded, tamping down the urge to thrust. "Suck upon the release. Harder. Use that velvet tongue."

She answered with an effort that was unschooled but heavenly, a decadent delight. He lost himself in the euphoria of her hands and lips, the swirl of her tongue drawing him deep into her mouth, the sultry sucking sounds, the pulling of sweet friction on the release.

"God, yes," he groaned as he threaded his fingers through her hair. Her rhythm increased with the encouragement, her mouth becoming a voracious vortex of pleasure. Every fiber of his being fired with exquisite sensation. His vision blurred, his sac contracted. He was going to explode hard. But not this way. Not this time.

"Enough," he growled. His bollocks throbbed with agonizing pressure to release his essence. Still, he withdrew from her mouth.

"But you haven't..."

"No. I won't come in your mouth. Not the first time," he said, tamping down the powerful compulsion to do just that. Instead, he flipped her onto her stomach and straddled her thighs. He slid a hand under her belly to raise her hips, and she bucked under him with a strangled sound.

"No! Please don't!" she cried out with a hysterical sob and burrowed her face into the pillow.

Christ Jesus! He turned her over. "Diana, what the devil is wrong?"

Her eyes were wide. She trembled. "Weren't you going to..."

"Sodomize you?" he finished, aghast. "Did he..."

Her lower lip quivered. She nodded mutely.

"That bloody buggering bastard!" His vision blurred again, but this time in blind rage. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply, stroking, soothing. "It's all right, my love. I won't ever do anything to hurt you. Do you understand me, Diana?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, his fury adding a harsh and unfamiliar edge to his voice. "Just know that whatever we do together is about mutual pleasure. I will never do anything you don't wish me to do."

"I know that now," she said, twining her arms around his neck and kissing him back.

"Do you? Then let us be certain." He pulled her down on top of him.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting you in control," he answered, positioning her thighs on either side of his hips. "We shall start the races early, my dear, for you shall ride me."





Chapter Ten


It was dangerously past dawn when Diana crept stealthily back to her own bedchamber. She quietly opened the door, praying Polly hadn't already noticed her absence. Upon closing it behind her, she noted the bed curtains were still drawn just the way she had left them, and the fire was still banked. She breathed a sigh of relief that she was undiscovered. Yet, when Diana looked to the chair by her dressing table where she had discarded her night rail, it was gone.

Strange. She searched the room in vain. Mayhap she had left it on the bed? Diana drew back the heavy velvet and gasped.

Reggie lay fully clothed atop the counterpane, reclining back on a mountain of pillows. He raked her with an insolent gaze. "Looking for something, my dear? It must have been an eventful night indeed. I've waited for you for hours."

"Eventful? Hardly." She laughed, her mind scrambling for an alibi. "I was reading in the library and fell asleep in the chair."

"Without your night rail?" He held up the cotton gown with an evil smirk. "Even if I was stupid enough to believe you, your appearance betrays you. Look at yourself, Diana! You look like some Covent Garden whore."

She stole a glance to the mirror over the mantel and knew that it was true. Her lips were swollen, her hair mussed beyond redemption, and most telling of all was the faint purple shadow of a love bite on her neck. She realized she had no defense, but neither did he have the right to accuse her. Her initial shock turned to fury. "Does it really matter to you, Reggie where I spent my night?" she hissed. "As I certainly know where you have been spending yours."