Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(49)

He poured all his emotions into the kiss, telling her what he could never say in words. He wanted her. He was drowning in an endless kiss full of desire. His lips captured hers, his tongue invaded her mouth, claimed it, conquered it. She returned his ardor, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth, and they dueled back and forth until they were both shaking with desire.

Finally he broke the kiss and trailed his lips down her slender neck, nibbling at the point where her pulse pounded in her delicate throat. Then he lowered his head further and kissed her nipple, laving her areola as she whimpered. Tormenting her no further, he sucked hungrily upon her, tugging her nipple between his lips. She cried out with pleasure, bucking beside him.

It was his dream, so it was hardly surprising that he imagined her so eager for his loving.

Panting, he quickly captured her other breast with his mouth and did the same. She was squirming next to him, frantic with passion as he devoured her breasts with his fiery, demanding kisses. But it wasn’t enough; he wanted to taste her, to make her explode with pleasure.

Conscious of his wound, he urged, “Sit up, my siren,” longing in every word. “Straddle me and move up so your hands are on the headboard.” She complied. In this dream she was his to command.

As he lay back on the pillows, she was positioned just above his face, up on her knees, hands on the bunk’s headboard. Alex noted the tension in her hands, her knuckles almost white as she held on tightly, no comprehension of the dizzy heights he was about to take her to. He smiled softly as she gazed into his eyes with apprehension and eagerness.

That was what was so wonderful about dreams. You could have the same dream over and over. He could pretend to take her virginity again and again and again.

She’d always be an innocent to him.

Her eyes gave permission, but he hesitated, drawing out his anticipation as long as he could. Finally, when her whole body was trembling, he put his mouth to her and gently stroked her slick wet folds with his tongue.

She cried out at his first touch, hands gripping more tightly on the headboard. “Oh my God,” she moaned. She lowered her head to watch him, the blue of her eyes darkened to almost black, her desire evident in their heated depths.

He drew back and kissed her milky thigh. She closed her eyes, waiting, enticed.

Her eyes sensuously opened and she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Loving you, my fair angel.”

Eyes flashing with desire she moaned. “Then do it, take me. I can’t stand much more.”

“All good things come to those who wait.”

He nestled down in the pillows between her thighs; the sight of her womanhood directly above him had his blood pounding in his ears. He touched her again with his tongue. She writhed above him. He savored the taste of her, imprinting it on his brain. She tasted sweeter than honey. He licked deeply with his tongue, penetrating her, drinking her, and she became his siren utterly, her head thrown back in mindless thrall. She squirmed and bucked, trying to move away, and then the next minute writhing to move closer to the magic his tongue created. He held her hips still, forcing her to accept his pleasure; finally he felt her hips begin to move, picking up the rhythm of his tongue’s relentless strokes.

—

Hestia trembled at his blatant intimacy. She was incapable of thinking as she watched his head move between her spread thighs, adoring the wanton way it made her feel. She should stop him. She wasn’t sure this was good for his injury or that he understood this was not a dream.

The slow, deliberate caress of his tongue against her moist, sensitive flesh forced all thought of making him stop from her mind. The wet suction of his mouth…The languid strokes had her head spinning.

His lips burned hot against her and she gripped the headboard harder; her hips moved freely, matching every stroke of his talented tongue. At the next heated lick, reason fled. His consummate skill made her dizzy. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to create an exquisite pressure that left her panting for more. His tongue played over her, rolling against the taut, erectile nub of her sex.

“Come apart for me, darling.” He kissed her again, his lips suckling her swollen, plump flesh. “I want to hear you cry out with pleasure.”

She didn’t understand the sensations she felt. The stabbing pleasure was almost too much to bear. The molten heat of his mouth had her on fire. She exploded an instant later, lightning flashing, and she soared in the clouds, flying high above her body, his scorching mouth forcing jolt after tormenting jolt from her.

Her body quaked with pulsating release, and she’d never experienced anything more beautiful.

Panting softly, Hestia eased her grip on the headboard. She looked down at her Adonis. His eyes glittered with fierce possessiveness, the wetness of his mouth curled in a gratified smile. He brushed one last kiss against her quivering flesh, and then moved from between her thighs.

—

The taste of her was on his lips. Now having tasted her, his dream tonight became primal, tonight she’d become his.

During the day he missed her smiling face, her gaiety, and wit. But most of all he ached for her, his body hard and fit to burst, his physical need for release a constant ache in his loins, joining the stabbing pain from his knife wound.

He relished the dark, for in the night Hestia visited his dreams, and her presence seemed so real, so potent, he was determined to see this dream through to the end.