Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(96)

Delicious, Damien decided, and began to kiss her.





Chapter 27





Penelope shivered with sensations—the fire of Damien’s mouth on hers, his strong fingers on her thighs, the cool of his rings on her flesh, the friction of his lawn shirt and cashmere trousers against her bare body.

She rubbed herself a little on the cloth, liking the feel of it against her sensitive skin. Penelope also liked that, behind the cashmere, Damien was desperately hard. He nibbled Penelope’s lower lip, the scrape of his teeth contrasting the warmth of his shirt on her breasts.

Damien drew back, eyes dark as he skimmed his hands up her back, then down again to rest on her buttocks.

“Penelope, love, you make me want …” Damien trailed off into Nvengarian, muttering words in a rumbling voice.

Penelope moved her hands up his arms, firm under the fine lawn. “What is the bottle for?”

“For my pleasure,” Damien answered, his voice quiet. “And yours.”

He reached beside him and pulled off the glass stopper. The mellow scent of sandalwood laced with the rich scent of roses floated to her. Damien lifted the bottle between them and spilled a stream of oil onto his fingers.

Penelope’s eyes widened. “You’ll get it on your shirt.”

He slanted her a hot look. “It will be worth the sacrifice.”

Damien returned the bottle to the table then rubbed his palms together, his fingers growing sleek with the scented oil.

He placed his hands on Penelope’s waist and began to massage her, stroking fingers and thumbs over her sides. Penelope closed her eyes, letting his touch soothe her.

More oil splashed to his hands, and Damien moved to her breasts. He cupped both in his palms and lavished attention on the tips, circling his slick thumbs over her nipples. He leaned down and kissed Penelope’s neck, bared by the upward sweep of her coiffure.

He slid his hands to Penelope’s back, pulling her closer, and she snuggled against his warm shirt, never minding the streaks of oil she left on it.

Damien roved his hands over her body, massaging her shoulders, kneading her neck, skimming oil down her spine. Damien replenished the oil and stroked it over her buttocks, circling each with his palm, drawing his hands to the underside of her thighs.

Again he released her to dribble oil to his fingers, lifting the bottle so she’d see every droplet while he watched her with an unreadable gaze. “When you no longer like it,” he said, “you tell me to stop.”

Penelope nodded, but she could not fathom why she would want him to stop. Having Damien’s gentle hands warm her with oil was most pleasant, even if a bit naughty. But they were married, and a husband could smooth oil onto his wife without censure.

Damien slid his hands, fingers spread, to her buttocks again. He kneaded each one then leaned forward slightly and slid one oiled finger between them.

Penelope gasped aloud. Hot, dark sensation flooded her body and her skin rippled with fire. She opened her eyes wide, the pleasure nearly unbearable.

“Penelope,” Damien said.

Penelope dragged her gaze to his. He watched her, eyes intent. “You tell me,” he continued, “whether to stop or not.”

She swallowed. “No,” she whispered. “Do not stop.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.” Penelope barely heard the word.

“If I hurt you, you will tell me.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Penelope said softly.

Damien cupped her face with one hand, while the other stayed in place. Then he moved the hand from her face, drawing it, slick with oil, down her front to slide between her thighs. His fingers moved to her opening, teasing her, parting her.

Penelope cried out, letting her head drop back. She squeezed with her thighs, wanting somehow to hold him with her entire body, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Shh,” he soothed. He played his thumb across the sensitive place above her opening, circling it with his touch. The heat inside her grew unbearable.

When Damien kissed her, Penelope closed her lips around his tongue, suckling, wanting to and not knowing why.

Damien slid two oiled fingers between her thighs and inside her, his thumb pressing down. Sensations swirled Penelope into a white hot nothingness, where she existed only on a cushion of joy.

Wild sounds came from her mouth before she could stop them—she barely was aware she made them. She only knew the heat of Damien’s hands on her, his strong body keeping her from falling, the warmth of him letting her know all was well.

Damien didn’t stop, his hands points of crazed, raw pleasure. This was what he’d meant when he said his people were uncivilized— they let themselves be stripped of modesty and propriety to revel in this carnal, beautiful feeling.

“Damien,” Penelope sobbed.

“Yes, love.” His voice urged her on. “Let it have you.”

Penelope cried out again, rocking her body against his hands, feeling his teeth close on her neck. She bucked and ached, wanting every bit of the pleasure inside her. She’d never imagined feelings like this existed—she wondered how she’d lived her entire life without them.

Penelope had no idea what words she cried, nor how long she’d kissed him, nor that she’d bitten him until she saw the marks on his neck. When at last the savage feelings that spiraled high let her float back down again, she drew a long breath, finding her face wet with tears.