The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(39)

“I told you that you were always more to me than the others,” he said. “I did and still do feel something for you, but is it lasting? How can I know this? How can I promise you my interest won’t wane in a month, a year, or perhaps two? How can I trust myself to be all that you need?”

“All?” she said at last. “You think I would expect so very much?”

“Frankly, yes.” He scowled. “I cannot and will not be ruled by another, Diana.”

“But I have asked nothing of you.”

“But you would.”

“And you actually care what I would expect? You fear you would disappoint?”

“Yes!” He raked his damp hair with a groan. “Damn, but this exchange is excruciating!”

“Why must it be so difficult, Ludovic?” She kissed one corner of his mouth. “Do you not think I have some of the same concerns?” And then she kissed the other.

“I cannot wed you,” he said woodenly.

“Then it’s good I haven’t proposed,” she replied, now tasting and fully luxuriating in his soft lips.

“I told you already this is a dangerous game. I will give you no quarter.” He claimed her mouth, taking his time in a ruinous kiss.

He released her slowly, and it took another moment for her to regain both breath and senses. She cupped his sac, with a smile, lightly fondling him and then teasing his shaft. “What makes you think I will show you the least mercy?” His countenance darkened, and his manhood reared almost instantly, evidence of his lust roaring back to life.

At the heated look in his eyes, Diana’s heart hammered an erratic tattoo. This game had at first been just a challenge to her. She had come to DeVere girded with illicitly acquired knowledge and mentally prepared to do battle, to use these newfound skills and erotic arts to his own detriment, to turn his voluptuary nature against him. She had desired to see if she did, indeed, have the capacity to enslave him, to wreak the same devastation upon him as he had done to her four years earlier, but now she found herself the victim of her own stratagem. The further they had advanced on their erotic chessboard, the more her own yearnings consumed her.

Certainly DeVere the lover, knew the secrets of women and could please her beyond her wildest imaginings, but Diana’s feelings, her innermost cravings, represented much more than a culmination of unslaked desire, for she had finally seen DeVere the man—the bored and jaded soul who had tired of the meaningless, carnal pursuits, the one who now thirsted for something more but feared it was beyond his capacity, beyond his reach. But this was what she yearned for above all things, to touch this man in the hidden places, to quell his doubts and fears—as well as her own.

“I am told the most expert of women can bring a man to completion by milking his kam?? with her kilif alone.” She boldly guided his pulsing length into the hot, wet cleft between her thighs, the most delicious torment of all, which made them both closed their eyes on a groan. “And that if I master this,” she continued with her next breath, “you will belong to me and no other. I have practiced this skill, Efendi. Shall I show you how?”

***

“Hell yes.” He moaned. “But not in here.” They were both coated with oil and a light sheen of sweat. He retrieved the bar of soap and the rough mitt. “Let us finish, for if we’re going to finally do this properly and thoroughly, and I promise you we shall, I will have you in my own bed.”

The next few minutes were spent making brisk work of washing one another between fevered kisses and hot, soapy caresses. The touching and mutual cleansing did nothing to palliate the intensity of desire; on the contrary, it was another erotic encounter that served to fuel their burning lust until Diana thought she would soon combust. Without ado, DeVere threw down the soap and mitt and pulled her back into his arms, crushing her against his chest and devouring her equally hungry mouth.

To Diana’s chagrin, they didn’t even dress before she found herself swept into his arms and carried through the second and third chambers into his apartments beyond. She closed her eyes in mortification upon encountering DeVere’s valet, but a guttural curse from the viscount sent the man scrambling. “No one will dare disturb us unless summoned,” he promised, kicking the door closed with such force the windows rattled. He carried her across the room and dropped her without ceremony onto the midnight-blue satin counterpane.

He came over her at once, pulling her legs apart and kneeling between. “Playtime is over.” He growled. “I will have satisfaction now—as much I want for as long as I please—third heaven be damned!”

***

Positioned between her supple thighs, the tangy, musky scent of pure arousal hit Ludovic in a dizzying wave. His cock still throbbed with a vengeance, and her wet sheath beckoned to him, calling out to be filled, a cry he wasn’t about to ignore. Indeed, he vowed this time nothing would hold him back...but he would make her pay...and pay dearly.

He lifted one of her legs, positioning it on his shoulder, rubbing his cheek back and forth along the softness of her inner thigh before applying his lips and tongue. Slowly, he worked his way toward his goal, with nibbles and hot kisses, all the while savoring her anticipation, the quiver in her legs, the raspy puffs of breath. He paused at the juncture of pubis and thigh, tracing the delicate groove with his tongue, relishing her sultry sounds. She reached out to grip his hair, urging him toward her sex.