No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(83)

Her head had fallen back at his ministrations, and she trembled from head to toe. Her breath came in short pants, making her chest rise and fall in a motion that made him groan. And then finally, as he nuzzled between those perfect breasts, she grabbed his cheeks and pulled his face back so she could look down at him.

“Your mouth,” she said. “I need it here.” She touched one nipple, her pale finger sliding over the swollen peak, and Neil almost lost control. With a growl, he took her breast in one hand and captured her nipple with his mouth. He slid the hard point inside, teasing it with his tongue and sucking lightly until she moaned and arched. He sucked harder then, his hand holding her heavy flesh while the fingers of his free hand teased and rubbed at the untended nipple.

She moaned again, her hands thrusting into his hair to hold him to her. “Yes, like that,” she said on a half sob. “Exactly like that.”

He allowed her to move his head to the other breast, and when he licked that nipple, she shuddered. She knew what she wanted now, and as he served her, she slid her hands out of her hair and to the ribbon on her skirt. With one flick, it was loose, and the fabric fell away.

Her coppery curls brushed against his chest, and he caught the faint scent of woman and arousal. He slid one hand over her belly, then her bottom, so plump and smooth, and then over a hip and between her legs. She was wet and warm, and she bucked when he brushed over her.

“Please,” she said.

He slid two fingers into that slick heat, licking her nipple in a motion that mimicked his hands. She tightened around his fingers, only releasing him when he drew out and swiped moisture over her hidden nub.

“Neil,” she moaned.

His fingers moved inside her again, gently and deeply, sliding in and out as his palm pressed against her center of pleasure. She ground against him, her hips moving in an instinctual rhythm. She was close to climax. One glance at her flushed face told him that much. He slid out of her, his fingers wet and the scent of her all around him. Without thinking, he lowered himself, placing his lips against her curls. God, her scent was like sweet wine. He was drunk on her arousal and the heat of her.

“Neil,” she said again, her voice filled with more urgency. He slid his mouth lower, parting her lips with his tongue, sliding over her bud and making her cry loudly, and then lapping at her wetness.

He loved the taste of her even more than her scent. He would die remembering her sweetness on his tongue. Her hips moved and her cries grew more frantic. His fingers parted her, exposing her small, swollen bud. Red and all but throbbing, he placed the tip of his tongue on it.

She all but screamed, and he pulled back. “You’ll wake the children.”

She nodded and bit her lip, her hands sliding into his hair and clutching it almost painfully.

“Shh,” he said, blowing air where he had exposed her. She gave a choked sob. “Not a sound,” he said, putting his mouth on her and using his lips to tease her until her hips moved and she pressed hard against him. And then he touched her lightly, so lightly, with his tongue. Small, tortured sounds came from her lips and her hold on his hair became almost painful, but she did not scream as he flicked and swirled that tight, little bud.

She moved with his tongue, her bottom sliding against his hands as she tried to move closer, unashamed of her need and her reaction. Finally, she stiffened, and he took the bud in his mouth and sucked deeply. She shattered then, her entire body convulsing against him. How he wanted to free his cock and slide inside her. He slid his fingers inside her instead and wished her body clenched his cock and not merely his fingers.

Finally, she was spent, and he moved back to guide her to the bed. He expected her to fall onto it. He expected to join her, kissing her lips again, then her breasts, perhaps turning her over and running his teeth over her buttocks before he pushed her up on her knees and used his mouth and his fingers from that angle.

Instead, she caught herself on her elbows and looked up at him. The slant of her eyes and the tilt of her mouth were coolly seductive, and he paused in the process of joining her on the bed.

“What does that look mean?” he asked warily.

“I’m not ready to sleep.”

“Good,” he said, putting one knee on the bed beside her. “Because I have other plans for you.”

She cocked her head. “Are you content to give me pleasure and take none for yourself?”

He stilled. “We discussed this already.”

“I know, and while I want you inside me, I also know the risks.”

Neil closed his eyes and swallowed. In his mind, he knew he must remain a virgin, but his body did not always agree. Her words appealed to his body, and he fought the war between desire and duty.

“But do you never take any pleasure? I’m not a complete innocent.” The blush on her cheeks belied her words. “I’ve been touched by men, and I know they never touch me without wanting something in return.”

Neil stiffened. “I may be a bastard, but I’m a gentleman enough not to expect anything from you.”

“But what if I want to give you something?” She reached for his waistband and tugged him closer. “What if I want to touch you and”—she loosened the fall of his trousers—“see you?”

“I wouldn’t argue,” he said, voice tight. The placket came loose and his cock sprang free and into her small, warm hand. Dear God but those long, lithe fingers felt good as they curled around him and slid up and then down.