Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(73)

He exhaled a calming breath, adjusted the angle of the growing bulge in the front of his trousers, and tried to sound causal. “Did I ever tell you the story of the fox spirit that climbed over the rooftops at night to sneak inside a young scholar’s bedroom window?”

“No,” she said, a slow smile spreading over her face. “Tell me.”

He fumbled around in the dark and found a chair to wedge under the door handle. “She came to his room every night for a month and aroused him to three orgasms.”

“Every night?”

“She was a remarkable fox.”

“I’ll say. He must have been a little remarkable himself.”

“He wasn’t one to brag, but he was bigger than the average scholar and had spent many years studying books about pleasuring women.” He began stripping off his suit jacket and necktie. “He gave her two orgasms for each one of his.”

“I’ll bet she was happily surprised about that,” she murmured with a smile. Her hands glided over the tops of her thighs and rolled her stockings a little lower. “What kind of books taught him these tricks?”

“You’d be surprised what you can find in the back room of your average bookstore in Imperial China. The scholar had a boss who collected . . . interesting drawings that he thought no one knew about”—Astrid snorted a soft laugh—“so the scholar got an early education in rare books when he went into town to pick up the boss’s special-order packages.” Bo unbuttoned his shirt. How much time did they safely have? Half an hour?

“He probably should have taken the fox spirit with him on these trips,” she said. “They might have realized earlier how much time they could have spent on orgasms all those years.”

“The fox spirit was much too young.”

“I seriously doubt that,” she said as one hand lazily skimmed over her breast. Down, and then up. “Why did the fox spirit only come to his window for one month?”

“Because the scholar’s father was superstitious of supernatural creatures. He caught her sneaking in one night and was afraid she was siphoning his son’s vitality, so he nailed the window shut.”

“The bastard.” Her knees slowly opened. The hand that was on her breast dipped down between her legs, shielding his view. Teasing his imagination as it made slow movements. “I hope that didn’t stop them.”

“Not a chance. They had already fallen in love. So the scholar climbed up the chimney and met the fox on the roof,” he said, stopping in front of her. “Spread your legs a little wider and let me see what you’re doing,” he murmured, enjoying the thrill that careened through his chest when she complied without hesitation—and the way that thrill echoed in the tightening of his balls and the jumping of his cock.

“What happened on the roof?” Astrid asked in a breathy voice as her fingers tentatively dipped lower. She slipped a finger inside herself and he nearly lost his mind.

“He was covered in soot, so she didn’t recognize him at first, but he knew a way to prove his identity to her.” He stopped in front of her and unbuttoned his fly. His cock sprang free. “And she instantly knew it was him.”

“Oh,” Astrid said, shyness and daring warring on her face. The daring won out. She leaned forward and ran her tongue up the ridge of his cock, root to tip, forcing a contented sigh out of him before she drew back again. “Quite right,” Astrid murmured. “I’d recognize that anywhere.”

He cupped the crown of her head and urged her forward. “Again,” he murmured. “And this time, take it inside your mouth. And keep your hand between your legs.”

Gripping the open fly of his pants as an anchor, she set to the task without hesitation. He watched her gazing up at him, her indrawn cheeks, and then closed his eyes as his head lolled back in bliss. He could only stand it for a moment, and then it was too much. “Any more and this will be over in thirty seconds,” he said. “Lean back against the window.”

Her eyelids were heavy with lust. “What happened to the scholar and the fox?”

“It wasn’t easy for them, because not only did they have to worry about his father catching them, the entire town was superstitious and would watch the rooftops, ready to shoot any fox spirits with arrows. So every night she came to him, she risked her life.”

He dropped to his knees, cock glistening as it bobbed in front of him. Then he wrapped his hands around the underside of her thighs and scooted her closer. “Open for me,” he said. Beneath the nest of blond curls, he could see the flesh of her sex, plump and slick, unfurling like the petals of an exotic orchid. He trailed kisses on the insides of her thighs, one on each side, back and forth, until he got to the tender crease where her leg met her torso and licked there.

“Have you missed me?” he said, looking up at her.

“Every minute,” she whispered.

“I missed you, too. Let me show you how much.” He breathed in her scent, inhaling deeply, and swept his flattened tongue against her hooded clitoris. He went slow at first, but her clean, salty taste and soft moans made him harder. He licked and suckled. Kissed and kneaded. Flicked and rubbed. And as her stomach tightened, he dropped a hand to his cock and gave himself a few strokes, just to pacify it.

But when he felt her feet digging into his shoulders and her hips began pushing upward—and when her soft moans increased in volume—he settled his forearm over her stomach to give her something to buck against. “No . . . screaming,” he instructed her between licks, and then paused. “Or I’ll stop right now.”