The Lady Always Wins(12)

His mouth dried at the image that conjured up. Ginny, spread before him, begging for his touch…

“That would be clever of me,” he managed to get out.

“It would be sneaky and underhanded,” she said. “No, Simon, I’m sure of it now. You have only one chance to rob me of my plan to foil your dastardly revenge.” Her skin was pink and flushed, and her breath had grown quick.

“Quite right,” he said. “I’ll have to bring you unending pleasure. Alas.” He set his hand to his forehead for melodramatic emphasis. “It is the only way.”

“I suppose I must gird myself to suffer through an orgasm for the sake of revenge.”

“Faugh.” Simon traced a sinuous line down her belly. “Who said you’d have only the one?”

Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other in brilliant understanding. The moment stretched.

“Well,” she said, “aren’t you going to start...foiling my foiling of your revenge?”

“No,” he said. “I cannot foil your foiling until you have attempted to foil in the first place. First, you make me beg. Then, and only then, does it make sense for me to make you scream and forget your own name.”

Her eyes grew dark at those words.

“Here’s the thing.” Simon set his hand just below her breast, and leaned in to whisper into her ear. “I’m still wearing all my clothing.”

“Heavens. How remiss of me.”

She set her hands on his wrists and guided him until the back of his legs met the edge of the divan. Her fingers whispered along his cheeks, fluttering down his neck, to touch his lapels.

Simon made a low noise in his throat and reached for her, but she simply shook her head and slowly, slowly stripped his coat off him, pulling his hands far away. Her br**sts danced inches away from him—full, tantalizing globes, begging for his touch. It was a Herculean task to keep his hands at his sides, to stay still as she reached down and undid his waistcoat. As she did, her fingers slid across his abdomen—lower, lower, in gentle little caresses. His stomach muscles tensed under her touch, and his member strained against his trousers.

“Lovely,” he said, shutting his eyes. “I feel my revenge foiling already.”

“Foiling is such a limp word.” Her fingers brushed the seam of his trousers. “It makes me think of soft things that collapse. You don’t feel foiled at all.”

“No?” She was undoing his trouser buttons, one by one. He didn’t dare open his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could take in the view. But the lack of sight only heightened his other senses—her light touch against his smallclothes, the brush of fabric as she pulled those down, and then cool air against the head of his cock. “I feel foiled. I feel as if I stand on the very brink of it.”

He kicked off his shoes as he spoke. Ever so slowly, she pushed on his shoulders until he lowered himself onto the divan directly behind him.

“Well.” She arranged herself to sit on the floor in front of him. “I’ll have to see if I can hurry it on.” He wasn’t sure what she had in mind. But he shivered at the brush of her hair against his thighs. He gasped when her breath warmed the head of his penis. Then her mouth closed around him, hot and perfect, and he could not think at all. Her tongue stroked the underside of his erection, and the lust that he’d been holding back could no longer be denied. He reached out to take hold of her shoulders.

“God,” he said. “Ginny, for the love of God.”

She looked up. “What?”

“Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She was damned good with her mouth, her tongue. Every stroke sent pleasure spearing through him. He had no mind, no nothing, just the sensation of her—her mouth on him, the curves of her shoulders under his hands, the spill of her hair tickling his thighs, and most of all, the moist heat enveloping his cock.

She lifted her head for a moment. “You taste lovely.”

“Nnng,” he managed, before she dipped down and took him again.

“What was that?” came her indistinct murmur.

“Nnng,” he repeated, this time more loudly.

“Come now.” He could feel her lips form the words around the head of his member, whispering them like a kiss. “Surely you can say more than that. I can enunciate, and”—he could scarcely understand her, speaking around him—“my lips are otherwise occupied.”

He gave out a half laugh, half groan. “Talking with your mouth full,” he managed. “In this case, it’s excellent manners. Ah, damn, Ginny. So bloody good. Why did we never do this before?”

She raised her head. “Because I was too good to volunteer, and you were too dumb to ask.”

That about summed everything up. Her hair hung around her shoulders, utterly disheveled. Her mouth was wet and bruised. She was so beautiful, so completely wicked. She leaned down to take him in her mouth again. He stopped her, setting his hand on her chin.

“Ginny,” he said.

“Mmm?” Her eyes were wide, her pupils dark with lust.

“Enough of this talk of revenge and foiling. I just… Can I please make love to you?”

She shifted back an inch. “Simon.”

“I know what I said and I know what I did, but it’s always been you, Ginny.” He loosened his shirt, the only garment she’d left to him. “I want to make love to you. No more pretenses.”