How to Marry a Marble Marquis(23)
Her dress came off ludicrously easy in his hands, her stays, chemise, and petticoat all quickly following. He left on her stockings, for they were tied with satin garters in a shade of bright yellow, like lemons. It seemed such a soft, personal affectation, a nod to her actual style and preference, and he realized for the first time that her unattractive wardrobe was likely not one of her choosing. Those sunny yellow ribbons were, though, and so those he left in place.
His heart tripped again at the sight of her in his giant bed – smaller and more vulnerable than he’d expected, lip caught between her teeth, her eyes wide and expected. Soft, rounded hips, her legs pressed together to shield the thatch of dark hair between them. Her breasts were full and heavy, each capped in fawn-colored nipples that he already knew were incredibly sensitive to the stroke of his tongue. He wasn’t sure he had ever had a naked woman in his bed before, not one that he addressed himself in such a way, at least, not that he could remember. Naked women were common enough, but after enough drink, it was impossible to tell who had stripped who, and he was just as likely to simply raise their skirts than remove their many layers.
She shivered when he lifted her, kneeling on the bed as he raised it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the inside of her ankle. Silas had no idea what sort of lord she would marry, he considered as he kissed her legs, her soft kitten mewls reverberating down his stiffened cock. He didn’t know if her future husband would be sadistic or cruel, if he would have strange desires that she could not fulfill, or if he would take simple pleasure in her body the way Silas himself did, and he didn’t wish to dwell on contemplations of it. Tonight she would be his, and that would be enough.
She was hardly breathing as he kissed the crease of her inner thigh, a breath away from her heavenly center, and he could wait no longer. He had never been very patient, one of the many virtues he lacked, and this was a feast he had long hungered for. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut up until that point, but as he pushed her legs open, revealing the silky interior of the glistening petals of her sex to him, her eyes popped open, wide and panicked.
Silas kept his gaze on her as he stroked her with his tongue for the first time — a long, slow lick from her slick core to the hooded little bundle of nerves at the top of her folds — and her reaction was one he was glad he had not missed. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head tilting back and her mouth dropping open, an expression of pure pleasure completely replacing the look of sorrow she had worn just a short while earlier.
Back and forth, he stroked her with his tongue, and on the third pass, he closed his lips around that little bud, giving it a soft suckle. Eleanor’s back arched, remaining rigid as he began the cycle over again, and when he sucked once more, he thought she might levitate off the bed. When she shifted, as if she sought to move out from under him, Silas laid his palm against her stomach, stilling her movement. “The flower needs only to lie back and enjoy being fed upon, Miss Eastwick. As it is, the butterfly is certainly enjoying himself. This is the sweetest nectar he can remember tasting. Unless, of course, she is displeased with the performance thus far and wishes to stop?” No sound, but a shake of her head in the negative. “Good girl. Then lie back and let me enjoy tasting this sweet pussy flower.”
He began to lick her in earnest then, focusing on her soft gasps and hitching breaths, learning which movements elicited the best reaction from her and then repeating them until her hands were wrapped around his horns. A glance up between their bodies showed him how lost to the pleasure she was — eyes closed, mouth open, her hips canting against his mouth almost unconsciously. He wanted her to drench him in her sweet nectar, lubricating the way for his cock, and from the way she was bucking against him, riding his tongue, she would do so soon.
He would need to do something with his claws. Unlike some of his brethren, Silas was not a fan of keeping them hooked and sharp. They caught on everything, and he had inadvertently nicked himself on the rare occasion when they were not tended to weekly. He shuddered to think what he might do to a human’s more sensitive, parchment-like skin. His claws were trimmed and filed weekly by one of his manservants, as short as he could make them, but still hideously long and brutal looking when compared to hers. He wanted to slip a finger into her, wanted to stroke her inner walls and feel her clench from within, but he would need to ensure he had taken the proper steps first. Instead, he redoubled the effort of his tongue, licking and sucking until her chalice overflowed and his face glistened.
When her control broke, at last, it was a glorious thing to behold. Her hands tightened around his horns, dragging him closer, nails scoring his scalp. Her back arched, thighs trembling around him as she shook, a high-pitched wheeze issuing from her throat. She was going to feel amazing around his cock. He could already tell. He wanted to feel her clench, squeezing his thick shaft in her honeyed confines, wanted to make her gasp and wheeze again and again until he emptied, a river of milk cutting through the honey, his knot stoppering her, trapping their essences together.
“I concede to your point, Lord Stride. Your knowledge of butterflies and flowers is without equal, I’m certain. It is a wonder the Royal gardens have not put you on a permanent retainer to oversee the health of their fields. But you robbed me of my modesty, my lord, and you’re still entirely overdressed.” Her voice was breathy, and she was panting as she tugged on the velveteen collar of his jacket.
“I’m not actually certain I can get out of this alone,” he mused, pulling himself to his knees and glancing over his shoulder, attempting to eye the button placket fastened around his wings.