How to Marry a Marble Marquis(34)

“As I mentioned before, it is a part of our anatomy specific to breeding. If you squeeze it like this . . .” He directed her second hand to cup the apple-sized knot, using her palm to pulse him rhythmically, a growl coming from his throat. “You are obscenely good at that, my dear.”

“And this is pleasurable?”

“Oh, very. Although, too much stimulation cuts the act of pleasure short. As I said, this is a breeding aid. The more you play with it, the more I want to spill myself all over those beautiful tits.”

Her cheeks heated, and she resumed stroking him, using her other hand to squeeze and palpate his knot in spite of his words. “This is what I should do if my suitor is a werewolf, is it not, my Lord?”

He bit back a groan as her thumb dragged over his cock tip, not easing the pressure with which she squeezed the ever-increasingly hot bulge of flesh at his base. Another little thrill of victory as he gritted his teeth, not deigning to answer.

“You mentioned there is a difference with a serpent? What would that difference be, Lord Stride?”

He had taken her hand in his own again, forcing her to abandon the pressure on his knot, tightening both sets of fingers around his cock and increasing the speed at which she stroked his shaft.

“There are two, Miss Eastwick. Two identical cocks, although what they look like is anyone’s guess. They might be smooth and pointed or textured with frills and spikes, but there are always two.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. She had not been expecting that, not at all. “How would one even manage that?!”

He was unable to hold in his groan then. He was leaking a clear fluid that coated her knuckles, and his turgid skin had become molten. “I suppose you’ll have to take up with a serpent and find out, Miss Eastwick. I can’t say that I have personal experience in that particular arena.”

He was pumping her hand down hard on his shaft by then, pressing into his knot. Freeing her other hand, Eleanor cupped his heavy ball sack, pulling and squeezing, gratified by the way he groaned again. “Miss Eastwick, you might be the innocent, but let it not be said that you don’t catch on marvelously quick. Just like that, little moth. I think we’ve turned you into a proper little wanton already.” Another groan as she squeezed his sac, his cock jerking against her palm.

His testicles, too, seemed to have a life of their own, moving in their sack of skin, pulling up tight until they resembled two plump aubergines flanking the thick club of his cock. She wanted to explore these again, she thought with another blush, allowing him to move her hands back to his cock. She was intrigued by the way they shifted and moved and wanted to explore and catalog every tiny reaction of his foreign anatomy. Alas, you won’t be here that long, and then you’re never going to see or think of his cock again.

“You already have me ready to spill, darling. How is that possible?” He was moving his hips now, raising them to meet her hands, both of her hands around his shaft now squeezed tight within his own, his eyes closed, and his head dropped back . . .

“Still, I do wonder how different an orc would be.”

His groan was strangled, his look mutinous, and she was torn between the triumph of putting that last thought in his head as he reached his completion and being fascinated with the act itself. His cock jerked against her palm, a rhythmic spasm as his creamy white seed flooded out, covering her hands. His knot was pulsing, she discovered, those fat aubergines tight to his body, his cock rearing and jerking like a dragon with every spurt. It seemed like he came an endless amount, hips jerking, his knot pulsing against her, cock letting loose a river of his spend.

When he was finished, he sagged the bench beside her. She did not know what compulsion caused her to lift her hand to her mouth and dart out her tongue like a cat with a saucer of cream, and the marquis moaned as if he were in pain at the sight.

“Miss Eastwick, if you want to taste, the next time you can drink it right from the source. I daresay seeing you with my cum smeared on your pretty lips would be the pinnacle of joy. Someone could knock me off the roof in my sleep, and I’d still die happy after that.”

She blushed at the mere thought, her heart a riot within her, while next to her, Silas Stride muttered a curse, looking them over. He seemed displeased with the way the night had ended, despite the physical satisfaction he might have achieved. She was meant to feel elated, triumphant, but instead . . . she felt oddly empty, her chest utterly devoid of butterflies for the first time she’d spent in his presence. He pushed his feet, pulling her along with him, holding her arms out before.

“I didn’t think it was going to be such a mess,” she admitted with a hollow laugh. There was a small water pump outside the door of the gazebo; he gave it several pumps to get the water flowing before thrusting her hands beneath it. She squealed at the icy cold, his big hands sloughing her fingers clean beneath the spray. When there was no evidence of what they had done left on her skin, he pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wrapping it around her icy cold, wet hands. Cleaned away, easily forgotten.

“It would have been messier if we had spent a bit more time on the buildup, but lesson learned, I suppose. If you permit me a small amount of time to recover, we can retire somewhere more comfortable, and I’ll pay back the favor, little moth.”

This was what she was meant to want, but she suddenly felt exhausted from this charade. Eleanor wasn’t sure how she was meant to keep it up for another week. “I do believe you’re right, my lord. I ought to retire a bit earlier this evening. I think I’m tired from the travel.”