Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(22)

A soft cry fell from her lips.

Another stroke. He paused and swirled when he reached that spot, playing.

It was too much. She moaned—no, she groaned, her understanding of him growing.

And still his breath tortured her, hitting her just above his finger, betraying where he would move, where he would stroke, where he would play, where he would lave …

Great gods! She almost jerked upright on the bed.

It was not his finger. It was his tongue. He was devouring her, tasting her.

She had not understood what he meant.

Aahh.

He hit that spot again and her whole body lifted from the bed.

“Shhh. Stay still. You don’t want me to stop, do you?” Her flesh muffled his words.

Did she? Did she want him to stop? The sensations were almost too intense to be borne—and yet … She held still.

He lapped her again. Now that she understood, she could tell exactly what was happening.

And then he nipped her—right on that magical spot.

Shock shot through her entire body, every muscle strained.

And then his soothing tongue.

Tightening, he sucked hard, engulfing that special spot, and then just when she could take no more, he’d pull back, letting her breathe.

And then again.

It was good he couldn’t see her. Her eyes were probably rolling back in her head.

She’d never even imagined.

That spot again.

She was panting, her whole being caught in a few inches of flesh.

His tongue circled, darted. She could feel his whole mouth now sucking at her, devouring her.

He was breathing fast, too, small groans and cries leaking out between licks.

It sounded like he was feasting, feasting on her.

He really did like the taste of her.

A moment to breathe, to think—and then his hands were on her upper thighs, pushing them wider. His fingers reached out to spread the folds of her flesh. His tongue circled and pushed to enter. To enter that place no one had ever touched.

It was not as intense as that other spot, but still quite wonderful.

And just as clear thought began, it ended as he used his fingers on that spot, catching it between finger and thumb, while still his tongue plunged in—out—in—out.

Her whole body shook with the effort not to move; tears formed in her eyes.

His finger rubbed again. His tongue delved deeper.

His breath filled her.

Something was happening. Her body grew tight and tighter.

She wanted—damn, she didn’t know what.

But something. Something had to happen.

She could not bear it.

She almost asked him to stop.

She was going to break—break apart and never be whole again.

And then she couldn’t think. She could only feel.

And then she did break—her whole world came apart in an explosion of color and darkness.

Her body spasmed from the bed. She could not hold it; he could not hold it.

A single rush—and then another.

And then she was reborn, her whole body arching out and then sinking into the mattress.

And she was whole again. Whole as she had never been before.



God, what a woman! He’d never felt anything like the climax of pleasure that swept through her, through him. It was lucky he had not come again. He felt almost as if he had—although parts of his body were quite sure he had not.

He lifted himself on his elbows, admiring his favorite spot on the female body—oh, hell, he didn’t have a favorite spot; he loved them all. But this, pink and glistening, swollen from his mouth, was definitely one of the best.

Licking his lips, he pushed back farther and then carefully reached out and brought her legs together, pulling them straight. She moved as if boneless, only the slightest purr escaping her lips.

He rolled to his back and stared up at the canopy, observed the frolicking nymphs and satyrs. Not one of them looked as happy, as contented, as he felt.

He turned his head and looked at her, her lower faced softened by the candlelight. She looked pretty pleased too.

It was a good moment to be alive.

He rested for a minute and then crawled up the bed to place his head beside hers on the pillow.

She turned toward him, and he was more tempted than ever to push the blindfold down, to stare into her eyes, to know her, to … Why was he thinking these thoughts? Tonight was about sex and pleasure, only sex and pleasure.

But, somehow it had become more.

He could not deny that. There was something about her that called to him, that made him … Bollocks. He refused to have these thoughts.

He rolled to his side, placed his hand upon her breast.

She jerked, startled, but then moved closer, cuddled against him.

He’d always hated cuddling, spooning—all the things women wanted after sex. After sex was about moving on—or sleeping—or having more sex. It was not about hugs.

He leaned forward and kissed her lips lightly.

It was their first kiss—at least on the lips.

He smiled to himself and kissed her again.

“That’s nice,” she sighed.

“Only nice?”

“The kiss is nice—the rest I don’t even have words for.”

That earned another kiss.

“I taste myself. It is quite strange. I would not know the flavor if you had not made me taste before. I feel like I should be … be shocked. And yet I am not.”