Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(31)

The scattering of hair was rough beneath her mouth. She nipped a few between her teeth and pulled.

He groaned, that groan she loved.

Her sex clenched, tight between her legs.

She pulled again.

He groaned again.

She moved on, using her lips to find her way. They climbed up the gentle, hard curve of his chest, targeting in on—aah, there it was. Her mouth found its way about his small, pebbled nipple. She sucked hard. He gasped. Her tongue swept across the nub, enjoying, savoring.

Hips moved beneath her, squirmed, pushed upward.

She ignored them, ignored her own growing, aching want.

Her hand reached out, stroked across his chest until she found his other nipple. She plucked at it. His response was all she could desire, a growl deep in his chest, the sound of patience running out.

Smiling to herself, she nipped at the peak still in her mouth, enjoying her power, enjoying the sensation of knowing she pleased him.

And then she moved lower, abandoning one set of toys, seeking another.

His stomach moved beneath her touch, and as her hand skimmed along beside her face, she left a straight line of kisses to his navel. Pausing there, she played, imitating the things he had done to far more intimate parts of her body.

And then down again, following the thin trail of hair until it grew thicker.

He smelled of musk—musk and man.

It was like drinking the wine he’d referred to earlier. The first taste might give pause, but the addiction grew quickly. She became almost drunk on the scent, light-headed and woozy.

She buried her face in the curls, inhaled and then expelled the breath so that it swept across his flesh. His erection jerked. She could feel it just beyond her lips.

She almost reached for it, but remembering how he’d teased her, she worked lower, moving around its length. Nibbling and licking, she worked down to that tender skin at the fork of his thighs. His whole body spasmed as she ran her tongue along the tender crease between leg and groin. His bollocks hung there, tempting.

With some curiosity, she reached out with one soft finger and stroked them. The texture was most interesting. Wrapping her fingers about them, she squeezed—most softly.

“You’re killing me,” his voice rasped.

“And enjoying every moment of it,” she giggled. It was not a moment for laughter, but she could not help it. At this moment all was joy.

“Get on with it then.”

“Oh, I will. I will.” She ran her tongue across his sac. The bristle of hair made it most odd, but not unpleasant. And the way his body trembled, that was quite delightful.

But she was impatient for the main course, had been waiting far too long for her taste.

She moved up and slowed as she placed one hand around him. How did one go about this? The massive erection felt far too large for more than a few licks.

She would begin there.

Placing her tongue at the base of his cock, she ran it up the lengthy shaft. His body rose from the bed, legs straining. Another lick. His body did not relax, but stayed tight and drawn. Again.

He tasted of salt—and sweat—and some other flavor she could not quite name. Another long stroke of tongue, and as she reached the tip she felt moisture, pictured the single drop that had formed at the tip before, remembered it caught by firelight. She ran her mouth about the end, sucking for his flavor, for that drop.

His moan echoed around the room.

A smile formed upon her lips even as she filled her mouth again. He liked what she was doing. A sense of power took her. He was hers, hers to do whatever she liked with.

She opened her lips wider, taking him in.

He liked this very much. What would it take to make him lose control as she had?

Experimenting, she closed her lips tight, drawing them along his flesh.

Oh, that was good.

“God, are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he panted.

“I’ve never even imagined that such a thing was possible,” she said, lifting her head to speak while running a hand along him, relishing the slick smoothness.

The dark hung about them, creating a private world of scent and feeling. Louisa lowered her lips again, forming an O around the tip. Another drop had formed and she savored the taste. With only the slightest trepidation she moved her lips lower, taking more of him into her mouth. Her tongue ran along the lower side, playing with the raised ridge that pulsed there, his entire body responding to her every move.

Playing, teasing up and down his length, she let her imagination flow, the blackness making her attuned to his every move. When she cupped his bollocks while still holding him in her mouth, he cried, “Grace.”

When she lightly scraped her teeth along him, he swore—but it was not a sound of pure pleasure. She did not repeat the action.

Mostly, though, she sucked and licked, imagining him some great delicacy.

And when she felt his urgency grow, she moved up on hands and knees, trying to hold as much of him as she could in her mouth, wrapping her hands about his base.

“Stop,” he cried, his voice tortured.

Immediately she paused. “Am I doing it wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No. God, no. I am going to come—and you don’t want—in your mouth. It—women, ladies don’t—God, I am going to—”

His words did not altogether make sense, but she caught the gist of it. “What if I want you in my mouth? Want to taste you? To feel you like you felt me?”