Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(92)

“Oh,” she murmured. “Maybe I do understand.”

His cock jumped again at her words, eager to again be free.

He pulled air into his lungs. Control. This was the moment for control. He’d had his pleasure. He’d administered her punishment—although it was not truly punishment for either of them. Now was about her. He needed to teach her the rewards that came with obedience. His own reward could wait.

He blew again over her tender skin, watching the muscles of her stretched thighs twist and tighten.

With extreme gentleness he placed his hands back on her ass, kneading softly.

She drew in her breath sharply. Realizing the sensation was still extreme, he slid his hands higher, rubbing the tight muscles that edged her spine. That brought forth a sigh of delight. Her skin was satin beneath his fingers; he could have massaged and played for the rest of the afternoon, but her hips shifted against him.

He allowed a smile to rest upon his lips. “Patience, little one. We will get to that. I am worried I may have left you a trifle sore.”

“No. Please. Now.”

Lust and desire throbbed through his veins. He wished he could turn her, lift her legs to his shoulders, and plunge into her depths. He’d rest his hands upon those breasts, tease the nipples until they stood like ripe cherries. His mouth watered at the thought.

But no. That would have to wait. He did not want that tender ass bumping hard against the desk.

Her hips thrust again.

He let his hands slip lower once more, until they brushed the edge of her cleft. This time he did not tease, but ran them down into the slick heat.

A slight whimper escaped her lips.

His fingers moved deep, one hand moving to sink into her, opening her, preparing her. The other hand moved forward, finding the hard nub of her clit. Her whole body jerked upon the desk as he stroked it, his fingers feathering in short, quick flicks. Moisture bathed his fingers, her womanly perfume rising to his nose.

Control.

Control.

It had never been so hard to stay detached before. Always he’d found that inner space that even in the sharp moment of relief kept him separate, removed. Now, emotions burned with each motion. He could not separate the physical from the emotional.

And he did not like it.

Not one bit.

He should stop, pull back, walk away—save himself.

She moaned again.

Louisa needed him. And—he had never been a man to fool himself—he needed her.

He reveled in that need, gave in to it.

And in it, found the control he’d been seeking all this time.

He straightened up, his focus falling on the woman before him: his woman, his wife.

She was straining against the fingers that had stilled as his mind filled with thought, straining in the timeless rhythms of woman and man. He pulled his hand back, and then plunged deep, his thumb flicking across her clit. Her womb sucked at his fingers, wanting more, begging for more. He moved his thumbs faster, feeling the answering quivers deep within her. He’d held her on the brink for far too long.

And himself as well. He might have found release only moments before—and what a climax it had been—but his body was crying for more. His cock strained against his trousers as he sank to his knees, his face level with his wife’s slick folds. This was where he was meant to be.

He leaned forward, inhaling the scent of her honey, let his tongue flicker out to gather the barest taste.

“More, please. More.” Her soft cry burrowed to his core.

He licked again, harder, firmer, using all the skill he had. He pulled the tight bundle of nerves into his mouth, working it with care, the slightest pinch of teeth, the hard suck, the gentle lave of tongue.

Her thighs tightened about his head, her whole body moving in rhythm with his mouth. He placed a hand on each of the outer folds, opening her fully to him. He continued to fondle her clit with his tongue as he again moved fingers into her, feeling up the walls of her womb for that one special spot. Her body lifted from the table as he found it, and pressed tight, beckoned her onward, the hard wood of the desk beneath her belly allowing him to increase and decrease the pressure with great control.

He felt the vibrations start deep within her: the clench and release of muscle, the sudden spasm of desire. He increased his pace, added an extra scrape of teeth. And then he bit, his fingers pressing hard, moving deep. Her thighs squeezed against him, her upper back rose from the table, and she cried out, his name echoing about the room.

Again.

Again.

And then with a last sob of pleasure, her every muscle softened, her whole being relaxing against him, the last spasms of desire spending themselves against his eager tongue.

He pulled back, his face damp.

She lay before him, her ass still red from his slap, her thighs slick and damp, the folds of her cunny still quivering.

He pushed himself up, enjoying her beauty, the deep satisfaction of seeing his mark upon her. His sex throbbed hard against the tight fabric of his trousers. It knew where it wanted to be—now.

He forced his mind away from the f*cking he so wanted to give her. It was not the time.

“May I move now? Release the desk?” She turned her head to the side, seeking him over her shoulder.

“Yes. Please.”

She rolled to her side, easing her feet fully to the floor, but not rising from the desk.

He saw the wince as her tender buttocks knocked against hard wood, but she didn’t move, only raised herself to her elbows so that she could look at him, her naked breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath. Her eyes came to his face, seeking, searching—finding reassurance. A small, easy smile formed upon her lips.