The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(61)

“Er, what are you doing?” He had his suspicions, and the very notion made his erection swell so fiercely that it threatened to pop off the buttons she was busily undoing.

“I don’t want to lie back. Last time, you said I could do to you what I liked you doing to me. And that’s what I want to do.”

Ah, Christ. Paralyzed by lust, he watched as she took hold of his cock. He was so burgeoned that her fingers scarcely fit around the girth, so sensitive that he could feel the pulsing of the raised veins beneath her fingers. Gently prying the erect beast from his belly, she looked up at him, the naughty gleam in her eyes straight out of his fantasies.

“I like touching you,” she said and proved it by running her fist from root to tip.

“I like your touch.” Understatement of the century.

“Am I doing this right?” Her mouth had a teasing curve. “I’m trying to recall the lesson you gave me last time, Professor.”

Hell, did she know that she’d just tapped into his erotic fantasy of her? Of taming his wicked minx, channeling her energy toward more pleasurable ends? With past lovers, he’d experienced varying degrees of intimacy, but never anything like this. Never this combination of lust, humor, and tenderness. Never this desire to prolong the lovemaking so that he could…play.

“You’re doing very well,” he allowed. “But you could tighten your fist, stroke me harder.”

“Like this?” Her saucy pout nearly undid him, as did her firmer grip. “But you’re so big I can hardly get my fingers around you.”

“Then use both hands, sprite.”

She obeyed, and watching her dainty fingers pump his rod was like being tortured on a rack of pleasure. Then she leaned closer, her lips just inches from his prick, and his breath held. Devil and damn, she wouldn’t consider…?

“You used more than your hands on me.” Her breath puffed against his turgid flesh, and he gripped the cushions as he strove to stay in control. “Shall I do the same?”

Hell, yes.

“Only if you want to, sweeting,” he managed.

Her answer was to place the sweetest, gentlest kiss on the tip of his cock.

His reply was to leak a bead of seed.

She paused…then licked it off.

The feel of her lapping him, the sight of her between his legs, her pink tongue circling his engorged crown, tore a groan from his chest. Her delicate licks tautened his muscles, pushing harsh breaths from his lungs. With her inexperience, she kept him on the razor’s edge, providing enough sensation to drive him wild, not enough to make him spend. With a flash of humor, he recognized that, even in this, she had a special affinity for testing the limits of his control.

Mid-lick, she peered up at him. “Am I doing this right?”

“You’ve a native talent, love.” He hid a grin at the way she beamed, looking supremely proud of herself. “But perhaps a few pointers would not be amiss?”

“Fire away, Professor.”

God, he loved her cheeky ways.

He spent a moment contemplating how to convey the essential information. It was a unique situation. With a wench or worldly lover, he’d never had to broach the topic of how to give fellatio. With a lady, he wouldn’t try. But Tessa was both eager and innocent, and he wanted to do this properly. Wanted her to have a positive introduction to this carnal delight. Wanted to be the one and only man to give it to her.

“Remember those lemon drops I brought you?” He tucked a wayward tress behind her ear. “How you enjoyed them, savored them?”

Her head tipped to one side. “Yes.”

“Pretend I’m a lemon drop.”

Her curly lashes swept up. Even in the dimness, he saw understanding and excitement light her eyes. “You mean I should do it…like this?”

He groaned as her mouth engulfed his glistening dome.

“Yes, sprite, suck me. As much of me as you…goddamn.” His neck arched in bliss.

When she had a mind to obey, she excelled at it. With her fingers wrapped around the root, she took the rest of his cock into her wet, hot hole. She drew on him tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence, the eager pulls making fire race up his spine.

He reveled in the decadence of having her thus: between his legs, her hair spilling over his thighs, her lovely mouth working his prick with determined ardor. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek, and feeling his hard shaft moving inside that downy curve was nearly his undoing. In the next instant, he dragged her up so that she straddled his lap.

“I wasn’t finished,” she said.

Her pout was so endearing that he couldn’t help but kiss her. The taste of his own salt on her lips was another blow to his already shaky self-discipline.

“I’m too close, love,” he told her. “A gentleman doesn’t finish in a lady’s mouth.”

“Oh.” A line worked between her fine brows. “But didn’t I, um, finish…in yours?”

Bloody hell. It was too much. She overwhelmed him.

He shoved his hand down her opened trousers to find her pussy swollen, dripping for him. He thrust his middle finger into her snug sheath.

Her spine arched, her hands clutching his shoulders. “Bennett.”

“Ride my finger,” he ordered. “Up and down. Take me deep into that sweet cunny of yours.”