"Oh, merciful God," he muttered weakly. She put her hands up to his narrow hips, needing to hold on to something, as she caressed him with her face, her mouth, loving the feel, the freedom of it.
He held himself very still, letting her play for long minutes, as he seemed, impossibly, to grow harder and larger beneath the constricting breeches. Finally he spoke, and it sounded as if the words were being forced out. "I hate to bother you," he said politely enough, "but my breeches are becoming positively painful. At this rate I'm going to pop the stitching. The buttons are at the side. "
Yes, she could feel them beneath her hands as she held him. She decided not to hesitate. These buttons decided to open easily beneath her fingers, and she caught the fabric of his breeches and underdrawers, and pulled them down, releasing him.
Even in the murky light she could see him quite clearly. His heavy penis jutted out, an invitation, and still, oddly enough, a threat. She didn't care. Grasping his hips again, she leaned forward and gently rubbed her face against him, against the solid thrust of him, against the crinkly hair at its base, rubbing and purring, letting her lips brush against his skin, rubbing her eyelids and forehead and mouth against him.
He was trembling now. And she was wet. "Take me in your mouth, Charlotte," he said with a soft groan. "I beg of you. Suck me. "
She could claim her revenge now, she thought dazedly. She could rise and walk away, leaving him as insanely aroused as she had been the night before.
But she knew what she wanted, and she was tired of games. Very delicately she put her mouth on the tip of him, tasting a strange sweetness.
"More," he said in an anguished voice. "Please, Charlotte. Take more. "
There was no way she could take all this into her mouth. But she wanted to try. She closed her mouth over the head, circling it, tugging at him. And then she sucked more in, slowly, inch by inch, her tongue touching, tasting, wetting him to make the slide easier. His hands were in her hair, not forcing her, just holding her as she pulled on him, closing tight around her so that her mouth embraced him, held him.
Author: Anne Stuart
"Can you take more?" he whispered hoarsely.
She released him for a moment to answer, and he let out an anguished cry. "Oh, God, don't stop. "
"You're too big," she said. But she sucked him in again, going deeper, taking more of him, so much that he brushed the back of her throat, and she made a little singing noise of pleasure.
She'd never imagined feeling like this, wanting this so badly. It was doubtless perversion, but she loved it, loved the taste of him, the feel of such strength inside her mouth, the way her tongue could sweep against him, the way her mouth could wrap around him. He was prompting her, and she realized he wanted her to move up and down on him, as if he were between her legs and not in her mouth. And as his pleasure grew, and his strong legs began to tremble, so did hers, so that when he suddenly pulled her away she cried out in distress, fingers digging into his hips, trying to pull him back.
Instead he hauled her to her feet. "You're not quite ready for that part, love," he said, and for a moment she was mystified.
She looked up at him. "What part? What happens next?”
"You know what happens next," he said in a hoarse voice. "I spill my seed. "
"And then what happens that I'm not ready for?"
"You swallow it. "
She started to sink lo her knees again, but he laughed a shaky laugh. "You'd be better served if you gave me a moment to regain my self-control and let me remove my boots. It's the least a gentleman can do. "
"And you're such a gentleman. "
"Not with you, love. But I'm trying. "
He leaned against one of the covered beds, pulling first one boot off and then the other with more ease than she would have expected. And then his clothes followed, and he was naked, gorgeous, just a little bit frightening.
"Take off your chemise and your drawers," he said. "You don't want me tearing them again. You'd soon run out of clothes. "
She was suddenly shy. Silly way to be, considering what she'd just done to him, but her hands shook and she wondered how she could reach up under the chemise without exposing herself to his curious eyes--
He moved forward, took the hem of the chemise and whipped it over her head with one smooth movement. And a second later, the drawstring to her drawers was loosened, and they fell to her feet, and she was wearing nothing at all but her stockings.
"Oh, God," he said, a curse, a supplication, a prayer. He pushed her up against the door, just behind her, lifted her by her legs and thrust inside her, hard.
She was shocked by his sudden move, his immediate invasion. That they were standing shocked her, that it felt so good. He slid deep, painlessly, and she knew that was why she was wet. For him. She threw her arms around his neck, holding on tightly, as her body did what her mouth had done, clasping him, holding him, as he thrust up into her, a hard, steady, relentless rhythm that had her gasping for breath, shivering in reaction, unable to move herself as he pinned her against the door, simply receiving his half-frantic thrusts, wanting more and more.
His skin was covered with a thin film of sweat, his face against her neck, his fingers tight on her hips. A climax rocked her, the climax she'd been cheated of the night before, and she could feel herself shatter, losing all sense of anything but the blinding, mindless pleasure he gave her.
He held still, letting her ripple and clench around him, and when the first throes had died he swung her away from the door, never breaking their joining, carrying her across the room to the Holland-covered bed. He tried to set them both down without breaking their connection but she tumbled away from him and he slipped free, and she found she could giggle.