He lay on his back and guided her legs until she was astride his chest. All the saints, what a glorious sight to behold. Persephone was naked save her stockings and garters, creamy thighs parted to reveal the pretty pink bud between her lips, the thatch of sunset curls on her mound not enough to shield the slick pink folds from view. He caressed her hips, aware she was nervous and embarrassed to be displayed for him thus. The scent of her, musky and rich with desire, made his mouth water.
He was desperate to taste her. To suck her and fuck her with his tongue until she screamed. His cock had never been harder in his life. But it would
have to wait.
“Beautiful,” he praised, palms gliding over the soft inner flesh of her thighs, as he allowed his gaze to travel the luscious curves of her waist, the generous handfuls of her breasts. “How do you feel?”
“Shy,” she admitted, her tongue darting over the seam of her lips. “This is terribly wicked.”
He was capable of far greater depravity, but no need to mention that now. Her nipples were puckered and hard, her face flush with desire. What a delicious combination she was, equal parts the prim governess and lusty wanton, the innocent and the seductress all at once.
“Never be shy with me,” he told her. “I want you bold and daring and brave. Give me your wickedest.”
He moved his touch nearer to her center, thumbs dipping into the creases on the edges of her plump lips. Her quim beckoned, open, wet, ready for his tongue. She shifted, sliding her arse forward in an instinctive effort to achieve more of his touch. He was unable to resist swiping his thumbs over the outer folds, gathering some of her wetness and painting it over her flesh.
“Oh,” she said softly, part moan, part exclamation of wonder. She rocked forward, arching her back.
Her breasts were thrust forward, offerings he could not refuse.
He shifted her. Using his upper body’s strength, he sat up, careful to keep his hands on her, his thumbs tantalizing her by lingering on the periphery of where her body would naturally want him most. He latched on to a nipple, sucking hard while he continued to tease her, and was rewarded by her soft sound of delight and her fingers threading through his hair.
There’s my girl.
His? Yes. Hell yes. No time to question the possessive way he felt about Miss Persephone Wren now. For tonight, these precious, stolen hours, she was his. And she was naked, on him, her cunny soaking the thin fabric of his shirt. He had never known a more erotic moment in his life when he still had his bleeding togs on.
He sucked her other nipple, then caught it in his teeth and tugged. The need to take his time with her and drive her to the edge of madness was equally as strong as the urge to haul her cunny to his face and sink his tongue deep. Only when the muscles in his abdomen began to quake beneath the strain did he relent, resuming his supine position.
She was flushed, her breath coming in fast gasps that showed him she was as affected as he was. Good. But there was more, far more, to come. He massaged the dip between her inner thighs and her mound, running his thumbs up and down her seam to gather more moisture.
She squirmed, a helpless mewl slipping from her lips.
Rafe was greedy where Persephone was concerned, and he could not be sure if he wanted her to come from his fingers or his mouth first.
He licked his lips, attempting to repress the desperation and prolong the moment. “Have you ever touched yourself before, sweet?”
Her befuddled expression sank talons into his heart. “Of course I touch myself when I bathe or dress.”
He suppressed a groan at her innocence, the gleaming possibility he could be the one to show her pleasure. “Not in that sense. Have you ever touched yourself here?” As he posed the question, he ran his thumbs to the top of her mound, illustrating his point. One thumb gently lifted her soft, warm wetness to reveal her pearl more fully. The other caressed the length of her. “Here, love. Have you ever stroked yourself here, where you are so deliciously sensitive?”
She inhaled as he gave her swollen nub another swipe. Her hips jerked, bringing her nearer to his face. “Yes.”
Her hissed admission made his ballocks draw tight and his cock ache with almost painful pleasure. His seed was already seeping from the tip, moistening the linen that rubbed against his cock head in a maddening abrasion with each pump of his own hips. If he was not careful, he was going to spend in his bloody smalls.
“How do you touch yourself?” he asked. “Lightly?” He demonstrated, giving her a light stroke, then a soft, lazy swirl. “Slowly?”
“Mmm,” was all she said.
“Faster?” he asked, brushing over the sweetly engorged bud from left to right, his thumb moving swiftly.
She made another sound and her hips jerked, giving him all the answer he needed.
“Yes, lovely.” He pressed harder as he continued at a faster pace. “This is how you like it, aye?”
She leaned forward, planting her hands on the headboard behind him, the globes of her breasts dangling temptingly near to his mouth. She was panting, gasping, straining against him, and he had not even licked her yet. Good. He would make her spend with his fingers first. And then when she was sensitive and wet and throbbing, he would use his tongue.
“This is your pearl, sweet,” he told her, flattening the heel of his palm on her mound to apply more pressure and rubbing at a furious pace. “How does it feel when I touch you this way?”
Her hips were seeking, body bowing, skin flushing with the glow of her pleasure. A woman was the only instrument Rafe had ever learned to play, and he was glad of it now. How badly he wanted to sink his fingers into her cunny, to breach her, to feel her tight heat clamping around him and drawing him in.