Yes, he was pathetic.
She stroked him from root to tip.
He wanted to stop her. Coming in his wife’s hand in the midst of the afternoon after he had been wallowing in cream ice and self-pity was hardly ideal. But her grip on him tightened, her thumb swirling over his cockhead, slicking his own moisture over him.
All that emerged from him was a groan of surrender.
“You are fortunate I arrived when I did,” she told him, voice low, her lips so near to him that her hot breath feathered over his tip.
Yes, he was. He agreed with her. Completely.
But she could not possibly be thinking of doing what he thought she was.
There was no way his prim wife was about to take him—
Her lips closed over his cock. Just the tip. So softly, as if she feared she would break him. Her tongue swirled over him tentatively.
The day was getting better by the moment.
“Darling,” he ground out, still feeling it his gentlemanly duty to protest. She was his wife, after all, not a woman of experience. “You do not need to do this.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, the gentle vibration sending a shock of exquisite sensation through him as she released him, then slid her tongue along his length. “And what if I want to do this?”
Could she? He would not lie—he had imagined her lips wrapped around his cock more times than he could count. He had wondered what it would be like, how she would react. However, she was new to intimacy, a novice to lovemaking, and his wife as well. With other lovers, he had known how to read a woman’s acquiescence, her need for him, to determine whether a bed partner would prefer dominance or submission, powerful passion or tender seduction.
With Jo, he was adrift. Everything he had learned about other women paled. Because she was not any other woman. She was herself. And that made her so very different. So very special.
Once upon a time, wife had been a word he had revered. A title he had intended to bestow upon one woman. It shocked him to realize now that what he felt for Jo was far more potent, detailed, complex—necessary—than what he had ever felt for Nora.
Jo took him in her mouth once more, sucking, obliterating his ability to think. All there was in that moment was Jo’s lips closed around his shaft, her tongue flicking over him, the warm wetness of her mouth engulfing him.
“Damn it, Josie,” he bit out, his fingers sifting into her hair.
The gentleman in him dissolved. He was now a beast. Desire took up the reins. Hair pins fell to the Axminster as she laved his rigid flesh, keeping her fingers wrapped tight around the base of him as she lavished attention on his length and cockhead.
She made a carnal noise that sounded like a purr. “Do you like this, Decker? I have been wanting to make you as wild as you make me. I was not sure it would be the same for you.”
Oh, it was the bloody same. Indeed, he would venture to say it was better. There was something so damned glorious about her inexperienced attempts to bring him pleasure that heightened his desire. That made him more desperate for her than he had already been before she had gone on her knees. And that, it went without saying, was a tremendous feat in itself.
Good God, he would spill cream ice in his lap every day if he received this sort of attention as a result.
He clenched his jaw and counted to ten, trying to keep himself from ramming his cock down her throat. That was what he wanted, what he craved—her taking all of him, sucking him until he spent and then he could watch as she swallowed his seed.
“I like it,” he forced out, knowing she needed the validation.
She could hardly know what she did to him. How badly she made him want her. How effortlessly she brought him to his knees, even whilst she was the one who knelt before him.
“Tell me what I should do,” she murmured.
He grasped a handful of her unbound hair, gently guiding her, showing her what he wanted. “Take me in your mouth, darling. Just as you did before. As much of me as you can.”
And she did. His cock glided past her lips, straight into the back of her throat. She made a low hum of approval. It required the exertion of all Decker’s inner restraint to keep from coming then and there. He bit his lip, forced himself to remain still and allow her complete control over him.
She moved tentatively at first, up and down his shaft. When a groan escaped him as she ran her tongue over the slit on his cock, she slanted a coquette’s glance up at him. The realization she was enjoying giving every bit as much as he enjoyed receiving her attentions made him harder.
He sifted his fingers through the luxurious waves of her dark hair, watching his cock go in and out of her pretty lips. He owned hundreds of erotic lithographs, paintings, and sculptures. He had read the most depraved accounts of sexual congress printed in the English language. And yet, the sight of Jo sucking him was the most carnal, beautiful thing he had ever seen.
She licked the underside of his cock, grasping him at the base and squeezing. “How am I doing, sir?”
There it was again, sir.
He had only just introduced her to amorous role playing, but she was a quick learner.
“Wonderfully,” he gritted. “Too wonderful. If you continue much longer, I will spend in your mouth.”
Her gaze met his once more. “I want you to.”
She took him in her mouth again, sucking. He could not keep himself from pumping his hips. He reached the back of her throat once more. Paradise. Fire shot down his spine. His ballocks tightened. He was close to the edge.
“I am going to, Josie,” he warned. “If you do not stop…”
But the minx did not stop. Instead, she took him deeper. The frayed thread of his control snapped. He was powerless. Mindless. His orgasm was fast and furious, his ballocks clenching as pleasure so intense it was almost violent rocked through him. He pumped again, bucking against her as he came down her throat.
She swallowed, draining him, taking every drop of his spend.
Panting, his heart pounding, he staggered when she disengaged from him, her lips slick with saliva and his mettle. He had never experienced such a rush, such a potent pinnacle, from a woman’s mouth.
His breath still ragged, he tucked himself back into his trousers and refastened them before taking her hands in his and helping her to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth swollen, and her hair was deliciously wild around her beautiful face. He kissed her forehead reverently, a new tenderness for her bursting open inside his chest.
“Thank you, darling,” he managed to say. “That was…there are no words.”
He hauled her into his arms, embracing her, wondering if he could keep her here thus, forever. Wondering if they ever had to leave this room. He felt quite sure he could be content for eternity with her in his arms. Mayhap a servant to deliver food occasionally…
She embraced him in return. “Decker?”
He kissed her crown. “Yes, bijou?
Her arms tightened. “I love you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Silence reigned in Decker’s study following Jo’s ill-timed confession. He had stiffened in her arms.
Excellent, Jo. Perfect way to ruin the moment.
“That is to say, I love that you brought me cream ice in the midst of your day,” she added stupidly as she released him and stepped away. She flashed him a smile she hoped was bright and cheerful, not at all forced. Just as she hoped her heated cheeks were not flushed a furious shade of red. “That was so very thoughtful of you.”
The words had slipped from her. After learning about the woman in his past who had jilted him, and then returning to find him awaiting her with cream ice, she had been moved to do something to show him the depth of her feeling for him. Decker was a wonderful man. Tender, considerate, kind, and witty. Hard-working, intelligent, compassionate. He made her laugh, he charmed her, he brought her to the heights of passion again and again. He made her feel worshiped.
And she had wanted him to feel the same. She had no
t, however, meant to tell him she loved him. Not now. Not yet. Mayhap not ever. At least, not until she could be more certain he felt the same way. Her feelings were too new, her heart too afraid of being shattered. If he did not love her back—indeed, if his heart would forever belong to the woman who had come before her—Jo was not certain how she would cope.
“If this is the response I get when I bring you cream ice, I shall do it every day,” he teased then, dragging her from the heaviness of her thoughts.
Wonderful man. She bit her lip. “You were pleased?”
He kissed her swiftly. “Could you not tell, darling? I was extraordinarily well-pleased.”
Had she saved herself from abject humiliation? The tension had seemingly fled from him. Perhaps they could pretend she had not made such an embarrassing blunder.
She kissed him back, their tongues tangling. She wondered if he could taste the tang of himself the way she still did, mingling with sweet strawberry. He groaned, deepening the kiss, his lips moving over hers with greater demand. If he did notice, he did not mind.
His hands slid to her waist, anchoring her to him.
Without ending the kiss, he began moving them as one. Slowly, intently. He guided her backward, and she went willingly, following his lead. She was his to command. His always, body and heart, everything she was.
Something firm pressed into the backs of her knees through her gown and underpinnings. He broke the kiss and gave her a gentle nudge.
“Sit, darling.”
“Why?” she asked.
“No questions.” He kissed her again. “Sit.”
She did as he asked, lowering herself to the upholstered cushion with as much elegance as she could muster with her hair unbound and her body, mind, and heart at sixes and sevens. Her heart gave a queer little thump, almost as if it stumbled over itself.
“Decker,” she protested.
“No objections, either.” He towered over her, all dark, brooding handsomeness. “It is my turn.”
His turn for what?
But then, he lowered himself to his knees, and she had her answer without ever posing the question. The smile he sent her was doused in sin. He clutched the hem of her gown and lifted it to her waist. The heavy, embroidered silk pooled in her lap, along with her petticoats and chemise.
Her intent, however, had been to shower him with affection. To show him, without words—and later, with words—that the circumstance of his birth did not matter one whit to her. All that mattered was him. Guilt pricked at her at the notion of him feeling as if he must reciprocate, for that had never been her intention.
“You do not need to—”
“Hush,” he interrupted, his grin deepening. “Hold your skirts for me, darling. On this, we are in disagreement, I am afraid, for I do need to make you come. It is only fair.”
Well, when he phrased it thus, who was she to argue?
Jo’s sex was already throbbing with need after having brought him to release. Having him at her mercy had only made her want him more rather than sating her. And now, here, she had the most delicious offer of him making her spend in return.
She grabbed fistfuls of fabric, watching him as he caressed his way up her stocking-clad calves. His fingers dipped into the hollows behind her knees, stroking. She felt a rush of wetness at her core and clamped her thighs together to stave off a bolt of longing.
But Decker was having none of that, of course. His knowing touch moved higher, to her thighs, gliding over her with such reverence, she ached. His head dipped, and he pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses up each of her shin bones, all the way to her knees. His hands moved to her inner thighs, parting them, exposing her most intimate flesh to him.
And though he had seen her before and the act was not unfamiliar, she nevertheless knew a trill of forbidden excitement as air kissed her there. And then, his eyes, bright as the summer sky and so deliciously knowing, were upon her as well. He looked at her as if she were the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. Whenever he looked at her, she felt as if she were.
“You have the prettiest cunny, Josie,” he murmured. “Perfect for me.”
She could not stifle the whimper of yearning that escaped her as he caressed higher still, bowing his head like a supplicant to deliver a stinging trail of kisses along her inner thighs. Just when she thought she could bear no more of his teasing, he spread her open, parting her lips. His hot breath fanned over her flesh.
“So pink and glistening and beautiful,” he said. “And all mine.”
“Yes.” The lone word hissed from her, all she could manage. It said enough—she wanted him to do what he would to her. To lick her, suck her, bite her, bring her to the same glorious heights of pleasure he had before. She was frantic, bursting with need.
This time, he did not lavish attention upon her pearl first. Instead, he sank his tongue deep inside her in one unexpected thrust. The invasion had her writhing on the chair, seeking to bring herself closer. She thought she could spend from his tongue inside her alone, just like this. Already, she had been so perilously near to coming undone.
“You are so wet, Josie.” He licked into her again. “Did you like sucking my cock?”
She was breathless from both his tongue and his question. “Yes.”
“Naughty wife,” he murmured against her. “I approve wholeheartedly.”
It was the first time in their marriage that he had referred to her as his wife directly. She could not contain the warmth that suffused her at the word. But when his tongue flicked over her pearl, everything else was dashed. He teased her entrance with the tip of his forefinger. So light—the pulses of his tongue, the shallow thrust inside her. It all heightened her desperation. She had learned that her husband was a master of drawing out pleasure. Indeed, he was a master of pleasure. Full stop.
Each time he touched her—each time they made love—was more decadent than the last.
His tongue flicked quickly, inciting ripples of delicious pleasure. His finger dipped into her channel. “I liked watching you take my cock into your mouth, darling.” More licks, a deeper thrust. “I loved watching you swallow, take all of me.” He sucked her bud then, hard and long. His digit sank inside her.
“Oh,” was all she could say. And then, as he curled his finger within her, reaching that fantastic, deliriously sensitive place, “yes.”
For a time, she was nothing but a writhing heap of sensation. Every part of her was attuned to him, as if she were an instrument ready to be played. The scent of his study—leather, oiled wood, paper and ink—mingled with the musky scent of her own desire and the potent scent of his cologne. The wet sounds his tongue made as he laved her flesh, licking up and down her seam, as he added a second finger to join the first, filled the room.
She gave herself up to the moment, to the man. Surrendered to passion. When he nibbled on her clitoris—one of the many names he had taught her for that delightfully sensitive part of her body—she lost control. Perhaps it was the rawness of her emotion, the combination of having revealed her love to him, only to retract it, along with the potent, powerful act of making him spend and bringing him to his knees, literally, that made it happen.
Or mayhap it was merely Decker’s tongue, which was nothing short of magical as it played over her. Or it was his touch, deep inside her. Or the wicked words he said, the praise, the commands.
When he told her to come, how could she not, with his tongue precisely where she wanted it?
“That’s it, bijou,” he cajoled in that smooth-as-velvet baritone. “Spend on my tongue. I want to lick up your cream.”
All that sinfulness combined made her explode. Her climax raged through her, making dark stars pepper her vision. Making her heart beat like the hooves of a horse about to win a race. Faster, faster. Her breaths were ragged and harsh. Wave after wave of bliss crashed over her, imbuing her entire body with a rare, powerful…glow.
That was how she could describe it best.
She was glowing, hum
ming, burning, from the inside out. But she was also whimpering, noisy, embarrassing herself. He had three fingers inside her now, stretching her, filling her, his mouth latched upon her pearl, sucking hard. One orgasm from her was not enough for him. Greedy, beautiful man.
He would wreck her, Elijah Decker, this man she loved.
She saw it in a flash as fresh ripples of pleasure washed over her. As she surrendered to his sensual torture. She was a carriage, out of control, about to topple on her side and roll down a cliff, to crash into a thousand splintered shards in the boulders below.
But that was one of the devils of life, was it not? Recognizing one’s fate did not necessarily render it any easier to resist. In this instance, it just made her want him that much more.
Was there something wrong with her?
She would fret over that later. Just as she would worry over those troubling words she had uttered in damning succession.
For now, Decker was on his feet. She had spent twice, beneath the delicious force of his tongue. But his starkly sensual visage said he wanted more.
“I want my cock inside you,” he rasped, holding his hands out to her.
She released her skirts and took them. He pulled her into a standing position, and she went willingly, her knees a bit wobbly. She felt akin to a newborn foal, testing out her legs for the first time.
“Do you want me, Josie?” he asked when she was on her feet, their bodies almost pressed together, chest to hip.
Her skirts billowed forth, crushing into him. She could not help but to notice that his lips were slick and dark, glistening. Her mark upon him, subtle as it was, sent a new sense of possession careening over her.
“Of course I want you. I have always wanted you, I think,” she admitted, realizing the truth for herself as the words fled her. “And I want you so much more now that I know the manner of man you are.”
Lady Wallflower Page 20
