Sutton’s Sins: The Sinful Suttons Book 2

by Scott, Scarlett

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.

  Her only answer was a moan. But he wanted more. He wanted words. Needed her admission so that long after this night, he could recall what it had felt like to hear this starchy sunset-haired governess tell him she liked the way he fucked her.

  “Tell me, Persephone,” he said, using her given name and his most commanding voice. “Tell me if you like my hand on your cunny.”

  Her gaze, heavy-lidded with desire, met his. “I do. You feel wondrous.”

  Although she had given him what he wanted—her admission that she liked what he was doing to her—she had not given him the satisfaction of using a bawdy word. He wanted to hear her demure voice saying the word cunny.

  “That ain’t what I asked for,” he said, removing his hand even as she writhed. Instead, he painted the inside of her thigh with her own wetness, drawing tantalizingly close to her drenched center without touching the glistening flesh. “Say it the way I did. Tell me you like my hand on your cunny.” He leaned up and sucked her nipple, then gently bit before withdrawing to blow hot air over the straining tip. “Give me the words and I’ll make you come.”

  He wondered if she knew what that meant, whether or not she had ever brought herself to spend. The thought of Persephone lying alone in her bed, those dainty fingers working between her thighs, was enough to make him groan.

  “I love your hand on my cunny, Rafe,” she said then, her tone gone husky with need. “Please, do not stop.”

  Ah, hell. Sometimes, a man asked for a gift he could not bear receiving. This was one such gift. Because now, he would never be able to forget, for as long as he lived, the sound of Persephone Wren’s dulcet voice telling him she loved his hand on her cunny.

  “Good lass,” he praised, kissing the side of her other breast as he cupped her hot center and resumed his effort to make her spend. “You are so pretty and pink and wet here for me.”

  She moaned and pumped her hips into his hand. He worked her harder, flicking his tongue over the stiff peak of her breast. Faster. She was impossibly slick, hot and throbbing beneath his fingers. And then, she was stiffening, crying out. Shuddering as her release hit her. He showed her no quarter, determined to wring every bit of pleasure from her, plumping her clitoris with his thumb as she shook and moaned. With her sensitivity heightened, he knew the act was painfully pleasurable. But he wanted to keep her on the edge.

  “I want to taste you, sweet,” he said. “I want to lick up every drop of your spend and then fuck you with my tongue.”

  “Oh dear heavens,” she said, sounding dazed and half-wild. “Yes. Please.”

  He released her breast, his own desperation seizing him, and his head dropped to the pillow as he caught her bottom in his hands and pulled her the rest of the way, until her thighs rested on either side of his face and her dripping cunny was his to feast on.

  And feast he did, doing his utmost to control the wild impulse to suck and bite and otherwise make her his. This was Persephone, and he could not recall ever wanting a woman as much. But he needed to go slowly. To listen to her cues even when all he wanted to do was devour her until she screamed.

  He licked along her seam, gathering all her wetness and the taste of her exploded in his senses. More delicious than he could have imagined. Musk and flowers and something else that was purely Persephone. He groaned into her cunny, still gripping her rump, angling her over his face so he could latch on to her pearl. She was already swollen and slick everywhere, but most especially here, and whether it was his lust rendering him dicked in the nob or it was real, he swore she pulsed on his tongue.

  He sucked hard, and she made a low sound of approval, rocking herself into his face in encouragement. So he sucked harder, then feathered his tongue over her in teasing, light strokes.

  “Rafe.”

  His name was a moan escaping her. Christ, he would never forget the way she sounded, drunk with lust while she rode his mouth. He kneaded her arse cheeks as he licked and sucked, the hushed sounds of her appreciation growing louder with each stroke of his tongue.

  This was a dangerous game they played. He could not afford to be caught, and nor could she. Yet, he forgot to care with her demanding cunny thrusting against him. His tongue traveled along her outer lips, then parted her folds, dipping shallowly into her. She was impossibly hot there, and smooth and wet. Her juices were dribbling down his chin, and he hoped he would smell her on himself in the morning when he woke, naked and alone in this same bed.

  And what a bloody shame that would be, waking in this bed without her.

  It was necessary, however. They were not meant for more than this stolen night. This shared passion and pleasure. Holding to that thought, he licked up her seam and suckled her clitoris once more. She cried out, her thighs stiffening and closing around his head. Undulating against him, she came fiercely, collapsi
ng partially against him, rhythmically thrusting, seeking more.

  But this was still not enough for Rafe. If he only had tonight, he wanted to sate her so thoroughly, there would never be another who could match the heights he had shown her. Years from now, he wanted her to remember Rafe Sutton’s mouth bringing her to her peak until she was limp and mindless.

  Determined, he licked into her again, long, probing swipes of his tongue over her quivering flesh.

  “Rafe, please.”

  Oh, yes. His insatiable little governess wanted more. She writhed against him, her fingers somehow having found their way back to his hair, twisting in the long locks and pulling as she fucked his face. This position had been meant to allay the fears and painful memories dogging her, but now she was truly the one in control, taking what she wanted, demanding he lick and suck her until she spent again.

  It was too delicious, and he was on the edge himself. Using his teeth, he nibbled on her pearl, finding a place where she was especially sensitive and her cries turned to mewls. Face buried in her cunny, he managed to open his eyes to the magnificent sight of her, hair unbound and running down her back, nipples hard and pink, breasts full, pale mounds bouncing with each erotic thrust she made.

  She was wild.

  And he loved it.

  And he loved…

  He loved…

  Well, bleeding hell and all the saints, he loved her.

  Impossible, improbable, a state he had never reckoned he would find himself in—he, Rafe Sutton, dedicated rogue and pursuer of petticoats. It made no sense, and it was terrifying, and yet, it simply was.

  Ah, what a time to make this bleeding revelation. Strangely, it did nothing to quell his ardor. If anything, the knowledge made him harder. Made his ability to suppress the crashing wave of his release impossible. His right hand released his hold on her rump and traveled the familiar path to his cock. No time to remove it from his trousers and smalls. Instead, he pressed his palm beneath the thick ridge, jerking upward in a rude approximation of screwing. Not nearly as good as his hand on his bare cock and nowhere near the heaven it would be to sink deep inside Persephone’s sweet cunny, but it would have to suffice.

  He raked his teeth over her pearl as she moaned and thrusted, as his hand passed over his cock, desperate for relief and hungry enough that not even two layers of fabric could hinder the sensation. Then he sucked. He sucked hard on that greedy nub, until with his left hand, he shifted her so that once more his tongue dipped into her, and he sucked her lips and cunny, drinking her dew as if it were manna from heaven sent. Her sounds above him told him she was about to reach another release.

  She was begging.

  And he was lost.

  He gave her everything he had, licking, sucking, using his teeth and tongue and lips. His jaw ached, and still he ate her until she came undone with a muffled scream. She shuddered and quivered and collapsed against the headboard with such abandon, the dull thud of her head striking the wood rang through the room. One hard press of his hand to his cock, and he exploded too, coming so violently, there was a moment of physical pain arcing across his chest, potent and powerful and oddly enjoyable, this sign that he had just come harder than he ever had before.

  As the waves of bliss washed over him, he held her there, gentling his mouth on her, absorbing the throbs and spasms of her, understanding he would never know another night like this.

  * * *

  Persephone was jarred awake by a knocking on her door.

  Blinking, she rolled over, feeling terribly lazy and wonderfully delicious, body humming with awareness in delightful new places, and…

  Awareness and lucidity returned in a jolt. Her eyes cast wildly around the chamber, which was lit by the risen sun beyond the curtains.

  Dear heavens!

  This was not her room.

  She was in a guest room.

  Rafe’s room, to be specific.

  And he was at her side, sleeping soundly, looking like a sinful angel in repose, still dressed in his shirt, the bedclothes tangled about his waist. While she was—a quick glance beneath the counterpane confirmed her fears—naked save for the stockings and garters she had never removed.

  She had slept here.

  And now, someone was knocking on Rafe’s door.

  “Damn it, Rafe, wake up,” called the irate voice on the other side of the portal.

  She gasped, recognizing that voice too well. At her side Rafe stirred, coming to with a start. He blinked, looking unfairly handsome for such a dire situation. His brow furrowed for a moment as his gaze met hers, and then a slow grin spread on his sensual lips, as if he were recalling what had passed between them the night before.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “Rafe, you bloody arse!” In the hall, Mr. Sutton was growing angrier.

  The moment was effectively severed.

  “Jasper!” Rafe shot up, alarm in his expression. “What the devil?”

  Persephone was certain he was going to demand to know whether or not she was within the room. She braced herself, tensing, a rush of shame hitting her with such sudden ferocity, her eyes burned.

  Why had she allowed herself to remain for a few minutes in the wake of their explosive passion the night before? Why had she fallen asleep instead of returning to her own room? Now, she would be discovered, and despite the East End origins of Jasper Sutton, she knew there was no way he would allow her to remain on as governess after she had been cavorting with his brother.

  Just as it was for a lady, the reputation was paramount to a governess. Maintaining one’s virtue was a necessity.

  “We have a problem at The Sinner’s Palace,” Mr. Sutton said curtly, cutting through her fears. “The Bradleys are causing trouble again, and I need you to accompany me. Get your arse out of bed, you bleeding tosspot. We haven’t time to waste.”

  “Sodding Bradleys,” Rafe muttered, running his fingers through his curls and leaving them charmingly disheveled. Louder, he called, “I’ll be out in a trice.”

  “I’m waiting,” Mr. Sutton announced, his voice grim.

  “Let a man take his morning piss in peace, will you?” Rafe shouted back. “I’ll meet you in the mews in ten minutes.”

  She would have flushed at his candor, but she was naked in his bed, and his tongue had been on her most intimate flesh. It was rather too late for her to be shocked.

  “I’ll give you five, and then I’ll haul your arse out myself,” Mr. Sutton warned.

  “Fine,” Rafe agreed, tossing back the bedclothes and rising.

  She watched, too afraid to speak, as he stalked across the room and pressed his ear to the door. Her heart was pounding as fast as it had last night. She pressed a trembling hand to it, holding the counterpane over her bare breasts as if it were a shield.

  What manner of scrape have you managed to find yourself in now, Persephone? So close to reaching your majority, and you have fallen into bed with a seductive rogue and courted scandal and ruin.

  Rafe turned back to her. “Jasper’s gone now. We need to get you dressed and back to your room before anyone sees you.”

  The return to her own chamber loomed. It was not far, and yet it may as well have been on another continent. So many chances for discovery.

  She wetted her suddenly dry lips. “You needn’t worry over me. Your brother is awaiting you. I will find my way to my rooms.”

  “That ain’t the way of it, lovely.” He strode toward her, frowning, and perhaps it was wrong of her, but she found her gaze lingering on his mouth.

  Heavens, what his mouth had done to her. She was shameless, because despite the danger of her carefully constructed walls of lies crumbling around her, the place between her legs thrummed. She pressed her thighs together beneath the bedclothes to subdue the ache, but it only served to heighten the sensation and make her aware she was shockingly wet.

  What had happened to her?

  Rafe Sutton.

  He was what had happened to her. This dangerous, gl
orious, caring, sweet, passionate man. And now she was not just in danger of losing her position, but her heart as well.

  “I’ll be seeing you back safely where you belong,” he said sternly, arriving at the side of her bed with an armful of her discarded garments from the night before. “Come now, we’ve got to get you dressed.”

  She had been so caught up in her own musings that she had failed to note him gathering her gown and petticoats. But although she had been quite free with her nudity last evening, and despite the intimacies they had shared, she found herself strangely reluctant to slip from his bed naked by the harsh light of morning.

  “Shy?” Rafe asked, his tone so tender she could have wept. “No need for that, lovely. Shall I turn my back?”

  He was acting as if Mr. Sutton had not put a time constraint on his appearance. As if the household would not be bustling about when they exited the room. As if nothing they had done was wrong. And she was grateful for it. His easy manner helped her panic to calm.

  “Surely you do not intend to help me dress,” she said. “I can do that myself. I have been for some time now.”

  Drat. She was once more revealing far too much. But if Rafe found anything to question in her words, he was saving it for another occasion.

  Instead, he gave her a grin that showed his dimples. “You don’t need to dress yourself with me about. I’m a dab hand with a lady’s buntlings.”

  The reminder that he likely had a vast number of women awaiting his attentions made a fierce surge of jealousy curdle her stomach. To her mortification, she realized she did not want this man to ever touch another lady’s buntlings, whatever they were. Only hers.

  It is not meant to be, Persephone.

  But what if it was?

  Her heart ached.

  “If you must,” she said.

  “I must.”

  She allowed him to draw her from the bed. His efficient motions made it clear this was no seduction. Her shift went over her head, and he smoothed it over her sides and hips before attending to her stays and petticoat. Her gown was last.

  “Turn.”