Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,115

dropped into the nearby chair, grabbed a boot, stopped as his gaze fell on that little bit of pointed cloth that so effectively covered the sight of heaven. But if he was to dip his head just a little bit more . . .

“You’re only wearing the corset, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “How can a bit of frippery drive me mad?”

“Does it?” Her innocent tone only served to increase the madness.

“You know it does.”

She pressed her lips together, smacked them, ran her tongue around them. Lord help him, he was going to spill his seed before he ever got out of his trousers. He jerked off his boots, his stockings. Stood. Reached for the buttons on his trousers—

Her hands landed on his. “I want to do it.”

“Do it quickly.”

She peered up at him with a saucy smile. “I’ll do it as I want.”

“Why are you torturing me?”

“Am I?”

“You know you are, you little witch.”

One button freed. Thank God.

“You always lead, and I follow,” she said quietly, studying the fall of his trousers. Surely, she could see that his swollen cock was about to cause the remaining secured buttons to pop off. “I want to lead tonight.”

He hadn’t realized he always led. Often, to him, it felt as though they were taking direction from each other. Except for last night, when he’d needed her so desperately and had set the pace, the frenzy. Not that she’d objected. Still, perhaps tonight was his punishment. As far as punishments went, it was one of the more pleasant ones.

Another button. Another, another until they were all freed.

With her nails, she lightly scored his buttocks as she drew down his trousers. The tremor that fissured deliciously through him with the scrape of her nails was nearly his undoing, and he almost didn’t notice that she’d gone to her knees in order to lower his trousers all the way. After stepping out of them and kicking them aside, he reached down to help her to her feet, but when his hands curled around her shoulders—

“No.”

He froze, waited.

She trailed her fingers up and down his thighs. “You have such firm legs.”

She pressed a kiss to his knee. His knee, for God’s sake. It very nearly buckled. Then an inch above his knee. The inside of his thigh.

“You often do very wicked things between my thighs with your mouth,” she said solemnly. She bent back her head, met his gaze. “Why did you never teach me that I could do something very similar to you?”

Was she insinuating what he thought she was? “Because I didn’t think you’d enjoy it.”

“Do you taste like Brussels sprouts, then?”

He furrowed his brow. “I very much doubt it.”

Her lids half-lowered; her mouth pouted prettily. “That’s the only taste I abhor.”

His groan came up from the soles of his feet. “Thea—”

“I want to taste you.” Her hands were clasping the backs of his legs, her mouth once again pressed to the inside of his thigh. “Would you like me to?”

How could she sound so innocent and yet so worldly at the same time?

“Yes.” It came out as more a croak than a word.

She nipped at the sensitive skin where her mouth rested. His stomach tightened. His hands fisted. He couldn’t take his gaze off the sight of her fair head so near to his cock. The unruly thing strained toward her. He had no luck whatsoever making it behave, no doubt because he had no desire for it to.

Her hands came around, and she closed her fingers around the base of his shaft, and now it had no choice except to do as she commanded. She licked her lips, then kissed the head, and the pleasure that shot through him caused every muscle to tighten. He threaded his fingers through her soft hair because he couldn’t not touch her when she was touching him so intimately.

“No Brussels sprout flavor,” she said, and took her tongue on a tour that left no part of that throbbing member overlooked. With a low groan, he dropped his head back with the exquisiteness of the sensations riffling through him.

A little death. That was what the French called it. He was going to die, here and now.

Then he felt her mouth—heat, dampness, softness—closing around him and every inch of him tensed. Glancing down, he watched as her head bobbed while she worked those plump lips and her velvety tongue over his sensitive flesh. “Thea . . . God . . . uh . . .