Her Missing Marquess (Wicked Husbands #5) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,66
delicious friction. His cock was hard and long, pressed against the fall of his trousers. There was no denying how much he wanted her. The knowledge was gratifying.
“I want to bury my face between your pretty thighs and lick your pearl,” he told her, his voice low. Decadent. It sent a dark trill down her spine. “I want to fuck you with my tongue. I want you bucking beneath me. I will not stop until you are shaking and desperate and wild.”
Still, it was not enough.
“Beg me,” she told him. “Get on your knees and beg.”
He caressed her thighs. “Nellie.”
She was asking a great deal from a man like him, she knew. But it was what she wanted—nay—what she needed from him. He had hurt her so badly. Had brought her so very low. And if he wanted to bring her pleasure this time, he was going to have to earn it, damn him.
“On your knees,” she repeated. “Beg me to lick my cunny.”
He muttered a string of curses, but he did as she asked, kneeling there in the dining room, hands on her knees. “Please, Nellie. I am begging. Come on my tongue.”
Better. She rather enjoyed this power over him.
She parted her legs a fraction, just enough to grant him a glimpse. “I will let you pleasure me on one condition.”
His gaze was on the apex of her thighs. Hungry. “Name it.”
“I am the only one who spends tonight. And afterward, we will continue dinner, and I will retire to my chamber. Alone.” She did not know where she had found the strength to issue such a demand, but she could not deny the surge of delicious need it gave her.
“Agreed,” he ground out.
She parted her thighs.
He was upon her in an instant, his hands flattening on her flesh, spreading her wider. His gaze was hot, burning, like a touch. She liked his eyes on her. She wondered what he saw and tried to imagine: a contrast of black skirts, pale thighs, and wet, pink flesh.
Her heart pounded and so did her core as she watched him, awaiting his next move. His head dipped closer, but still he did not touch her with his mouth. Instead, he inhaled deeply, as if he were mesmerized by the scent of her excitement.
“I love your cunny,” he told her softly. “So soaked for me, darling. So hungry.”
Slowly, he stroked her with his fingers, stopping when he reached her folds. Gently, he parted her with his thumbs, holding her open. He pursed his lips and blew a puff of air over her pearl.
His teasing was agony. Sweet, delicious agony. Her nipples were hard, her breasts heavy and aching. She scooted forward in an effort to get the contact she wanted, but he withdrew, a knowing smile on his lips.
“So impatient, Nellie.” He blew another stream of air over her. “You made me beg, and now it is your turn.”
How quickly, how easily he had turned the tables on her. And was that not the way of things with them? Just when she believed she had thwarted him, he made her want him and she became a slave to her need.
“I want your tongue, Jack,” she said. “Give it to me.”
“Beg me.” He glanced up at her, his grin wicked.
She continued to hold her skirts trapped with one hand, and with the other, she reached for him. Her fingers sank into his silky hair. “Please give me what I want.”
“With pleasure.”
He licked her then. One slow swipe on her pearl. A moan stole from her. It was so good, sensation rocketing through her. He flicked his tongue over her, up and down, focusing upon the needy bud at her center. The sounds of him pleasuring her heightened her excitement.
“So wet for me.” He kissed her pearl, then sucked it into his mouth. “So damn delicious. Whose cunny is this, Nellie?”
“Mine.”
He released her, keeping his mouth near but denying her the pleasure he had just been bestowing. “Wrong answer, love.”
She released a shuddering breath. She was aching—trembling—with desire. But this was a battle between them. “Do it, damn you.”
“Not until you tell me.” He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh instead.
She was quaking now. Dripping. Mindless. Desperate.
“Yours,” she said at last, surrendering to him, to pleasure. “My cunny is yours.”
Because it was true. She had never felt this way for any other man. As if she would die if she did not have his touch, his kiss, his tongue.