her body stiffening, her cunny clamping on his finger.
He withdrew from her and rose to his feet, blood roaring through him. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Devil traced over their lush fullness, painting her lips with her own dew and then sliding the fleshy pad into her mouth.
“See how sweet you taste,” he told her.
She sucked, and he thought his head might explode.
He removed the digit and replaced it with his mouth, kissing her frantically, feverishly. The taste of her mingled on their lips and tongues. It was hot, wet, feral. She moaned into the kiss. His fingers found their way between her thighs, dipping past her soaked curls to tease her nub once more.
She writhed against him, pressing her hard nipples into his chest, reminding him he was still wearing a banyan. To hell with this barrier between them. He wanted to be naked now. Wanted his skin on Evie’s at last. Wanted her to sear him from head to toe. Devil clawed at the belt, shucked his robe.
Breaking the kiss, he took her in his arms.
A twinge of pain went through his healed shoulder, but it was worth it to hold her like this again. Not long ago, he had been unsure of whether or not he ever could again.
“Theo!” She was breathless, arms flying around his neck for purchase. “You will hurt yourself.”
“You’re light as a bird, love,” he assured her, stalking with her to the bed.
He had worked hard to regain his strength after he had been wounded. Fortunately, he had the constitution of a mule.
“Theo,” she protested again.
“Hush, Mrs. Winter.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, then placed her on the bed with gentle care. “I worked hard for this moment, and I intend to enjoy it—and you—to the hilt.”
He settled between her legs on the bed, starting where he had left off, his fingers parting her slick folds. He licked her nipple, leveraged himself on his left forearm, pleased when the lingering pain was eclipsed by desire. She was wet, so wet. And hot. Her body undulated against him, seeking more, urging him on with her hips.
Devil sucked the peak of her other breast, then grazed it with his teeth.
“Oh,” she said.
She liked him a little rough, his Evie. Good, because he was wild for her. And the hold he had on his restraint was growing slippery. He suckled her and played with her and she came beautifully, body bowing from the bed. She was so wet by now that the sound of his fingers sliding through her folds echoed in the chamber.
He had to be inside her.
Soon.
But Evie had other intentions, it seemed. In the aftermath of her second crisis, she flattened her palms on his shoulders, guiding him to his back. He did as she wanted, lying there with awareness humming through him. The sheets were cool and soft on his back. His cock was hard, ballocks drawn tight with need. She straddled him, those creamy thighs on either side of his hips.
Good God, he had a perfect view of the tempting folds of her sex, parting. Of the swollen pearl peeking from her curls. His mouth watered for another taste of her. The sinner in him wondered if he could convince her to sit on his face so he could thrust his tongue deep inside her until she came again.
But then he forced himself to remember she was a virgin. Although they had made good use of their fleeting moments alone over the past few months, he had refused to bed her until she was his wife. He reached for her breasts, weighing them in his palms. They were perfect handfuls.
“I want to worship you,” she told him shyly.
He felt like an ungainly, massive creature trapped beneath a goddess. He was aware of his scars, his every mark of ink. On his chest, on his upper arm, the puckered, pink flesh from the most recent bullet.
“I am nothing to worship,” he rasped.
She shook her head, a beautiful smile curving her lips. “How wrong you are, Theodore Winter. You are perfect.”
“Flawed.”
She dipped her head and pressed a kiss to his healed wound. “Perfect.”
Ah, fuck. Tenderness warred with desire.
“A beast,” he ground out. “Covered in ink and scars.”
“My beast.” She kissed across his chest, her mouth anointing every mark, every wound, all the pieces of his past. “I love your scars. I love your ink.” Those tormenting lips traveled to his throat. “I love you.”
He was damned glad she did,