his rigid cock slipping from her mouth and jutting proudly between them, slick with the sheen of her saliva. The slit on the perfect tip entranced her, a tiny bead of his mettle leaking from it as she watched. Would he be shocked if she licked it up? Was this all the spending he would do from her mouth alone? Perhaps every man was different.
“Did you not like it?” she asked him, meeting his dark, stormy gaze.
“I loved it,” he said thickly. “Need you ask? You make me mad with the desire to have more of you, sweet.”
“But you did not spend,” she said, confused. “If I have done something wrong, you must tell me, Tom. It is my intention to please you.”
“You please me without trying,” he reassured her softly. “Now come to bed with me so I can make love to you.”
Her stubborn nature refused to concede defeat. “Not yet. I want you to spend in my mouth.”
His groan reverberated through the tiled bathing chamber, and he tenderly ran his fingers through her damp hair. “Damn it, Hyacinth, what you do to me. You have no inkling. I am trying to be honorable when it is plain to see the bastard you were married to did not give a damn about your own desires.”
Could he be any more pure and good, her Tom, this unlikely lover of hers? Still, his words made her flush.
“If you do not want me to continue, I shan’t.”
“No, damn it,” he growled. “That is not it at all. I am merely attempting to keep myself from turning into a rutting beast on you. I will not be like him.”
There went more warmth, settling in her heart. More Tom, locked deep inside her, forever. “You could never be like him.”
Truer words could not be spoken. The difference between Southwick and Tom was as disparate as winter and summer, death and life. There was nothing about Tom that was anything like her husband. And she could not be more glad of it.
“Hyacinth, darling,” he protested nevertheless. “Let me take you to bed.”
But a renewed desire to bring him to his crisis hit her. She wanted to undo him. She had made the choice, and that was what was making the blood flow like warm honey through her. That was what was making the desire pound between her legs. She was slick and wet, so wet. Naked for him. On her knees for him. And she wanted him to give himself to her. To let her pleasure him.
“Tell me what pleases you,” she said instead, stroking him. As she did so, more seed leaked from the tip, and she used her thumb to swirl it over his head, the wetness sending an answering surge of yearning straight to her core.
His excitement fueled hers.
“You please me, Hyacinth,” he said. “Just you. Very much.”
He was not giving her the instruction she needed. But never mind that. She would follow her instinct. She dipped her head and took him back into her mouth, sucking on the tip of him. The tang of his seed flooded her mouth. She laved and licked and drew him deeper, taking more of him. He was so large, she had yet to take half, and he was already nearing the back of her throat.
She removed her hand from the base of his cock, and she exhaled, relaxing to accept his full length. Hyacinth did not stop until she had all of him. The feral groan that emerged from him was part of her reward. The rest was in the way her saint lost control. His fingers slid into her hair. And his hips were no longer still. Instead, he moved with her, the action sending his cock deeper. She held him there for as long as she could, before she gradually pulled away, keeping her lips tight around him as she went. All the way to the tip.
“Damn you, woman,” he rasped. “You are making me lose…”
She moved again, drawing him back down her throat, clasping his firm buttocks in her hands and holding him to her. She fed on him, feasting on his desire, sucking, licking, driving them both to the edge. Knowing she was bringing him to the heights of pleasure, that he was at her sensual mercy, was unbearably heady.
With every pass of her mouth over his rigid flesh, she marked him as hers. She was lost in sensation, lost in him. So lost that his climax took her by surprise.