her at the notion of him feeling as if he must reciprocate, for that had never been her intention.
“You do not need to—”
“Hush,” he interrupted, his grin deepening. “Hold your skirts for me, darling. On this, we are in disagreement, I am afraid, for I do need to make you come. It is only fair.”
Well, when he phrased it thus, who was she to argue?
Jo’s sex was already throbbing with need after having brought him to release. Having him at her mercy had only made her want him more rather than sating her. And now, here, she had the most delicious offer of him making her spend in return.
She grabbed fistfuls of fabric, watching him as he caressed his way up her stocking-clad calves. His fingers dipped into the hollows behind her knees, stroking. She felt a rush of wetness at her core and clamped her thighs together to stave off a bolt of longing.
But Decker was having none of that, of course. His knowing touch moved higher, to her thighs, gliding over her with such reverence, she ached. His head dipped, and he pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses up each of her shin bones, all the way to her knees. His hands moved to her inner thighs, parting them, exposing her most intimate flesh to him.
And though he had seen her before and the act was not unfamiliar, she nevertheless knew a trill of forbidden excitement as air kissed her there. And then, his eyes, bright as the summer sky and so deliciously knowing, were upon her as well. He looked at her as if she were the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. Whenever he looked at her, she felt as if she were.
“You have the prettiest cunny, Josie,” he murmured. “Perfect for me.”
She could not stifle the whimper of yearning that escaped her as he caressed higher still, bowing his head like a supplicant to deliver a stinging trail of kisses along her inner thighs. Just when she thought she could bear no more of his teasing, he spread her open, parting her lips. His hot breath fanned over her flesh.
“So pink and glistening and beautiful,” he said. “And all mine.”
“Yes.” The lone word hissed from her, all she could manage. It said enough—she wanted him to do what he would to her. To lick her, suck her, bite her, bring her to the same glorious heights of pleasure he had before. She was frantic, bursting with need.
This time, he did not lavish attention upon her pearl first. Instead, he sank his tongue deep inside her in one unexpected thrust. The invasion had her writhing on the chair, seeking to bring herself closer. She thought she could spend from his tongue inside her alone, just like this. Already, she had been so perilously near to coming undone.
“You are so wet, Josie.” He licked into her again. “Did you like sucking my cock?”
She was breathless from both his tongue and his question. “Yes.”
“Naughty wife,” he murmured against her. “I approve wholeheartedly.”
It was the first time in their marriage that he had referred to her as his wife directly. She could not contain the warmth that suffused her at the word. But when his tongue flicked over her pearl, everything else was dashed. He teased her entrance with the tip of his forefinger. So light—the pulses of his tongue, the shallow thrust inside her. It all heightened her desperation. She had learned that her husband was a master of drawing out pleasure. Indeed, he was a master of pleasure. Full stop.
Each time he touched her—each time they made love—was more decadent than the last.
His tongue flicked quickly, inciting ripples of delicious pleasure. His finger dipped into her channel. “I liked watching you take my cock into your mouth, darling.” More licks, a deeper thrust. “I loved watching you swallow, take all of me.” He sucked her bud then, hard and long. His digit sank inside her.
“Oh,” was all she could say. And then, as he curled his finger within her, reaching that fantastic, deliriously sensitive place, “yes.”
For a time, she was nothing but a writhing heap of sensation. Every part of her was attuned to him, as if she were an instrument ready to be played. The scent of his study—leather, oiled wood, paper and ink—mingled with the musky scent of her own desire and the potent scent of his cologne. The wet sounds his tongue made as he laved her flesh, licking up and down her