The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,96

him every way she could before the night was over, but this—pleasuring him with her mouth—she had been imagining this for weeks.

She met his needy gaze and smiled. “Watch,” she whispered, opening her mouth and taking him between her lips.

“Oh God.” His hips bucked once before he mastered his urge to plunder and thrust.

She tongued him playfully—the way he’d kissed her earlier—teasing his shaft with long, languid strokes.

“Urgh.”

Benna smiled around his cock at the desperate sound, drinking in the sight of him, from the smooth planes of his face to the ridged muscles of his belly, which quivered and flexed as he fought to hold his need in check.

“So good,” he murmured softly, his eyes mere slits as he traced a finger lightly over her stretched lips, his own curving into a possessive smile. “Beautiful.” He brushed the hair from her brow and then cupped her face lightly with both hands, his gaze hungry and heavy with passion.

Benna worked him with ruthless efficiency, determined to smash his façade—to watch him come apart; to make this glorious, self-contained man shatter into a thousand pieces.

His breathing grew ragged and his shaft began to thicken.

“No.” His hands firmed on her face and he stilled her, his gaze burning into her as he wrestled with his desire, slowly, but surely, regaining control.

“No,” he repeated.

He slid from her mouth with a tortured moan and then took her hands and helped her to her feet.

His expression was almost crazed as he claimed her mouth with a ravaging kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he held her gaze, his own eyes unreadable.

Did he think her a doxy? A whore?

“I adored your mouth on me,” he said, his words shattering her worries. “But I don’t want our evening to be over so quickly. Besides,” he added, his lips twitching into a wicked smile. “You are still clothed. Will you strip for me, Benna?”

As many experiences as she’d had in the bedchamber, stripping for a lover was not among them.

While she was no longer shy about her body, neither was she especially proud of it.

But then Geoff had never looked at her the way Jago was looking at her—his eyes blazing with an intoxicating blend of desire, awe, and adoration that warmed not just her skin, but her starved soul.

He wanted her, not just any woman. But her.

Benna nodded and took a step back; she would strip for him in a way that he’d never forget.

***

Benna stepped back and gracefully sank into the chair Jago had been occupying.

She didn’t sit like any lady he’d ever seen. Instead, she hooked an arm over the wooden back and lounged, her long, elegant legs splayed enough that the blanket she’d wrapped around her waist split, exposing smooth, white flesh to midthigh.

Her lips curved into a faint smile and she slid a hand up her leg, lightly caressing herself and pushing aside the blanket until it was open all the way up to her hip. She teased the ragged woolen edge until it just barely covered her sex, and then her hand stilled.

Jago’s head jerked up and he closed his mouth, distractedly wondering if there was drool on his chin.

She smirked at him as her fingers worked the buttons of his clawhammer.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” she asked, one of her legs moving in a way that shifted the blanket.

He nodded dumbly, not trusting his voice.

She cocked her head. “Did you touch yourself, my lord?”

His jaw sagged and his eyes threatened to roll out of his head.

She chuckled and Jago felt his face burn.

“Well?” Her voice brimmed with laughter and Jago suddenly felt like he was the twenty-two-year-old.

No, he mentally amended, I’ve not felt this gauche since I was fifteen.

“I did,” he admitted gruffly.

“Show me.”

Jago’s cock jumped with mindless joy at her quiet command but the rest of his body was momentarily frozen in shock.

He swallowed the surplus of moisture in his mouth. “You want me to, er—”

“Yes, I want you to er.”

Her words surprised a laugh out of him, but the way she was looking at him—consuming him—made him wildly aroused at the thought of stroking himself for her pleasure.

“As you wish, Benna.” Jago closed his fist around his shaft and hissed with pleasure.

Now it was her lips that parted and her breathing that roughened.

Jago gave himself a slow, thorough pump, smirking when she swallowed hard enough for him to hear it.

She cut him a quick glance when he stopped. “Go on,” she ordered, standing and shrugging his coat from her shoulders, never