Wicked Intentions - By Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,97

in the firelight.

She stroked down on his penis and opened her lips about him, sucking gently on the very tip.

His face was strained, the muscles standing out on his arms. “Take it deeper.”

And she did, swallowing as much of him as she could, her eyes still on his even as his hips moved under her. He covered her hand with his own to help her stroke faster.

He was gasping now, his cheeks furrowed, his face flushed. “Do you want it?” he whispered. “Stop now if you can’t take it.”

She couldn’t talk—her mouth was full of his cock—but she wanted to see this. Wanted to bring him to the inevitable end. She watched him as she felt his cock swell in her mouth. Watched him as his hand jerked powerfully on his length. Watched him as he bared his teeth.

“Ah, God!”

She tasted salt and warmth. Felt tears fill her eyes as he spasmed helplessly. He was big and strong, but she’d brought him to this point.

She licked him as he softened, feeling tender, feeling somehow lost.

“Come here,” he ordered, and pulled her into his arms.

He tucked her head under his chin, and they lay there for long moments as he stroked her hair. Then he began to pull her skirts up. Wordlessly, relentlessly, he uncovered her limbs until she lay sprawled on him, the fabric of her skirts around her waist.

He looked down and she followed his gaze. Her dark curls were a shocking contrast to the whiteness of her skin. She wasn’t used to this, to a man examining her in the firelight, and she started to pull down her skirts to cover her nudity.

“Don’t.” He stayed her hand, his eyes meeting hers in command. “I want to see you.”

She shook her head, but the movement was weak.

He moved his hand to the juncture of her thighs, and she turned her head, hiding her face in his shoulder. She felt him pet her, stroking through her curls.

“Open your legs,” he said quietly.

She complied, swallowing shallowly, waiting for his touch.

It was so delicate when it came that she almost missed it. He skimmed her inner thighs, up close to where her center waited for him. But then he skirted up, around her mound, touching only the edges of her hair.

“Watch,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

She inhaled and raised her head.

His big hand lay over her mound, his fingers spread possessively.

“Don’t look away or I’ll stop,” he murmured.

She swallowed, watching as his fingers slowly slipped down to her far lips. He widened them, spreading her lips, revealing the deep rose within and her own embarrassing moisture.

“So soft,” he said, and ran his forefinger through her folds.

She was panting now, watching as his finger reached her apex and circled around her nub. Gently, he tapped her clitoris.

“Do you like that?” he whispered.

She wanted to shake her head, to look away, but if she did, he would stop and the mere thought was enough to make her think she’d die.

“Temperance,” he whispered, deep and intimate, “tell me if you like this.” He pressed gently, not quite hard enough. “Temperance?”

“Harder,” she breathed.

“What?”

She swallowed. “Harder. Touch me harder.”

He pressed again. “Like this?”

Oh, glorious bliss! Her hips rose of their own accord. She nodded jerkily.

He circled against her, using that exact amount of pressure. “Now watch. Keep your eyes open and on my hand or I’ll stop. Do you understand?”

She nodded again, mesmerized by that finger, growing steadily slicker with her own moisture. He ministered to her in the quiet of her sitting room, the only sounds her ragged breathing and the small liquid noises his hand made against her flesh. He rubbed faster and faster until her eyelids were heavy, until it was a herculean struggle to keep them open. She was afire, warmth and sweet pleasure radiating from her center.

And suddenly his hand twisted.

Her eyes opened wide as she watched him insert two fingers deep into her, and she gasped at the feeling and the sight. He brought his thumb down on her at the same time and she broke apart. The fire spreading through her limbs, her head thrown back, her vision blurring even as she still watched him work her flesh. Dear Lord, she’d never felt so wanton. She was trembling in his arms, her legs flexing, and still he shoved his fingers into her, spreading them apart, twisting them inside of her.

His other hand turned her head, and he was kissing her suddenly. His mouth open and wet

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