by Stacy Reid
Before she could come down from the high of that delight, he slipped another finger inside her snug passage, and then another. She moaned at the tight fit and the pressure. Then his fingers moved in her alarming wetness. Each stroke into her snug sex was a shock of agonizing pleasure. His head dipped and she slapped a hand over her mouth to contain the sob as he went for her pearl.
He licked her, over and over. Her nub swelled with aching hunger, and she lifted her hips helplessly against his wicked mouth as he tugged her nub between his teeth and sucked it into his mouth.
A hoarse scream slid from her mouth before she could contain it. Maryann tried to pull back from the powerful sensation. His large hands curved underneath her buttocks and held her firmly under the lash of his tongue. Maryann sobbed at the overwhelming pleasure. Her body trembled and sweat slicked her skin.
A wildness rose inside her, and with every lick and pull of his mouth, the heat in her belly grew and expanded. Maryann became a creature of carnality as she stopped trying to escape the raw, heated sensation. Instead, her thighs spilled open wider and she arched her hips more against his devasting mouth.
The shivering sensation low in her stomach felt as if she were falling, and a sense of unalterable consequences beat against her thoughts only to be ripped away under the shock of bliss that tore through her.
“Nicolas,” she wailed, trembling. “I need you…in me!”
He crawled up over her body, dipped his head, and kissed her. It was so gentle, as if he hadn’t just ravaged her senses and left her quaking. He reached between them, fisted his manhood, pressed it against her sex, and pushed.
Her breath gasped from her at the burning sensation.
“You are so damn tight,” he groaned against her mouth.
She released the sheets to clasp his shoulders, hugging him close to her. He invaded her body relentlessly, and a sob hitched in her throat. Maryann found it increasingly hard to focus on anything but the stretching tightness between her thighs.
It burned.
She lowered her face and buried it in the crook of his neck, brushing featherlight kisses against the hollow of his throat. With a groan he thrust, sinking deep inside her sex. A cry tore from her throat, and she clung to his shoulders, gasping through the shock of the pleasure-pain.
A hoarse shout spilled from him, and then he convulsed inside her arms, pulling from her to spill his seed on her quivering belly.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I am like an untried lad. That should have been longer and far more pleasurable for you.”
She giggled at the disgruntlement in his tone. “Ah, rakesses do that,” she purred, feeling a powerful rush of feminine satisfaction. “I’ve heard rakes normally have ladies at their feet in a puddle…how wonderful that the shoe is on the other foot.”
Their harsh breath mingled in the silence of the room, and it took several moments before he kissed her forehead, then pushed from the bed.
He returned with a handkerchief and tenderly cleaned away his release.
Then he sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he murmured.
Maryann blinked, sensing he was not finished. Beyond curious, she shifted, containing her gasp at the discomfort between her legs. His penetration had been so abrupt and short-lived. He reached over and pulled her to him, positioning her so that she sat in his lap, her knees bracketing his hips. Her hair cascaded over her front and his chest in a curtain of simmering silk.
He reached between them to brush his knuckles over her nub. “I want to ravish you,” he said, his face a grimace of arousal.
Pleasure streaked through her as nerve endings came alive from that soft caress. He dragged her so fast into a world of pure sensation, she easily became lost to him.
“Ah,” she said teasingly, nipping at his chin. “Worrying about my sensibilities, are you?”
He grunted.
“I have a confession,” she murmured throatily against his mouth. “I found a very naughty book once in the library.”
“How naughty?” he groaned.
“Images…the most memorable of a buxom lady perched on her knees while a gentleman placed his mouth between her thighs.”
Her marquess cursed. Maryann laughed.
He was gorgeously intense, his face almost savage in its planes and angles. “Our coming together just now should have lasted much longer…but I was too eager…too desperate for you.” A dark line of color accented his cheekbones. “I am going to stroke, rub, and pinch it while you ride me.”
Maryann purred. “Tell me more.”
Nicolas nipped at her lip and cupped her entire sex. “Each rub of your clitoris will drive you wild, and you’ll beg me to stop from the agonizing pleasure throbbing through your quim.”
Her entire body flushed, sensing that this word was sensually crude, and to her shock, arousal surged hot and greedy through her body.
He brushed a kiss over her mouth again, as if to soothe. Her lips trembled in response.
He rubbed his thumb over her clitoris, once, twice, three times while he slowly impaled her onto his thick length. The relentless rub and press of his thumb against her nub had her shaking, almost mortified at how wet she got. Need coiled hot and intense through Maryann. The hand at her hips urged her down, and a wild cry tore from her throat. She felt deliciously impaled, the penetration stretching her despite the wetness of her flesh.
“Ride me.”
“With pleasure,” she whispered.
Holding Nicolas’s brilliant gaze, she gripped his shoulders, lifted her hips, and started riding him slowly. Each glide over his thick length wreaked havoc within her body. Her mass of hair rippled down her shoulders, cascading over his chest. She fisted his hair in her hands and dragged his mouth against hers, rolling her hips against his in a greedy glide. His large hands cupped her buttocks, and he helped her, dragging her up his manhood and urging her down sometimes with slow movements, other times rough and hard.
“Ride harder,” he growled against her mouth.
Maryann’s heart raced, beating a harsh, driving rhythm against her breast, and a broken cry of need escaped her as she responded with wantonness. She gripped his hair and held him to her as she rode him, faster and deeper, reveling in the primal invasion of his manhood inside her aching sex. With each stroke Nicolas drove her closer to shattering.
But it was the constant stroke of his thumb against her clitoris. The sensations almost hurt, like a knot tightening low in her belly and even lower. The piercing sensation in her nub became a raw, sweet agony. She wanted to escape it, even as she never wanted him to stop that rub and press. Her world narrowed entirely onto the pleasure crowding her senses. Suddenly, hot, aching pleasure took her over. Maryann lost her breath, control of her body, and her mind as ecstasy tore her apart.
With a harsh groan, and with her still impaled on him, Nicolas twisted with her so she fell back on the bed. He thrust deep, then froze, spilling deep inside her body.
She curved into his chest, relaxing at the haven of his embrace, her lashes fluttering closed as exhaustion claimed her. Sometime later, Maryann muttered irritably when he lifted her and placed her in the center of the bed. She distantly felt that he cleaned her, and then he was there, holding her until she fell into a deep slumber.
Chapter Twenty
Maryann’s laughter rang into her bedchamber, charming Nicolas to no end. Playing charades with just the two of them was decidedly hilarious. Their rules had completely devolved from the original game. Each would simply think of a word, stand in the center of the room, and act it for the other to guess. Their game’s most profound rule was honesty.
“I give up,” she said with a gasping laugh, unable to understand what he could possibly be trying to communicate by stooping low with his hands clasped in a prayer, then to slowly rise swaying side to side, then to just explode into action by leapin
g high and spreading his arms wide.
She tried so ridiculously hard to not be distracted by the fact he was so casually dressed, and the open neck of his shirt revealed his throat and chest. They had been at a ball earlier, and one look from him across the expanse of the ballroom and she had pled a headache and returned home early. It hadn’t been long before he had slipped in through her windows.
Her bedroom had been transformed into a place where only dreams happened. Once he crept into her room and closed the door and windows behind her, the outside world ceased to exist, the risk of discovery that he was there faded, and everything inside…every touch, smile, every kiss, every story they shared about growing up, everything became enchanted.
“Shh,” Nicolas said, tumbling onto the carpet beside her and leaning over to nip at her ear. “Recall your parents and brother are also home. Tonight, we are living very dangerously.”
“What were you acting?” she whispered.
“A volcano.”
She choked on her laughter. “I am at a loss as to what goes on inside your head. How was that a volcano!”
He brushed a kiss over her mouth, and before he could withdraw, she snaked her hands around his nape and mashed their mouths together in a deep kiss. His groan vibrated from his mouth and she swallowed it, going with him when he curved her body into his. Heat curled low in her belly and her nipples stabbed against her nightgown.
It astonished her how easily desire kindled in her body.
“Not yet,” he murmured against her mouth, biting into her soft lower lip. “I was too unrestrained with my passions and—”
“You were wonderful,” she rebutted. “And it has been three days since we made love.”
He smiled. “And we’ll wait a few more.”
She kissed his mouth again, wanting to assuage the desire rising inside. “Nicolas—”
“You were sweetly innocent, and I did not temper my passions. I should have been more considerate of your sensibilities and your body’s limitations. Being lost in your taste and scent is not an excuse.”
“I enjoyed everything,” she said huskily.
“Of course you did, I am an excellent lover,” he said with a roguish smile of such beauty, her breath audibly hitched.
Since the first night they made love, he crept into her room every evening. They would laugh, talk, play games, and read to each other. When their playful kisses exploded in raw passion, despite the arousal in her body, she had been too sore to tumble into bed with him. That very first night, he had taken her four times before he had discreetly left her room with the breaking dawn. The next morning there had been red strawberry marks everywhere on her body—breasts, stomach, and thighs. And her mouth had been swollen from his ravishing kisses and her eyes…they had glittered with carnal knowledge.
She lightly kissed over his jaw, down to the indentation at the base of his throat, and inhaled his scent into her lungs. Her marquess needed to understand that he alone would not dictate when they made love. His personality was driven and forceful, but she was not afraid of it or him, and if she wanted something, surely he must understand she would take it. With a rough groan he pushed her away from him, lurched to his feet, and lowered himself to the sofa.
Splayed at his feet, her nightgown wantonly ridden up to her thighs, she smiled at him. His gaze narrowed. Then she stood and in one graceful move removed her nightgown from her body.
He sucked in a sharp breath and clenched the arm of the sofa in a visibly tight grip. “Woman,” he began warningly. “I’ve decided. You’ll not tempt me to—”
His words died when she lowered herself to the carpet to kneel between his splayed legs.
“Oh? You decided?” she drawled with a smile, reaching up to release her knot of hair from the loose chignon. Her heavy tresses tumbled to her shoulders and back in riotous waves, and appreciation lit in his eyes.
Maryann loved that he loved her hair.
She rested her hands on his thighs, and the muscles bunched between her fingertips. His body reacted to her provocative position of kneeling before him and his manhood hardened behind the flap of his trousers.
“If you will recall that I had mentioned some months ago, my friends and myself accidentally came upon a book in the library. It was clear it had been hastily tucked away, and that was the driver for our curiosity.”
Holding his stare and fighting to keep her blush at bay, she reached for his pants, and deftly opened the flap of his trousers. His manhood sprang into her hands, hard, heavy, and straining. His girth was such she could barely close her fingers fully around him, and it astonished her she had taken him so eagerly into her body.
“It was a very naughty book,” she said mischievously. “This was before we decided to be sinful wallflowers, but wickedness must have been brewing in our hearts from then because we all hid in the library and devoured the pages. Our eyes were opened, our sensibilities mortified, the women in us intrigued.”
He made no reply, merely watched her with that brilliant, hawkish gaze, a flush of color high on his cheekbones. His eyes glittered with desire, with emotions. Without saying any more, Maryann dipped her head and kissed the very tip of his manhood.
He groaned, and the fingers on the armchair tightened. She had no notion what she was about, but she had seen the pictures, and he had pleasured her in a similar manner several times. Maryann believed in the reciprocity of such delights.
This time she kissed that flared crown as if it were his lips, and when he shouted she released him to press a single finger across his lips.
“Shh,” she whispered. “Remember where we are.”
The lust that leaped into his gaze had such a savage cast, her heart tripped. Her breasts swelled with languorous heaviness, breathing fractured, and she shifted a bit on her knees. Then with a mischievous smile, she went back to her tender ministrations.
…
Nicolas thrust his fingers into Maryann’s hair, bunching them away from her face. He didn’t want the curtain of her hair to hide her face from him; he wanted to see every lick and teasing caress she made with her tongue against his cock. That first wicked stroke of her tongue had a rough groan slipping from him.
The minx smiled.
That wide, lush mouth was taking him with artless sensuality and decadent greed. She was so innocent in how she licked and kissed along the thick length of his cock, and Nicolas had never witnessed a more arousing sight than her knelt before him, pleasuring him, her russet glory bunched in his fingers. Pleasure rippled from his engorged length to his balls.
Each stroke of her tongue, tug of her lips, pounded lust through his veins. Nicolas felt as if he were enslaved to the stroke of her tongue, he bloody trembled, and sweat beaded his brow.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, voice so guttural with arousal he sounded unintelligible.
There was a point he thought he muttered crooning nonsense for she giggled sweetly against him. Then she sucked him into her mouth as far as she could take him. A ragged groan burst from his throat.
Unable to bear her tormenting tongue any longer, he pulled her up to him.
“I like that I drive you to losing control,” she teased, her cheeks rosily flushed, and her eyes dark with desire.
Those soft words seemed to brush directly against his cock.
“I am going to make love to you,” he said, his chest lifting on a harsh breath.
An engaging twinkle lit in her eyes. “That was my plan, my darling.”
He felt a peculiar wrenching in the vicinity of his heart. How and when did you slide underneath my skin? She felt imprinted on his soul.
He shifted and placed her on her stomach on the large armchair by the fire.
“Grip the armrests, and do not let go.”
She sweetly complied, then he stood and shrugged from his clothes before coming down behin
d her on his knees. He widened her legs slightly, pushed a hand between her body and the cushion to find her clitoris which he caressed until he felt a rush of wetness against his fingers.
It physically hurt to crave her this much.
She panted, need making her slick with welcome. Nicolas was relentless in how he stroked her clitoris over and over until she was mindless with arousal. Her fingers sank into the armchair’s padded arm and her delightfully rounded arse arched in the air.
He slipped one of his hands around her hips and drew her to her knees. Nicolas had never been so unrestrained with his passions before, and despite her gentility his Maryann burned with a wild passion he hadn’t dreamed possible, coaxing him to be himself in every way.
Her hands stretched above her head, gripping the armrests, she turned her face, her cheek sliding against the cushion set of the armchair. Nicolas pressed his cock at her wet sex, and slowly sank deep inside her welcoming heat. He entered her slowly, inch by deliberately slow inch, holding her still until she took his throbbing length to the hilt. A groan of shuddering satisfaction, and she swallowed him up with a muffled scream into the cushions, her back arching.
The desire that tore through him was a savage, demanding ache. She gripped his cock in the tightest, wettest clasp he’d ever experienced.
His palm found the inside of her thigh, stroked, caressed, as he savored the feeling of her softness. “I love feeling you under my hands,” he murmured, caressing the globes of her arse. “I love these wanton little noises you can’t help but make as I take you.”
He thrust inside her sex with long, deep strokes, pleasure rippling over him like fire, gritting his teeth at the sublime ecstasy of her tight sheath. With each piercing thrust within her, a mix of tenderness and lust rose inside, and he gripped her hips, riding her harder. With each plunge, his name from her lips became a whimper, a cry, a plea, a gasp, a moan. Nicolas bent over her, delving his fingers between her thighs to find her clitoris. He pressed it with his thumb, and Maryann convulsed around his cock, gripping him so tightly he could barely move. Passion rocked his body with jarring force and with a harsh groan he tumbled with her.