Taste me.
She licked them, sucked his fingers into her mouth. A muffled cry left her at the taste of him, her tongue tracing around his finger.
He groaned. And in a flurry of movement, his arms snaked around her, then he shot up, and Georgiana found herself thrown onto the massive four-poster bed.
Fitz crawled after her, gaze black, heady—hungry—from where he watched her beneath heavy lids. He aggressively pushed open her thighs and gave her mind no time to process what was happening. He dove straight between her thighs, his fingers sinking inside her. A sound of pure lust, pure appreciation, rumbled from him, and he buried his face further.
Her breath stuttered, her hips canting. Her body didn’t know what way was up. Her core tightened, an overwhelming pressure building to staggering heights. The pounding of her heart in her chest echoed between her thighs, where his tongue was flat and pulsing against her clitoris.
“God, I can feel you throbbing against my tongue, Gigi. Così disperata per me.” He gave a tortuously soft lick to her swollen flesh and then pierced her with his blackened amber gaze. “You love being covered in my cum? Rub me into your skin, Gigi. Cover those glorious breasts with my seed. Mine.”
She stopped breathing. Where had this sinful man come from? This devil who turned her into a puddle of wanton woman. She reached up and rubbed him over her chest, into her skin, moaning as she cupped and clenched her breasts, rolling her thumbs in a slick glide over her aching nipples.
“More, Gigi. Show me how you like those tits touched, how rough, how hard. Show me how good my cum feels coating your nipples.”
Georgiana was going to explode. The coiling pressure was going to combust just from the words flying from his tongue.
He dropped back between her thighs, his fingers and mouth working in tandem. She moaned, noises that were nothing but feral, ragged, broken, ripping from her throat. She almost couldn’t believe they came from her. But she could still taste him on her tongue, feel his seed on her skin, feel his lips, his tongue, his fingers between her legs. It set her afire.
“Oh, Go-od. God. Fitz. I…I…” She was incoherent, that was what she was. She was gone, brainless, nothing but molten liquid lust.
And then he sank his fingers deep, curling and pressing in a devastating rhythm. His tongue flattened against her clitoris, and the tight, swirling pressure inside her broke, shattered. She cried out, half-sob, half-moan, her body shaking violently against the bed linens. Pleasure shot through her, pulse after pulse surging through her body all the way to her toes. Her hands tightened on her breasts involuntarily as her muscles clenched tight, her back arching off the bed, sending more jolts of bliss reeling through her.
She shuddered and fell limp on the bed, breath bursting from her. Her eyes slid shut, entirely replete, satiated, small aftershocks quivering through her limbs. Slowly she came to, the languid haze of post-orgasmic bliss settling in.
The breath shot from her. She was unceremoniously yanked to the edge of the bed and pulled into her husband’s lap.
The blunt head of her husband’s cock notched at her entrance.
Hishardcock.
47
Fitz
FitzpulledGeorgianaintohis lap, her legs straddling his from where he sat on the edge of the bed. Gripping her hips, he brought her down, lining himself up at her entrance. God, he could feel the heat of her, how she throbbed for him, aftershocks of her release still fluttering her intimate muscles. Muscles he wanted to be surrounded by.
Her eyes flew wide. “You-you. Isn’t it supposed to deflate after?”
He laughed, deep and rich with want, shaking his head. “Jennings family trait. I only need a few minutes between bouts. And after tasting you? Seconds.” And to prove his point, he thrust at the same time he dragged her hips down and sank to the hilt.
The breath fled her lips on a shocked exhale and ended on a moan that melded with his. Bliss. Heaven. Home. That was what it was to be inside her.
Her lips skimmed over his cheek until she found his mouth and then she was sipping at him, nipping at him, his greedy little wife.
Gigi rocked and ground against him, rode him without hesitation, without a hint of uncertainty. She took what she wanted, unabashedly.
She let out a low, guttural groan, her hips picking up speed as she clearly found a perfect spot, a perfect rhythm. Fuck, fuck,fuck. Whatever she had just done had the head of his cock rubbing against a spot inside her that had lust pulsing out of control to his cock. God, it was like she was ribbed, and she rocked herself on that spot, again and again and—fuck—again. This was going to be over—for her and for him—if he didn’t take control. And he wasn’t ready for it to be over.
He tightened his grip on her hips and pushed her back. She whined, her pelvis thrusting forward, desperate to get back to that glorious spot.
But what his wife didn’t know was that he had been doing alotof reading since he received those pamphlets. And it had been eye-opening. There was this tactic of staving off orgasm—repeatedly—which sounded like pure torture. But apparently, the constant denial led to overwhelmingly intense orgasms. And he wanted nothing but overwhelming orgasms for his wife. She deserved nothing less.
He slowed his thrusts, giving her only a semblance of what she wanted. She writhed in his lap, desperately seeking, trying to increase the pace, to control the angle. But he denied her the pressure she craved, the impact she needed. Only to give her a tease. A hard thrust. Retreat. A grind of hips, rubbing over her clitoris. Retreat. Another thrust. Retreat.
She growled at him, her fingers digging so hard into his sides he could feel her nails through his linen shirt. His free hand flew to her jaw, and he yanked her to face him, his grip biting. She stilled, panting against him, warm puffs of champagne-and-spice-tinted breath.
He tsk’d at her at the same time he inwardly groaned. Because it was delectable when his kitten let out her claws. Her eyes bore into him, black as the night outside. He squeezed, and she gasped, head dropping back, supplicant. He petted her jaw softly. It still felt new, being rough with her. He liked it—no, loved it—but he needed to break it up with soft touches.
