His face grew more serious, more determined. He ceased the torture of her nipple and continued his way down her body, rubbing his stubbly cheek against her belly, tasting her hip, her thigh, and finally he settled between her legs.
Her sex was slick and exquisitely sensitive from her recent release. He stared for what felt like an eternity at the flexing entrance to her body. She held her breath as she waited, waited.
Finally, he dropped his head there, just as he had the first night he made love to her. He swiped his tongue over her quim and she jerked, letting out a low gasp of pleasure and relief. Oh, how many times had she dreamed of this exact act since he first performed it? How many times had she pictured his hard mouth against her soft and yielding flesh?
Now it was not fantasy, but reality. And a better reality than she had even remembered. His tongue traced her entrance with delicate licks. She lifted, but he laughed and pressed a hand to her hip, holding her steady so he could guide the torture to come.
He used his other hand to gently spread her open, revealing her further. Yet she felt no embarrassment at being so exposed. On the contrary, she felt proud. Proud that he wanted her. Proud to give herself fully to this man, this amazing, complicated, generous man who made her want things she had never known existed.
He glided his tongue in a slow, firm circle around her clitoris, and Rosalinde’s head lolled back. Thoughts exited her mind, her body began to shake out of control.
“So close already,” he whispered, his breath stimulating her further. “How many times could I make you come, Rosalinde?”
She gasped as he licked her clitoris again. She was on the edge already. “I-I don’t know,” she moaned. “Please.”
He looked up the length of her body and their eyes met. He held the stare as he licked again, again, and then he was sucking, and she shattered as she fell over the edge of pleasure for a second time. She reached for him, grabbing for his hair, his shoulders, anything to center herself as swirling, pounding pleasure roared through every fiber of her being.
But he offered her no relief. He kept sucking, kept forcing her over-stimulated flesh to give more and more, until she was weak with release, until she thought she might just combust in his unrelenting fire.
At last, the tremors began to fade, the world slowed from its ceaseless spinning and he lifted his head from her sex. He crawled up the length of her body, positioning himself back at her entrance. She was so slick now that when he pressed his cock against her, he slid forward, fully seating without resistance.
They sighed together as he thrust again, short, hard thrusts, punctuated by pivots of his muscular hips. She drowned in sensation, her body still clenching from the previous two orgasms. His mouth found hers, filling her with the flavor of her pleasure and the heat of his need.
She held him close, whispering mindless, headless words of need and desire and care. And just when she thought she could not feel more, her body rocked again. He began to pound harder as she cried out beneath him and then he was gone, his slick seed pumping between them before he collapsed over her.
His arms came around her, tucking her into his side. His fingers tangled in her hair as he drew one of her legs over him and kissed her deeply, tenderly.
“I needed that,” he mused at last, when moments had ticked by, when their breath and heart rates had slowed and matched like they were made to do so.
She cuddled deeper into his embrace. “After today, so did I.”
He pulled back a fraction and looked down at her. “After today? What happened today?”
She sighed as he stroked back a few locks of hair from her face. “I-I am beginning to see your side of the argument.”
He blinked, and she could see he didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
She traced one bicep with the edge of her fingernail. “You have been strenuously arguing that our siblings should not wed. I am beginning to wonder if you are correct in that assessment.”
He released her and straightened up. His dark stare held hers as he gaped at her. “You think I’mcorrect?” he repeated. “You’re saying you don’t want Celia and Lucien to wed now?”
She let out a long breath. Now that it had been said out loud, the truth of it felt so clear. “My sister is not wicked, as you want to believe. I’m not agreeing to your reasons.”
“I understand that part, Rosalinde. What I don’t understand is why you would change your mind about this marriage.”
“Gray, you and I both see the same thing when we look at them. Your brother does not care for Celia. And she doesn’t care for him. Tonight I realized just how much they would be giving up if they marry.”
“Love, you mean.” His voice was raw and his expression taut.
She nodded. “Love, but also desire.” She reached out and touched his chest, feeling the muscles there ripple when her fingers brushed them. “Passion. Perhaps it is naïve, but I don’t want my sister to be in a loveless union where she someday wonders what she missed. Regret is a cold bedfellow.”
He pinched his lips. She had expected him to be pleased that she had come around to his side of this situation. And yet he didn’t look happy.
“So you are saying you want to stop their marriage?” he said.
“I want to make sure they will be able to live with their decision to wed, at the very least. I want to encourage them to reconsider if this empty union will be fulfilling enough,” she clarified. “And if that means they part, I’ll support that. Though I know not what Celia and I would do. My grandfather will be livid.”
“Christ,” he muttered, and got to his feet.
