Bonnie looked up at me, curled her lips back, and whinnied in indignation.
19
LENA
Igasped, the sound quickly turning into a moan of pleasure. “Oh…oh, shit.”
“Too hot?” Weston asked, his smile turning devilish as my eyes fluttered open. His room was bathed in warm light that spilled between the long drapes, sunset painting him in beautiful golden hues.
“No,” I whispered huskily, running my hands over the defined muscles in his shoulders. “It’s just right. It’s…Mm-hmm.” I shook my head back and forth against the pillow as he dribbled another line of warm chocolate and caramel across my bare stomach. He followed that with his tongue, his breath hot as he licked the decadent sweetness from my skin.
After removing Bonnie from the property and cleaning himself up, he’d promptly brought his newly warmed-up millionaire’s shortbread to bed. I’d had no idea that Weston’s plan for his treat involved eating it off me, but I wasn’t mad about it.
In fact, I’d never loved dessert more.
“Good,” Weston growled against my belly. “Because when I’m done eating this, I’m going to eat you out until you forget your own name.”
I moaned in approval, lifting my hand to brush my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Do you want that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I can’t hear you,” he teased, dribbling chocolate over one of my breasts. He sucked that nipple in his mouth while toying with my other one until they were two stiff peaks under his ministrations. Sensation shot through me, swirling in my belly, and all I could think about was how good I knew he was going to make me feel. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” I swallowed hard. He dragged his tongue between the valley of my breasts, chasing chocolate. “More of that.” I wanted him. I wanted everything. Mostly, I wanted to exist in a moment of white-hot bliss, where nothing else mattered. Just pleasure.
I pressed my head further into the pillow as he trailed chocolate up the side of my neck, his lips nibbling and sucking, quickly turning my thoughts inside out as I squirmed. His hand shifted, accidentally trailing chocolate and caramel across the bed sheets.
“Weston,” I mumbled, realizing what a mess we were making. I squeezed his shoulder, trying to get his attention as he trailed back down my body.
“Can’t hear you,” he mumbled. “I’m enjoying my favorite dessert.”
I writhed beneath him as he brushed chocolate across my hip and down my thigh before cleaning me off with his tongue. We shifted, tangling ourselves in the sheets, smearing sticky caramel across them. Weston cradled my hips, licking and sucking at my skin like he’d never tasted anything better, like he was trying to savor every second, and my heart crashed against my ribs.
My clit throbbed in response, desperate for its own attention. I whined, the sound so needy it broke Weston from his task. He stared up at me, dark hair falling across his forehead, those green eyes shining as they took me in.
“We’re making a mess,” I said as his fingers slid between my thighs, toying with my clit at last. The motions were so soft, so teasing it was almost painful.
Weston grinned against my thigh. “I haven’t made nearly enough of a mess of you yet.” He stroked my clit, and I jerked against him. “Trust me.”
“There’s chocolate all over the bedding,” I murmured. It was on the sheets and the comforter and the pillow. All over him. All over me.
“Who cares?” Weston said.
“Maybe we should…Ah! Maybe we should take this to the shower.”
“I think you should be more concerned about what I’m doing here,” he said, fluttering his fingers against my clit. “Making sure you get exactly what you want.”
“Weston,” I growled, the word cutting off as I caught a gasp behind my fist.
“I’ll throw the bedding out and buy new ones when we’re done. Hell, woman, I’ll buy a whole bedding factory if it means getting to fuck you like this.”
He applied firmer pressure to my clit, and I moaned. “Oh,” I said, my back arching as I clenched my eyes. “Yes. Mmm, God.”
He was right. Who the hell cared?
He could dip me in chocolate and fuck me all over this damn castle as long as he kept doingthatwith his fingers. He stroked me, making slow, deliberate circles. The pressure was too slow, too light to bring me true relief, and I gripped his shoulders, trying to get leverage, trying to grind against him. He pulled back, and I whined.
