Page 81 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“You have naught to be sorry for,” he said. “I, however, am deeply sorry for the life that you have endured, for the love that has been denied you. But no more. I want to worship you. Do you think it might give you pleasure if I did?”

“I will take pleasure from whatever you wish to do,” she said. “If you take pleasure, then so will I. Listen to your body and what it needs and desires. Do you recall our first time?”

He nodded, then gently pushed her onto her back. “I pray that I may prove a worthy pupil.”

She tensed, anticipating his touch, and he leaned over her, his hair brushing against her chest. His eyes narrowed as if he contemplated what he must do. Then his lips curved into a smile and he nodded. He dipped his head and placed a kiss on her shoulder. She caught her breath at the little pulse of longing elicited by his touch as his lips curved against her skin.

He placed another kiss on her shoulder, then traced a line of kisses along her collarbone. Flicking his tongue out, he moved toward her chest, until he reached her breasts. He nuzzled her with his nose, then inhaled.

“What sweet scent,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. He placed a kiss on her skin, then with a low growl he clamped his mouth over her breast, drawing the nipple in. She arched her back and cried out as a fizz of pleasure tore through her, settling in her center. Each time he grazed her nipple with his teeth, the pleasure flared, deeper and more intense than she could ever have imagined.

Was this the pleasure to be had when a woman was in love?

James lifted his head, releasing her nipple, and her skin tightened at the rush of cold air on her skin.

“A-am I doing it right?”

“Oh yes,” she breathed.

“Good, for I find I take much pleasure from worshipping you. I wish to worship all of you.”

He kissed her belly, then shifted toward her center, where her body already ached for him. But this time, she felt neither fear nor shame at the slickness between her thighs, and she parted them in offering. He dipped his head lower and flicked his tongue along the mole on her right thigh.

Pleasure swelled within her, and she fisted the bedsheets, chasing the promise of ecstasy that rose on the horizon like a distant wave.

“Mmmm,” he said. “I find your scent intriguing. Sweet like honey, yet sharp, like Mrs. Vaughan’s lemonade.”

She suppressed a giggle, then cried out as he dipped his tongue between her curls. Then he moved slickly along her flesh and a surge of heat rippled through her center.

“Sweet heaven, James!”

“Is that good?” he growled.

“It’s… Oh!”

The tip of his tongue found the bud at her center. Pleasure surged in thick ripples and she bucked and writhed beneath him, chasing the crest of the wave.

Then her body disintegrated.

“James!”

Burying her hands in his thick blond locks, she thrust her hips upward while he continued to administer the sweet torture as each wave rippled through her body. When, at last, the wave receded, she lay back, boneless, a delicious warmth spreading through her.

The bed shifted as he stretched alongside her. Then he guided her head around and placed a kiss on her lips. The aroma of her own need intensified, together with the musky, woody scent of him.

“W-was that…?” The question unfinished, he raised his eyebrows.

“Do you need to ask, James?”

“Perhaps not, but I’d rather hear it from your own lips.”

“Well then,” she said, smiling. “I think, perhaps, we should try it again sometime, so I can make a proper assessment.”

The shyness and uncertainty returned to his eyes.

She took his hand and lifted it to her lips. “It was glorious.”

He grinned, and her heart was lost at the boyish pride in his eyes.