Page 55 of To Hunt the Hunter

“There?” she demanded, raising her head to stare at him, once she had wit enough to speak again. “You mean you were thinking about your mouth… there?”

“Yes,” he agreed, a wicked smile tugging at his lips and giving her a tantalising glimpse of those elusive dimples. “I was suffering a world of discomfort for it, too.”

“Oh good Lord,” she said, as her head flopped back to the mattress.

“I have wanted it very badly, Matilda, and for such a long time. May I? Please?”

Matilda nodded weakly. A small part of her wanted to ask if that was normal, in the circumstances, but a much larger part of her didn’t give a tinker’s cuss if it was or not.

She was vaguely aware of Lucian moving off the bed, of him kneeling between her legs. He tugged her towards the edge of the mattress, spreading her wider until she felt exposed and vulnerable and then… and then she didn’t care about anything else. She cried out as his mouth covered her, hot and wet and sinful, and her body convulsed at once, heat and pleasure surging through her in a heady wave as she arched and trembled beneath him. The climax left her breathless and gasping.

He laughed, blowing a fluttering stream of air over her until she shivered. His hot breath felt like a cool breeze against her burning flesh, and he nuzzled the delicate skin at the apex of her thighs.

“So sweet, my beautiful Matilda. Sweeter than honey. I knew you would be, and I think you can do that again.”

He set out to prove it until Matilda was nothing more than sensation and quivering flesh. Her world had narrowed and constricted to the place where his mouth and tongue kissed and lapped and tormented, over and over again. Just as she thought he could not possibly wring another ounce of pleasure from her trembling body, he would start again until she was helpless and moaning, abandoned to his touch, shamelessly crying out his name and begging for more.

When at last he stopped, pressing a tender kiss to her thigh, she was too dazed to even notice for a moment. She was giddy and muddled, uncertain of anything besides the gentle buzz of pleasure simmering through her veins still. Movement in the room made her eyes open, though, and she focused hazily until she realised that Lucian had finally divested himself of his boots, and everything else.

Her breath caught and suddenly she was perfectly wide awake.

He climbed onto the bed on the far side of her and lounged back against the pillows, his silver grey eyes glinting. He’d crooked his good arm behind his head and looked quite at ease, if you did not notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Matilda scrambled up and turned around to see him, pushing her hair out of her face. Greedily she drank him in, the long, elegant limbs and the taut, sculpted muscle all gilded perfection in the lamplight. The warm glow shimmered over him, casting him in gold.

“For God’s sake, touch me,” he said, betraying his insouciant posture as his voice rasped with impatience.

“With pleasure,” Matilda replied, daring to move closer.

She knelt beside him and laid her hand on his ankle, drawing her palm up over his leg, feeling the rasp of hair as she moved higher, sliding over his knee, over his thigh. Her attention snagged on the most masculine part of him and could not be diverted. He was everywhere in proportion, beautifully wrought, and Matilda felt her breath catch.

His member twitched under her hot gaze, and Matilda smiled. It seemed to beckon her, to beg for her notice. Remembering how wickedly he’d tormented her, she decided she could take her time. He wasn’t going anywhere. So, she traced a fingertip along the surprisingly delicate skin where his thigh met his torso, and then trailed it back down again. She tangled her fingers in the coarse hair at the base of his shaft and tugged at it gently before tracing a pattern over his belly. His stomach muscles twitched and leapt beneath her touch, and she grinned.

“Matilda,” he said.

Her name was a harsh rasp of sound, a plea, and she looked up to find his heavy-lidded eyes dark with wanting. She held his gaze and bent her head to press a kiss to his belly.

He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Wicked girl.”

She smiled against his skin and dared to trail her tongue around his belly button, as it seemed silly not to. Shivers cascaded over his body and she felt a surge of satisfaction that her instincts had been correct. What now, though? She wanted to touch him, to see if the smooth skin of his sex was as silky as it looked, but she felt suddenly uncertain. He had asked first, after all.

“What should I do?”

His eyes flickered open, hot and gleaming like quicksilver.

“Whatever you want,” he said urgently. “Only for the love of God, put your hands on me, or your mouth. I don’t care. Just touch me, please.”

Her mouth? Goodness.

Deciding she was not quite brave enough for that yet, she reached out her hand instead. He was burning hot beneath her touch and impossibly hard, though his skin was so fine it slid like the most delicate of silk. He hissed out a breath as her fingers trailed over him and she snatched them away in shock, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

“Don’t stop,” he gritted out, sounding just as impatient and fractious as she’d been earlier.

She looked up to discover he’d flung his arm over his eyes. Tension radiated from him, his muscles taut and defined as he held himself still.

Matilda returned to her exploration, stroking the burning shaft gently, inexpertly touching and caressing.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted cheerfully, gaining a choked laugh in response.