Page 78 of Wicked By Design

“So, it would appear.” She gazed up at him, his eyes brimming with love and laughter, and it was hard to believe they could ever look so frosty and disdainful. Her heart was so full it seemed to press at the confines of her chest, as if there was simply not space enough to contain all she felt for him.

“I could do dreadful things with a ticklish wife,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“I shall scream,” she said primly, attempting to look as though she hated the idea.

Damian leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “Yes, you shall,” he promised before releasing her wrists.

He continued his path down her body, kissing and painting patterns with his tongue as she gasped and squeezed her eyes shut with the effort of not screaming, as he had promised she should.

As he descended lower, closer to the apex of her thighs, Cilly ceased breathing.

Her blood fizzed in her veins as he nuzzled into the soft curls, pressing a kiss there. Anticipation and scandalised curiosity lit fires in her blood. Nichols had warned her he would probably enjoy kissing her in places that she might consider indecent, and the idea had been intriguing, but the reality was beyond anything she could have believed.

“Let me taste you, Celia.” His voice was a wicked growl and Cilly could not answer, too shocked to speak, but not so shocked that she was unwilling to do as he wanted. She widened her thighs, her own pulse ratcheting higher as she saw the look in his eyes, the need for her.

He bent his head again and licked along the crease of her sex, then slid his tongue inside. Celia gave a little shriek and clutched the leg of the settee, feeling the need to hold on to something. She felt rather than saw the smile that curved over his mouth as he did it again and again, turning the little fires into an inferno that threatened to devour her body and soul and creating an insistent, throbbing ache that seemed to pulse through her to her bones.

Damian sat back, gazing down at her, satisfaction glinting in his eyes as Cilly raised her head, staring at him in consternation.

“Why did you stop?” she demanded, unable to keep the indignation from her voice.

He smiled, his sensual mouth curving in a way that made her pulse thrum beneath her skin. “Because I want to make one thing very clear, love. I am trusting you to be honest with me. If you want me to stop, or if you don’t like something, you must say so. I would be unhappy if you didn’t tell me. Do you understand?”

“Did it sound or look like I didn’t like it?” she asked, aware she sounded impatient and cross but unable to do otherwise.

His smile widened and the dreadful man looked so smug she could not help but laugh. “No, but a fellow likes to be certain.”

“You may be quite certain,” she told him succinctly.

“Well, then,” he replied and returned to the work of making her lose her mind. “So beautiful,” he murmured, and his warm breath fluttered over her most private skin, making her shiver, his voice deep and husky. “Every part of you is perfection.”

He trailed his fingers along the tender skin at apex of her thigh before bending to follow the same line with his tongue.

“Here is sweetest of all,” he added, pushing her thighs wider and parting her with gentle fingers.

A strangled cry of pleasure escaped her as his mouth settled, but the next was louder, more desperate, despite her best efforts to keep quiet as his tongue slid over her with a long, decadent lick.

He raised his head for a moment, eyes glinting wickedly. “Just in case you were worried, the only other guest is an elderly man who is hard of hearing. You may make all the noise you need to, love, so don’t hold back.”

“Damian, you are the most dreadful—” she began, only to accommodate his wishes immediately as he returned his mouth to her aching flesh and anything she might have intended to say was lost in a decadent moan.

In the moments that followed, Cilly hardly knew what became of her. It seemed as if Damian had stripped away any last vestiges of the civilised lady she had believed herself to be and remade her in the form of a wanton creature, one who craved the sensuous pleasures of the flesh above all else. He seduced her with his touch, his mouth and tongue, bringing her to some primitive state where all she cared about was the satisfaction of her own needs. She writhed beneath him, canting her hips higher, unashamedly demanding more, clutching at his hair to keep him where she wanted him.

Words she had never considered she could ever say in such circumstances poured from her and only seemed to please him more as he obeyed her every command without hesitation.

“More, more, don’t stop—oh, yes, please.”

Sensation built and built until she could do nothing but hold her breath, suspended on the edge of something unfathomable, waiting, waiting, until he closed his mouth over her and suckled.

The cry that tore from her throat was raw and untethered and would likely mortify her in a very little time from now, but at this moment she was helpless. Her body seemed swept up, taken away upon waves of pleasure that flooded her, drowning her. Cilly could do nothing but allow it, the sensations too great to fight even had she wished to. So, she abandoned herself to the delight of being swept away on a surge of joy so profound she felt it must change her in some physical way, proof painted upon her skin of all he had made her feel.

She lay in a state of wanton abandon, breathing hard, any bashfulness gone for good, swept away with the tide of emotion that had changed everything. The delicious feelings still thrummed through her, the insistent pleasure throbbing in that delicate place that seemed to be the focus of everything she had experienced.

“Oh my,” she said, her heavy eyelids opening with what seemed a herculean effort.

Damian smiled down at her. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry it was on the hard floor, however, but I’ll get you to bed now, and you can sleep.”

Sleep?