Page 43 of Outrageous

He leaned forward and took her bud between his lips and her knees buckled, a strangled cry escaping her tightly clenched jaws.

He steadied her hips with his hands but his lips did not release her. Instead, he engulfed her with the soft wet heat of his mouth. And then he began sucking and massaging her with his tongue.

Eva’s vision doubled and she was making a gasping sound as she struggled to breathe. Her eyelids were heavy but she pushed them open: she needed to see him—to see his mouth on her. When she pulled her skirts higher, his eyes looked up into hers, his mouth bathing her in slick heat.

Her body slipped her control and shook hard; she was close to climaxing, but this time, unlike the others, she tried to keep the feeling in check, to savor the sight and feel of him. She tightened her muscles, as if that would hold back the flood. He released her swollen peak, his lips red and slick, his chin glistening. When she pushed her hips toward his mouth like a wanton begging for more, his mouth pulled into a smile that caused her muscles to flutter madly. And then his hand slid into the wet heat between her thighs and pressed at the entrance to her body. He circled the sensitive opening, around and around.

Eva spread her feet more and his eyes kindled as he inserted a finger inside her. She bucked against him and babbled something even she couldn’t understand. And then he leaned down and sucked her into his mouth again and began to pump her with strong, rhythmic thrusts. She could hold back the flood no longer.

* * *

Godric watched her come apart under his hands and mouth, her lithe, young body shaking beneath him, her orgasm explosive in its intensity. He didn’t know what he’d expected of a maiden, but it hadn’t been such calm acceptance of an action that would send most married women of their class screaming in fear or outrage. But she’d not only enjoyed his oral attentions, she’d watched him and had done what she could to intensify her orgasm, welcoming him into her body. He tried to ignore the stab of angry jealousy when he considered where she must have learned about such pleasures: inns and pubs and mills, likely.

Well, he was no vestal virgin himself.

Godric waited until she was limp, boneless, and utterly his. And then he made her come again, just because he could. He drank in the sight of her pleasure until his engorged cock soaked the front placket of his breeches and he ached with want.

As the last of her contractions died away, he kept his two middle fingers buried deep inside her, loath to leave her snug heat, wanting to see her come apart again. And again. But enough was enough.

When he removed his hand he saw no blood. So, she’d not been lying: she wasn’t a maiden, which went a long way to explaining her lack of inhibition. Godric felt an odd sense of relief mingled with disappointment: relief that he’d not just debauched her with the kind of activity one usually only practiced with one’s mistress or a whore; disappointment that he’d not been the one to initiate her into this particular pleasure.

He shoved away both thoughts and pulled down her skirts before standing.

She gazed up at him from beneath heavy lids, her mouth slack. He slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her with ease. She was small, but she had a woman’s flared hips, and the swell of her breasts looked generous for her narrow ribcage. He regretted not exposing her body to his view, but there would be plenty of time for that later.

“Mmmmm, so tired now,” she mumbled into his coat.

Godric wasn’t surprised: she’d just had more orgasms in the last thirty minutes than he’d enjoyed in the past thirty days.

When he laid her out on the bed, her eyelids lifted slightly as she struggled to stay awake.

“Do you want me to play lady’s maid and remove your dress and stays?”

She nodded and yawned noisily, her heavily lidded eyes looking into his. “Please do, I can’t believe I’m so tired, yet again.”

If he’d had as many orgasms as she’d just experienced, he’d likely sleep for a month.

“I hate stays. Need I wear them?”

He had to swallow hard to answer her question, as if his cock had leapt into his throat. His brain was crammed full of images of her breasts free and unrestrained. “You needn’t wear them for me,” he said gruffly, his groin throbbing madly. He turned her on her side and located the tape that kept her bodice cinched beneath her breasts. He slid an arm under her and lifted her off the bed as he pulled her loosened dress to her waist. She moved pliably in his grasp, anticipating his instructions before he made them, clearly at ease with being undressed after a lifetime spent with a body servant.

Beneath the simple gown, she wore white muslin stays and a chemise. Her breasts were high and lush with large nipples that were dark pink and hard against the thin fabric. Godric’s hands shook as he turned her again on her side and loosened the laces. She gave a soft, sensual sigh as he released her body from its bondage and he almost ejaculated in his breeches.

Good Lord. It had been far too long when unlacing a woman’s plain cotton corset could make him this hard.

Once he’d loosened the garment he gently rolled her onto her back.

Astoundingly, she was asleep, her plump lips parted, the pearly skin over her collar bones stained with the vestiges of her passion. Her curly mop of hair contrasted starkly with the pale linen. He’d had a difficult time completing the bloody cut, his cock hard almost constantly, his brain trying to distract him with images of bending her over the chair back and hilting himself inside what he now knew was a sweet, tight sheath that would feel like heaven wrapped around him.

He groaned as his sensitive crown rubbed against his clothing. He needed to take care of the situation before he sullied his remaining breeches. He draped her cloak over her before putting the blanket on top. The bed linens looked clean enough, but they were damp and musty smelling.

He leaned over without realizing what he was doing and kissed her smooth temple, the action burying his nose in her short, ticklish hair. He inhaled her like a wine whose merits he struggled to identify, filling his lungs to capacity before expelling air in one noisy breath. He took another whiff, holding her scent in his lungs.

As he exhaled slowly, it hit him: sugar. She smelled like sugar, which he’d not even realized had a smell until that moment.

Godric pulled the blanket up to her shoulders as he looked down at her. She resembled a storybook princess and the image was far more potent than he’d ever have expected: skin like cream, lips like cherries, and hair as soft and black as a raven’s wing. She was achingly beautiful and unlike any woman he could remember. She was part antagonist, part hoyden, part siren, part child.

Like any man, Godric enjoyed beautiful women, but his sexual desires had not always—or even mostly—been ruled by a woman’s beauty. He’d not loved Lucia because of her physical appearance, but because of the lively spark in her dark, flashing eyes, and the joyous smiles she summoned so easily. In truth, Godric knew his dead wife had been pretty at best—until you knew her.