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He’d been with women of every class—tavern wenches, farmers’ daughters, whores, and more than a dozen ladies (mostly married, a few widows) from his own stratum—but none had managed to unravel him.
Until now.
He’d expected her to pleasure him with her mouth, but not like this. Not as if he were a banquet set out for her delectation. Not as if she was actually enjoying herself. The women he’d lain with to date had all made it very plain they loathed the act of giving fellatio. He couldn’t see Diana’s face, but he could tell by the smile in her voice when she spoke, the little humming sounds she occasionally made, and the way she was touching him—almost lovingly—that she was pleased with what she was doing.
That thought alone made him even harder.
And now that she’d released him, she’d taken his own slick and was using it to stimulate him down…there. For one terrible moment, he’d worried she might be thinking to prepare him for something he truly didn’t want to do—and wouldn’t—but she’d done nothing more than touch him in gentle circles.
It felt different, but not bad.
In fact, it was starting to feel pretty damned good, actually.
He revised this opinion when she abandoned his hole to press two fingers firmly into the spongy flesh between it and his bollocks and began moving them from side to side, wringing an involuntary grunt of pleasure from him as a rush of tingly fire raced from that point straight up his cock, which was now leaking copiously, and back down to settle deep beneath its root. A sweet ache had taken up residence there, pulsing in time to the long, firm strokes she was now giving his rod with her other hand.
No. This went beyond pretty damned good—this was bloody amazing, that’s what it was. As much as he wasn’t attracted to the fellow, in that particular moment he could have kissed Harrow out of sheer gratitude for having shaped a timid little debutante into this glorious, sensual creature.
Her hot mouth closed once more over the tip of his cock, her tongue swirling across its head, tasting him as if he were some sort of delicious confection. The air burst from his lungs again, pulling with it another long groan from somewhere deep down within his vitals. He’d wanted so badly to taste her sweetness when he’d taken Cupid’s feast, but hadn’t expected her to want to reciprocate, and certainly not with such…enthusiasm.
And there, my lad, is the difference between a high-class courtesan and a common harlot. Duly noted.
Right then he decided it was going to be worth every penny he was going to have to pay for her doubtless expensive upkeep. He’d support her in whatever style she demanded until the gold either ran out or he grew too old and feeble to get it up anymore.
Another blue curse clawed its way out of his throat on a gasp as she suddenly sucked hard on his head and simultaneously pressed a slick digit against his opening—just held it there at the same time as she bore down with the pad of her thumb just above it and wiggled it from side to side—and the river of tingles intensified.
Just when he thought he was going to lose control, she eased off with a soft pop and lifted her hand away. He drifted back from the edge of the precipice, gulping air like he’d been drowning. Then, with a siren’s chuckle, she was at it again with that fingertip, circling, circling.
She was going to drive him insane. For the second time that evening he’d nearly come undone, and he needed to be inside her before that happened. The last thing he wanted was to shame himself by not bringing her to peak first. Or worse. If she took him in her mouth and did that thing again, there was a real danger of him coming untouched the moment she pulled off. He anticipated going several rounds before the night was done, but first impressions mattered to him.
Enough. He wanted to see her, to verify that she was truly enjoying this as much as he suspected, and then get down to the happy business of plowing her like a fallow field.
He balked at making the request, but then reminded himself that asking wasn’t the same as begging. “The blindfold—” Bloody hell, his throat was dry!
She tenderly cupped his firm, aching sack and began to gently massage there. It felt wonderful. But he couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted. “Take it off.”
Yet another gasp was wrung from him as she ignored his request and slid her other thumb up through the slickness coating the head of his cock and pressed down, covering the slit.
Remembering the approval that had warmed her eyes when he’d meekly complied with her commands before being rendered blind, he added a polite, “Please?”
“You want to see me?” She sounded almost shy, which he knew was a damned lie.
“Yes, I want to see you,” he said, doing his level best not to let any of his desperation come through in his voice. His pulse thundered in his ears, thumping so hard he could feel his heartbeat in every one of his extremities. See you, touch you, take you, make you mine…
The mattress shifted beneath him as she changed position. Then her fingers were sliding through his hair and removing the silk that had obstructed his vision.
What he saw when his eyes finally focused had to be a figment of his imagination. No woman who’d just done what she’d done to him could look that ingenuous. Her jewel-like eyes held none of the sultry teasing he’d heard in her voice. Nor did they hold the demanding woman who’d told him to shush. She looked entirely unspoiled. Yet he knew better. He saw the swollen lips, the blown pupils, the flushed cheeks. She was the best kind of contradiction.
He couldn’t help smiling just a little as he asked, “Untie me?” Had he truly been inclined, he could’ve torn free of the flimsy silk, but it was more fun this way.
Twin crescents of thick, burnished gold lashes lowered demurely, and she nodded.
He stared up at her as she stretched across him to unbind the far hand first. Once untethered, still he held back, denying himself the pleasure of touching her for just a little longer while he mastered himself. “You’re still wearing stockings,” he observed, holding her unwavering gaze as she settled back on her knees. “Take them off?”
Rising, she backed off the bed and stood to oblige.
His cock grew impossibly hard as he watched her bend to untie the garters and peel the silk sheaths off one at a time. “Come here,” he rasped when she was done, holding out his hand.
Chapter Fifteen
