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He leaned forward and kissed away a bit of cherry clinging to the corner of her mouth. “The story goes”—his voice lowered to that smoky purr she had come to adore—“they were naked in bed at the time. I’m certain Louis ate some of the tart off her skin.”
“Really?” Rosalind widened her eyes. “He would have had to be very careful not to miss a bite.”
Torrington’s hand glided over her collarbone. “Oh look, there’s another bit of cherry you’ve spilled.”
Rosalind gasped as his mouth closed over her nipple where it poked through the lace. He sucked and teased until she’d forgotten all about the tart. She fell back, Torrington coming with her, his tongue never ceasing its seductive torture.
“Merely a nipple,” he whispered against her breast. “Not a cherry. My mistake.”
Her hand slid down his chest to his trousers, which he hadn’t even bothered to button properly, feeling his cock twitch beneath her hand.
“I think, my lord, I would like my dessert now.”
