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Her preparations were in vain. Dorian licked a path downward. His fingers spread the aching folds between her legs. Now. It would happen now.
She lurched at the touch of his tongue, her bonds pulling tight. Her eyes flew wide as she tried to see past Dorian’s wide shoulders and between her legs. “Don’t.”
As another slow caress of his tongue passed from her little tender button to the secret place men enjoyed, she clamped her legs together, gripping his shoulders. Unbearable pleasure shot upward. Her open-mouthed gasp echoed in the room.
“Stop, Dorian, please. You can’t.” She tossed her head, her arms pulled, straining against the pleasure.
He used his strong arms and elbows to push her open wider. She tugged hard against her cords, struggling against his overwhelming strength and dominance. She peered at him through slitted eyes—he was all man—wide, strong and determined to have his way.
When his fingers touched her, she cried out. One, then two fingers slid inside her. With slow, sensual thrusts, he moved in and out of her body. She fell back on the covers, her legs falling open in languor. “Don’t,” she whispered, “Don’t stop, Dorian.”
Yes.Her mind screamed, her body reacted, convulsing as her muscles contracted everywhere. Her arms, her legs, her stomach.
Dorian’s lips and tongue played with the now sensitive, alive and aching nub. She felt her body clench and loosen in ways that made her weak and needy.
Back and forth she shook her head, trying to deny the pleasure, trying to stop her reactions. Low in her back, she experienced a searching pressure. It looked for her and she wanted only to escape.
“Kiss me, Dorian. Please.” She had to get him away.
“I am,” he chuckled. Even the hum of his words against her skin excited her.
For a moment, he stopped. She sucked in a lungful of air, willing her body to obey.
He removed his fingers and bent lower. She felt the tip of this tongue search the little cavity where she wanted him to be. But not like this.
His fingers pinched the tight skin and pulled in little pulsing tugs. Tugs that seemed to coincide with the waves of sensation sweeping her body.
Death was coming.
Instinctively, blessedly. Death was coming. And she would welcome it in the open arms of Dorian Montgomery.
With that knowledge, she gave in to his promise, “the greatest pleasure of your life”.
She let it happen. She let Dorian strip away her pride. Clamping her eyes shut, she existed only where Dorian touched her. She took in a deep breath, her body arching as she ceased and pleasure lived. She let the skies open to sunshine—radiant, fierce, hot rays beating into her body. Soaring, soaring, soaring. Then free falling until sharp, racking peaks of pleasure shot through her body.
Her eyes flickered. For a moment, she returned to sanity. Then she gasped and her world went dark.
Dorian gazed on the peaceful face of Isabelle St. Hillaire. Who would have imagined the Westminster Whore fainting?
He knew how to rouse her again.
He changed positions, something more comfortable for him, something just as pleasing for her. Untying one of her wrists, he moved her closer to the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor and slipped between her legs, letting the long silky limbs fall open, supported by the strength of his arms.
Perhaps her reaction was so strong because it had been nearly a year since she’d been with a man. It seemed the only explanation and a weak one at that. Who knew what she did while in Italy.
He viewed the pretty pink skin and the pearly signs of her excitement between her long legs.
Calling her name, he urged her to wakefulness. “Isabelle, sweet, it’s time for seconds.”
She moaned. Her hand went to her head, swiping at a light sheen of perspiration.
When she realized one hand was free, she tried to sit up.
Before she had a chance to say anything or deny him, he mouthed her private bits. She whimpered and fell back onto the bed against the pillows, spreading her legs farther to accommodate him.
Isabelle accepted everything without a hint of defiance. As she peaked a second time, she moaned loudly. She stared down at him and on the wicked thing he did to her. She speared her fingers through his hair and held him there, urging him, instructing him, helping him make her pleasure more complete.
As if he were going anywhere.
