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His prick pulsed against the bed, stiff and swollen, but he wasn’t in any hurry. This wasn’t about him.
He licked the edges of her sex softly, teasing her. She squirmed but she didn’t stop him.
He slid his hands under her bum and squeezed a delicious handful in each palm.
She gave a soft gasp as he spread the lips of her sex with his tongue, licking around the edges only. He waited a few seconds, building the anticipation, before covering her with his lips and flicking his tongue softly, so softly, over her.
Honeysuckle on his tongue. Desire coursing through his veins.
Her hands drifted to rest on his head. He pulled her forward on the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders until most of her weight rested on him. It would be better for her that way if she didn’t have to support herself, if she could relax and let him do all of the work.
He stilled, listening, ready to stop if she wanted him to stop.
Her fingers dug into his hair, over his scalp, and she opened her thighs wider, guiding his head back into place.
He smiled before resuming his work.
She sighed and quivered beneath his tongue.
This was something he knew how to do. Something he was skilled at. It didn’t matter if they were from different worlds. Here in the firelight, with his head between her thighs, they were perfectly matched.
He was the one who would make her come, give her a climax that would ripple through her body in waves of intense pleasure.
He was the man for the job.
Her thighs trembled and she angled up into his mouth, her hands in his hair, guiding his movements. His Beatrice wasn’t shy. She said what she meant, and she took her pleasure in the way that was best for her.
This yearning was still new to Beatrice, for to feel desire one had to feel desirable. It was human nature to want reciprocity.
She’d wanted Ford since she saw him from her library window. She hadn’t known precisely what she wanted; she hadn’t possessed the vocabulary to express the specifics of her appetites.
This. She’d wanted this.
Sinful and wild, his tongue stroking her, teasing her softly and steadily. Stoking the heat in her belly.
His lips doing things that she couldn’t see, could only feel. His talented hands shaping her, molding her, urging her deeper into abandon.
Her spectacles had fogged over a long time ago. She removed them and placed them on the bedside table.
She ran her hands over his head, his broad shoulders, holding on to those steely muscles.
Holding on as he kept going, as he lapped at her gently.
It didn’t feel invasive, or wrong. It was shocking, of course, but it was also exquisitely right.
Blood rushed to unfamiliar places, time slowed, and pleasure came sharply into focus.
Body asserting control now, responding to the skill of his lips.
She had no doubt that this was an act that humankind had discovered early on and perfected over centuries. Just because her mind had never invented it, because she’d lived a chaste and sheltered life, didn’t make it depraved. She’d thought of kissing mouths, and she’d thought about his tongue inside her mouth, but now his tongue was . . . down there. Beneath her skirts.
Producing the most heavenly sensations.
Would he suffocate under there?
He knew precisely what he was doing. She was in experienced hands.
Her body instinctively knew that pleasure was coming, and soon. A few more soft, languorous swipes of his tongue and...
