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Desperate to urge him into quicker action, Clara taunted, “I’m not one to complain, but I assumed our consummation would require less refreshments and more lovemaking.”
Hugh chuckled as he rounded the table to lean over and nip at her ear. “Are you doubting my prowess, little lamb? You don't think I've learned a thing or two about how to please a woman after all these years?”
“Of course not.” The mock chastisement made her squirm, his warm breath ruffling the wisps of hair at her cheek. “I only thought to voice my concern. Perhaps if you demonstrated how all of this…” She lifted her chest in allusion to her meaning. “Leads to a satisfying end, I wouldn’t be so confounded.”
“Mmm… I see…” His hands slid lower across the table so his head nuzzled her neck while the crumpled hem of her gown became within reach. Drawing the skirt higher, the mound of her belly protruded until the flimsy material rested under her breasts, barely covering the abundant flesh. “You think to manipulate me, little lamb? Pretend innocent confusion when I know damn well how hot and bothered you are by my ministrations?”
His tongue laved a wet line down her collar bone to lap at the custard on her breast. “Your body’s been proving how satisfying you find all of this with great aplomb.” Finished with the treat, Hugh nudged the straining tip of her nipple through the silk fabric. “You’re hungry for attention, aren’t you? Starved for the slightest lick of my tongue, brush of my hand.”
He punctuated the point by covering her breast with his mouth, suckling with rhythmic pulls of his lips and teeth. Clara moaned and arched higher, her nose burrowing in the firm chest hovering above her, inhaling the masculine scent of soap and bergamot.If only my hands were free.Then she wouldn’t be reduced to the parts of Hugh she could reach while restrained.
“Please, Hugh… Stop teasing me…”
“You don’t mean that, darling.” He switched to her other breast, nudging the neckline down to nibble at bare skin. “This is what you wanted, what you consented to—a week of debauchery, submitting to my ownership.”
“But I ache,” she whimpered, her bottom lifting off the table to draw his attention to where she needed it most. Sparks of need burned in her veins, scorching a path to her empty core. Something was missing there. Something for her to hold, something to sate the barren feeling building inside.
“Poor little lamb. So trusting and precious.” Hugh pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, and Clara reveled in the tender gesture. “You’ve been so good for me, more so than I ever dreamed you’d be, that I underestimated your innocence. You’re not used to prolonged foreplay, are you sweet girl?”
He circled back to the head of the table and took a seat, sidling up to the tabletop. His hands stroked along her calves, a soothing motion that lulled Clara into a drowsy state of desire—her restlessness easing under the promise of satisfaction.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it better.” His lips traced the path of dried peach juice, leaving behind a damp trail leading straight to her quim. He widened her thighs with his shoulders until Clara felt the hot swipe of his tongue burrowing through her folds.
The silk around her wrists tautened as she jerked. An inclination to stop him—no, pull him closer—itched at her hands, but she was helpless to do much more than lie back and accept every kiss he bestowed upon her.
She’d seen the illustrations of a man’s head between a woman’s thighs inHer Dark Earl. Reluctant curiosity had been her reaction at seeing such a seemingly awkward position.Surely, people don’t actually care to place their mouths there, she’d thought.
But how wrong she’d been.
Because the pliable tongue plumbing her depths, circling the bundle of nerves atop her sex, was the most decadent thing Clara had ever experienced in her young life. And the rumbles of greedy hunger emanating from Hugh’s chest as he ate at her… Well, she couldn’t quite rally a defense against the lurid act. It was altogether too delicious.
“Christ, your cunny tastes like the ripest peach—plump and juicy for my mouth.” He peeked over her stomach and smirked. “Perhaps you were right. You didn’t need garnishment after all.”
The intensity of his efforts increased as he concentrated on the pearl of her sex, plying it with his tongue while his fingers slid inside her once more. Clara’s lungs hitched in her chest—each breath a struggle beneath the overwhelming weight of lust permeating the room.
She stood on a precipice. A teetering point where Hugh kept urging her forward, guiding her to the edge of an unknown abyss. Determination gilded every sure thrust, each measured stroke until Clara could take no more.
Fingers tightening around her silken bounds, a cry of rapture rent the room as it felt like years of unhappiness—of neglect—washed away with the crashing tide of euphoria, and unbidden tears slid down Clara’s cheeks, dampening the wood beneath her head.
Hugh’s touch gentled, comforted her through the throes of her release. His genuine kindness her undoing.
No one had ever touched her with such reverence and care, as if she deserved it. As if she were special. Yet here was a man she’d known for a mere matter of weeks tending to her needs like their relationship was more than simple physical pleasure. Like love existed between them.
Silly girl.
A soft sob worked its way up her throat, and she quickly tried burying it against the tabletop, afraid of notifying Hugh of her distress. But it was a vain attempt, Clara couldn’t hide from him—not while she lay stretched out before his concerned gaze.
"What's the matter, dear? I haven't hurt you, have I?"
She stiffened at the new endearment. “Please, don’t call me that.” Her parents used the moniker, only it didn’t come from love. Not in her estimation anyway. It came when they needed something from her. And with the lines between love and sex blurring before her very eyes, she didn’t need to hear the same name coming from Hugh.
Untying her wrists, he helped her to a sitting position, the blood rushing from her head in a dizzying rush. “I apologize. I didn’t realize it was a sore spot, but please tell me why you’re crying.” His arms readjusted beneath her trembling form until he had a stable hold on Clara, carrying her to the large bed where he gently tucked her in, spooning her from behind.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just being silly.”
Imagine turning into a watering pot because a man pleasured you!
Clara could almost die of embarrassment. She was certain he’d never had to deal with such theatrics in his bed before, and it was almost enough to dry her eyes, except his warm hand massaged her arm, her shoulder—doing anything to comfort her.
