Page 7 of The Blighter and the Bluestocking

“That’s it.” Arthur’s heart was thumping wildly. Blood that was supposed to be pumping everywhere had all but abandoned one post. Since he didn’t have the strength to stop her, he had to find the strength to get them out of here.

“One question. Per night.” He waved to the door. “Out now.”

“You’d think your books could wait, Arthur.”

There was no waiting to be had.

“Not tonight.” The tongue trailed and then lips were wrapped around his head. “Out.” He practically screamed.

“Alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist. We’re out. See?” Isaac held open the door and ushered Dawson out.

Arthur slouched back in his chair for but a mere second. Then he reached down and wrapped his hands around two plush shoulders and yanked her out from under the desk. The momentum clumsily brought her out and up on his lap.

He was panting as he asked, “What the blazes are you doing? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He had one hand snaked up her back, grasping her neck, and one had anchored on her hip. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Despite the crimson stain on her neck, she had the audacity to say, “I was experimenting.”

“Experimenting?” The word shot through his heart. At best, curiosity was part of his essence. At worst, he asked too many questions. How could he fault this beautiful face and mind for pursuing knowledge?

“Is that what you call it?”

“Yes. That’s what I do when I don’t know something but want to know it more.” She nodded her head slowly, eyes locked on his. Her hand slowly moved down to encase him again.

“Then let’s experiment.”

His lips crashed down on hers, and he released the groan he had been holding in. It was deep, guttural, primal, aching.

She sighed into his mouth. One of her hands moved from his chest up the back of his neck into his hair. She gripped it. Firmly. Then navigated through massaging his scalp as she went.

God, this woman was passionate. It was welling up in her, and he could feel the undulations of the waves cresting and falling.

Her hand was clasped around his cock. He gripped his hand around hers and showed her how to move. Then he reached under her skirts and dragged his fingers around her ankle, up her calf. Massaging her thigh, he pulled it apart from the other.

The mewling sound she made encouraged him in his foray. His thumb brushed over her mons and then a finger dipped between her lips.

“You’re so wet.” He mumbled into her ear. “Let me show you what you did to me.”

“Mmmhmmm…I want that.”

He lifted her to the desk where her skirts pooled around her hips. He dropped to his knees and parted her legs. With his hands on either side of her inner groin, he placed a soft kiss on her center. Her legs widening told him all he needed to know.

With the tip of his tongue, he drew a circle around her. Then he pushed the tip in between her folds, first licking one side, then licking up the other side. He breathed in her scent and tongued her core. Showing her how he would take her if she wanted it.

“Yes, Arthur. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, darling. You’re too delicious.” A hand met the back of his head and pushed him closer.

“Here,” the muffled word creaked from her lips.

A smile broke out on his lips. The woman knew her body. Knew what she wanted. Knew what felt good.

The push closer brought him to her nub. His tongue thickened in his mouth, in anticipation. One lick. He knew her lips were pouting. A second lick. A moan. A Third lick. A whimper. And then he lost track of the licks and her response.

He wanted her to come. He wanted her to be free. He wanted to be the one to give her that sense of freedom that nothing else could give.

Her thighs tightened around his ears. “Let it happen. Let it come, darling.”

And when it did, as expected, her body shattered into his arms. What was unexpected was that at the sight of her climax so pure and passionate, decades worth of vows he had made to himself shattered as he spilled down his opened breeches.

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