Page 47 of Untaming Lady Violet
And Tristan wasn’t sure if that was the exact moment of Violet’s downfall or the beginning of his own.
“Lift your arms, kitten.”
In one smooth movement, the robe and gown were pulled over her head. Left only with the dubious concealment her hair provided, Violet nervously pulled a chunk of it over her shoulder. Tumbling nearly to her waist in a thick mass of curling waves and tendrils, it carried the heady scent which was uniquely hers; a combination of lavender and vanilla.
Still on her feet were a pair of simply embroidered satin mules in the same blush pink hue as her nightclothes. She shifted from one heeled shoe to the other, but when she went to slip them off, Tristan’s fingers traced the flare of her hip.
He breathed her in with a wicked smile.
“Leave them on. Ah, Violet. You are so damned beautiful. A secret treasure just waiting to be discovered by the right person. Now, be very still and I’ll show you why I’m that man.”
Violet did as instructed. She did not move, even when Tristan experimentally ran a palm over the swell of one breast until the entire plump mound was within his grasp.
With delicate precision, he teased the pearled tip between forefinger and thumb, gradually applying more pressure until she made a sound of desperate hunger and shock.
Immediately, his mouth was there, soothing the sting he’d caused. He lapped at her, sucked her flesh deep, swirled his tongue around the aching, rosy tip. When she sighed, pushing against the subtle force, his teeth served as a reminder that he was master of the moment. The way he took her flesh, holding it between his teeth and lashing with his tongue soon had her crying for more.
“Remember, kitten,” he whispered, moving in a leisurely fashion to her other breast. “You must remain still if this is to be done properly. When you thrash about, I will see it as an indication you would like me to stop.”
“No, please, Tristan. Do not stop. I won’t be able to bear it again if you do,” she vowed in a voice low and shaky with desire. “Please. I’ll be still. I promise.”
“How prettily you beg me. It drives me insane with lust.”
As a reward, Tristan lavished the same treatment on her other breast until she could not help herself from writhing against him. Her movements were countered by his hard grip on her hip, but it did not seem to matter. Violet shook from his ministrations, lost in the sensual world Tristan created with his hands and tongue.
It did not seem she noticed when he sank into a position which slowly placed him on his knees before her, pressing kisses in the shadowed valley between her breasts. He moved down the center of her ribcage, his hands smoothing over the round globes of her bottom before decisively gripping her hips.
Realizing that Tristan’s face was on level with the junction of her thighs, Violet jerked away with a tiny cry of alarm.
His fingers flexed, tightened, caressed, the blunt digits leaving little divots in the voluptuous flesh. Faint bruises would surely mark that pale skin by morning. “Sheath your claws, kitten.” Hot and warm, his breath stirred the luxuriant patch of auburn curls. “Remember the emptiness you felt before? That hollow hunger inside you even now? I will make that go away. This is how I will accomplish it.”
“It is indecent.” The words got caught up in a little sob of frustration and hope that he would contradict her and do as he willed. Tristan had every intention of doing just that.
“Terribly indecent. And our secret, Violet. Ours.”
With that, his tongue slyly eased past the shield of her sex’s outer lips and the soft, pretty curls. Violet shuddered so violently Tristan wondered if he should stop. But a high, keening whimper of pleasure gave him his answer. Permission he should go on.
And now that he’d begun, there was no chance in hell he would stop. Because she tasted like peach brandy. Sweet and velvety with just a twinge of sharpness to counterbalance the honied undertones. It wasn’t easy, but Tristan restrained himself from burying his face between her thighs and devouring her until she begged for mercy.
Even if she did plead for a respite at some point, he doubted he would grant clemency. Her taste was addictive. Enthralling. Consuming. He could lick and nibble and suck her for an eternity and it would never be long enough.
She helplessly rotated her hips in time with the direction of his mouth, her breathing whispery and soft. She sounded like a kitten being stroked. Tristan wanted more. He wanted her climax. Wanted her to come apart on his tongue. Wanted to hear her wail in response to the rasp of his teeth on her most delicate flesh. He could tease her like this, keep her on edge for as long as he wished, or he could get what he wanted most by more efficient means.
He was greedy, of course. Impatient as well, and waiting was impossible. So, he perfected the torment by tracing her body’s opening with a long, blunt finger, testing the wetness there until his touch elicited a desperate moan from her lips.
“Tristan… Tristan,” Violet chanted, her legs falling open further with invitation.
He slid the finger inside her, his mouth never letting up its assault. Licking her sweet flesh while shallowly pumping a digit into the tight recess of her body sent Violet over the edge of ecstasy.
Her hands, previously held flat against the wall as if she could not trust herself to touch him, now plunged into the thick waves of his hair. She held him to her, unashamedly demanding he continue this sensual assault while she rode the waves, climbed them to dizzying heights, crashing again and again.
When she flooded his mouth and his senses with the essence of her pleasure, when her flesh contracted around his finger, Tristan wondered how he would survive her.
Because without a doubt, Violet Everstone would be his ruin.
And in his current state of delirium, he might not even care when it happened.
Chapter 20
