Page 86 of His Duchess of Scandal
He looked back up, finding her gaze still on him as he had instructed. Except her eyelids were heavy, her lips parted.
She was a woman come to ruin him; he was certain of it.
He dived back in, closing his eyes and letting himself feast on her. She had given him full access, and he did not hesitate to take it.
Lick by lick, he coaxed pleasure from her, and her moans grew heavier and breathier.
It was a symphony to his ears. It was sweeter than any melody a full orchestra could play. His wife, moaning and panting above him, helpless to the pleasure he delivered.
He sucked on her, alternating between gentle, light bites on her inner thighs that nobody would see but him, and then thrusting his tongue into her.
Heavens, her taste truly was addictive.
How had he ever gone this long without it?
Hermia surrounded him—her taste and scent, her noises, her thighs quivering around his head.
“Hold onto me if you need,” he murmured.
Immediately, her fingers slid into his hair, both guiding him closer and grounding herself, he knew.
Charles buried his face between her thighs, uncaring of his straining erection. This was about her. About the desire she ignited within him.
This was aboutthem.
Every moment of avoidance—it all shattered right then and there.
Charles was lost in her. He was lost in his own lust, echoed by Hermia’s moans as he plunged his tongue into her over and over.
He found what she liked through her noises, and he gripped her thighs, anchoring himself to her. He did not dare move until she climaxed.
And when she did…
When she did, he would take her whole.
He moaned into her, utterly undone.
Her hips rocked against his face, and although he held them, it was not to restrict her, but more to tether himself.
“Give me everything,” Charles murmured. “Let go, Hermia. We are safe here. We are concealed.”
And so she did. Her hips moved faster, grinding against him as if seeking more than he gave. He stiffened his tongue, letting her rock herself onto it. His beard brushed her sensitive inner thighs, but she did not complain. Instead, she seemed to give in to the pleasure as much as he did.
“I want you,” she moaned softly, her fingers tightening in his hair. “I want you without limits. Without boundaries. I grow impatient, Charles.”
“I know,” he murmured. “I know. Soon, my Duchess.”
She let out a broken moan as he slipped a digit into her. He ached to bury himself inside her, to see how she would take him after so long. But for now, he limited his ministrations to suckling and lapping at her as he thrust his finger into her.
Moans of pleasure tore from her throat. Her body quivered beneath him, and he found himself aching for more. Curling his finger inside her, he flicked his tongue against her bud.
“I am—I am close,” she breathed.
Her fingernails scraped across his scalp, and he almost lost control.
“Then let go,” he purred. “I will be there every single time.”
Hermia moaned in response.
