Page 22 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
Chapter 4
His talented lover having reached her completion, Wakefield ceased stroking her eager cunny.
His pulse pounded like a drum in his ears and he stood, determined to have some distance between himself and the fiery siren.
This sensuous beauty not only knew him but commanded his name and insisted on using it. It was as he’d sensed out there in the gaming hall floor when she’d been paraded across that stage—she’d wanted him all along.
Which meant…they’d given her his name, or she knew him well enough to know his given name.
That distasteful realization penetrated his desire and ushered in the first of too-belated reservations.
Towering over the four-poster bed, Wakefield contemplated the hot wanton sprawled upon the now rumpled red satin sheets. Her trim, lithe body flushed a delightful red from her release. Her chest heaved wildly from the force of her orgasm. Her cream white breasts—that modest flesh a tantalizing juxtaposition against the rest of her olive-hued skin, were high and proud, so delicate in size as to fit just perfectly into his palms.
But it was her slender, graceful lower limbs. Her sleek, supple legs, splayed as they were, left the downy thatch of curls between her thighs as an invitation.
Wakefield briefly closed his eyes.
He’d forever prided himself for his restraint, his self-control, and inability to be tempted or weakened the way every other peer in Polite Society was.
Now, with his celestial goddess beckoning, Wakefield at last had a taste of what brought men to their knees.
Staring at her intently as he did, his gaze caught and held on the slight but telltale shift of her hips. The lady did her best to conceal her movements, but her efforts were empty. She began to move. She rolled onto her side to hide that slight rock and sway of her supple hips. Then she began to reach between her legs.
His earlier resolve and suspicions flagged under the insurmountable weight of his lust. His shaft throbbed and ached.
“I didn’t please, my little love?” he teased, his voice husky.
His lover didn’t bring herself to face him. “No!”
Wakefield’s eyes flared.
“Yes!” His lusty partner swiftly corrected herself.
His lips twitched.
Only when he stood and removed his boots, tossing them aside, did the lady lift her incredibly long, tear-spiked blonde eyelashes and look at him.
“Do you want to pleasure yourself?” he asked, enflamed with the image that immediately slipped into his mind.
“No!”
“It’s fine if you do.” Wakefield lifted an elbow. “I’ll be all too happy to watch you as you do, sweet.”
The long, graceful line of her throat worked. “I feel those feelings again,” she whispered.
“Those feelings?”
Another delicate blush stained her high cheeks. “You know.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I do.” His amusement faded. The blood in his veins thickened. “I want you to say what it is you want.”
She bit at her lower lip.
“Tell me,” he demanded sharply. “Tell me you want to come, love. Tell me it’s my cock and fingers you want stroking your quim.”
“I can’t say those things,” she whispered.
Wakefield tossed his head back and laughed. “God, you are delightful.” Returning to the bed, he followed his praise with several masterful strokes of her aching center.
