Page 26 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
He touched his lips to the top of her head. “Have you ever touched a man, sweetheart, the way I touched you?” he asked huskily.
Despite all the ways he’d touched, caressed, and licked her, Cressida, timidly shook her head.
Another one of those desire-filled chuckles shook his frame. His thickly hooded lashes dipped. “Do you want to, my lady?”
When she realized she was, in fact, the lady he addressed, Cressida nodded with a shameful exuberance.
Where did that eager bobbing of her head come from? What manner of wanton had she become?
Benedict took her hand lightly in his and guided it between their bodies—his hard and contoured and chiseled muscle, and hers dainty, soft, and so much smaller than his broad, powerful strength.
He placed her palm over his rampant member.
With her previous embarrassment forgotten, Cressida stared in transfixed awe at his member. He was gloriously endowed—long, thick, slick as satin but as hot and hard as steel.
“Like this,” he murmured, closing her fingers in a fist around him. With an intuition as old as Eve, Cressida gripped him firmly. She would have worried she’d hurt him, but given the rock-like hardness of him, she believed that an impossible feat.
Tentatively, she took her time to learn the feel of him. The air grew more charged, her body thrummed, and then she held perfectly still as reality came rearing its big, ugly head. She knew very well howthisended—with him putting this ridiculously huge instrument inside her.
Suddenly dubious, Cressida lifted her concerned eyes to his lust-filled ones. “You are so….” She tried to find the way to say it without making a complete embarrassment of herself.
He pressed a tender kiss along her temple. “Yes?”
“Big,” she whispered. “Toobig. Are you certainthiswill fit inside me?” In her opinion, the odds were doubtful to impossible.
With a strained, pained-sounding laugh, Benedict rested his brow upon hers.
“I’m glad I’ve amused you,” she mumbled, making to remove her hand.
“On the contrary, ma petite. You are a treasure.”
His silky praise was too raw and real to be feigned, and it sent heat spiraling inside her.
It did not, however, erase Cressida’s worry.
“It occurs to me you’ve still not said whether it will work,” she muttered. “Which gives me reason to doubt your…”
Benedict slid his hand between her legs and slipped his fingers into her damp curls. The moment he glided them through the slight nest, he eased them inside her soaked channel, and Cressida’s body responded.
“It will work,” he said, his voice strained and primally raw. “It will work because your body was made for my cock. It craves it. You crave it.”
His words combined with the mastery with which he worked his long fingers sucked her away in an eddy of desire. For even though she remained a virgin—for now—sheknew he spoke the truth.
With his spare hand, Benedict guided her palm back around his velvety member.
He leaned in and whispered against her ear. “Now, touch me while I touch you.” Like a skilled instructor schooling her on the art of lovemaking, Benedict guided her with the naughtiest of instructions. “Then tug on me. No, no, more of a stroke. Stroke me.” He showed her the motion. “Slow at first. Yes, just like that.” He kissed her temple. “You learn quick, little love.”
Even as Benedict teased her aching center, Cressida remained centered in the effect she was clearly having on him: his countenance turned pained. His beautifully hard mouth tautened.
It became too much.
Frantic, she pulled harder and faster at his length.
“You’ve got it.” He heaped praise upon her, his baritone gruff and low, hinted at a man whose desire for her was as great as hers was for him, and something in that brought her defenses down. “Slower,” he coached. “Yes, that’s it. Grip me harder.”
Panting, she drove her hips into his hands and stroked him while he stroked her.
Benedict opened his eyes. Through the heavy desire in those blue depths, they glinted with a strained amusement. “Ah, my beautiful kitten likes touching me too.”
