Page 65 of A Lady of Means
“Promise me, Devyn,” she said, placing his hands about her waist.
“Anything,” he vowed against her lips.
Sitting on her bed, she stood finally just a little more than eye level with him, holding his face and his heart in her hands.
“You’ll come home from fighting in Her Majesty’s Army, and I’ll still be yours.”
He closed in the space between them.“You will never not be mine, Moria.And I will never be anything but yours.Until I draw my dying breath.”
Her greedy hands drew his lips toward hers and she drank him like a starving woman.
He pulled back to whisper, “I don’t want to take you like this.”
“You can’t take what’s freely given, Captain,” she said, bringing one of his hands up to cup her breasts.
“Fuck it,” he groaned.
With both hands, he pulled her in for a kiss that seared away all doubts with every flick of her tongue, every stroke of his hands against her jaw.She pulled his shirt from his breeches, he leaned back to pull it over his head and cast it onto the carpeted floor.
He watched her eyes roam his body, the large expanse of chest and torso, the scars that mapped his pain.He drowned in her gaze, forgetting to breathe until she touched him again.
He ran a hand down her chest, cupping one breast and bringing it to his mouth.The sound of her little breathy moan spurred him on.He blew on it, watching it harden and darken underneath his attention.He gave the same attention to the other side.
Belatedly, he realized she was unfastening his breeches.
He slid a hand to cup her between her thighs, throwing one leg over his shoulder.
“Oh my god,” she let out, clutching his shoulder with intent fingers.
He kissed the inside of her thigh.“I’ll be your god, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
“Just be the man I love, the man who loves me.That’s enough for me.”
Devyn sank beneath her, giving her a full demonstration of the range of pleasure he could give her with his mouth.He intended to show her, in the plainest bodily truths, that he was hers.
* * *
His mouth wason her sex.His tongue was moving closer to her clitoris.One of his fingers found it, curled around it, making her bite her lip to keep from crying out.
He was giving himself over to her pleasure.
She wanted to give herself back.
They had exactly eighteen hours.
Eighteen hours and then he was leaving for Afghanistan.And Moria couldn’t even tell you for what purpose Her Majesty’s Army was even there.She didn’t want to know, it might make her angrier to be losing him, for months, potentially forever, if she knew the reason.Information was currency, powerful men said, but sometimes it was also just pain.
He found that secret, hidden spot again.Again.
His tongue curled inside of her.Thought evaporated, she was only bliss borne away on the patient strokes of his tongue and fingers.
Her head was tilted back on her counterpane, she clutched at his shoulders to keep from floating into the clouds.
Speech was out of her reach, but he knew what she needed and how badly she needed it.
“Raise your arms, my lady,” he said, a whispered appeal in her darkened room.
She did as he requested, he pulled her chemise over her head.He laid it out on a chair with the others, lit two candles on her dressing table, then returned to her.He removed his boots and breeches.He was fully nude now, the candlelight illuminating the muscles carved where she didn’t know a man could have muscles.His thigh muscles and stomach muscles flexed as he breathed her in.
