Page 78 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
His eyes darkened dangerously. “And I love that you think you’re being wicked. You have no idea what wickedness is, sweetheart.” His hot gaze locking with hers, he pushed her night rail up. “But I’m happy to show you.”
With no more warning than that, he bent his head to kiss her between her legs, inside the slit of her drawers. “Oliver!” she exclaimed, shocked. When his tongue delved into her curls to lick her in a most astonishing spot, she sighed, “Oliver . . . heavens alive . . .”
“I’ve wanted to do this for the longest time,” he told her as he spread the opening of her drawers farther apart, then repeated his scandalous caress.
It tickled, and when she reacted to it by jerking back from his mouth, he caught her thighs and tugged her forward so he could really lash at her with his tongue.
She thought surely she would die. Or scream. Or something equally reckless. His tongue felt like his hand had felt in the carriage, only more intense . . . more embarrassing.
Yet her desire outweighed her embarrassment. So when he drew back to say, “This is better done in a bed,” and rose to lead her there, she went willingly.
She didn’t want to think about how wrong this was, or how foolish it was to give herself to a known seducer. Because tonight Oliver wasn’t that man. Not to her. He was the boy who’d cried over his dead mother, the young man who’d lost himself in drink and women to forget the past, the marquess who’d vowed not to marry for money.
He was the man who would be her lover. And without another qualm, she let him tumble her down upon the bed, let him part her legs and settle himself between them.
After that, he began pleasuring her below with such fierce intent that she could do naught but grab at the covers and enjoy. Who could have dreamed that a man could do such amazing things with his mouth?
Only when he had her squirming and arching and begging him did he bring her to the same glorious heights, the same glorious depths, as he had in his carriage that day. And while she was still shaking from her release, still gasping, her heart pounding like a timpani, his gaze raked her, marking her as his.
“I love how you come,” he said in a low, silky tone, yanking off his cravat and shirt. “I love how you find your pleasure so openly.”
“Do you?” She sat up and reached for his trouser buttons. “Let me,” she murmured, enjoying the sight of him shirtless.
He had a dusting of hair across the hard muscles of his chest. Another patch surrounded his navel, growing thicker as it descended toward the trousers she was unfastening. His nipples were hard little points, like hers, and she couldn’t resist stretching up to lick at them as he’d licked hers.
With a groan, he clasped her head against him. “I never guessed you were such a teasing minx,” he growled as she tugged at one nipple with her teeth.
“Do you like it?”
He fisted his hands in her hair, his breath thickening. “You know damned well I do.”
She smiled against his skin. She’d never dreamed that being wicked could be so much fun, that having a man respond to her caresses could arouse her, too. Testing out her newfound feminine wiles, she moved her lips lower to press openmouthed kisses against the muscles that flexed beneath her touch. She scraped his flesh lightly with her teeth.
“God preserve me,” he said hoarsely. He pushed her hands away and finished unfastening his trousers and drawers, then shoved them off in one easy motion.
She stared. How could she not? The huge thing he’d unveiled was practically jutting in her face, darker and thicker and longer than she’d expected. Surrounded by a bed of inky curls, it had two round things hanging below it. His ballocks.
Suddenly his long shaft moved, startling her.
“Touch me,” he rasped. “Touch my cock.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Please.”
It seemed like such an incongruous bit of etiquette, especially for him, that she laughed.
“You think that’s funny?” he muttered. “I daresay you do. The Marquess of Rockton begging—”
“Shush,” she said with a mischievous smile as she took his “cock” in her hand. “You’re not Rockton. You’re you. Though itisfunny that you’re begging.”
He groaned as she stroked the length of him, fascinated by how his flesh jumped beneath her hand. His fingers closed over hers, making her squeeze him harder. “Like that. Yes.”
She caressed him for what seemed like only a moment before he choked out, “I can’t bear much more, sweetheart.” He tugged her hand from his shaft and pressed her back onto the bed. “I want to be inside you.”
As he slid off her drawers, panic hit. “I’ve never done this, you know,” she reminded him as he dragged her night rail over her head.
A rueful smile hovered on his lips. “I know, angel. I know.”
He knelt between her legs, and her panic deepened.
“Have you ever even . . . bedded a virgin?” she squeaked.
