Page 21 of The Dove
He brushed his lips against her, then opened his mouth, letting her feel the insides of his lips, the racing of his breath. Her back arched, and she dug her heels into the carpet, searching for him, begging silently for what she wanted … what she needed.
“Opium, little dove,” he whispered just before his tongue flicked against her.
She issued a strangled moan, her legs trembling with the force of her need.
“Potent,” he sighed, lapping at her between words, swirling his tongue over her clit. “Addictive … fucking perfect … opium. That’s what you are … and I’m here … for a taste.”
She bit down on her gag and tried to muffle her moan when he put his mouth on her, sucking with ravenous pulls of his lips and tongue. He slipped his hands beneath her and cupped her buttocks, holding her at just the right angle to drink from her. He lapped and sucked, scraped her with his teeth and chuckled when she cried out from behind her gag.
“There’s my little dove,” he whispered against her intimate flesh. “Stop fighting and feel me.”
Her eyes sank closed on their own accord, as if they, too, could not help but obey his every command. Her body disconnected from her mind, from thoughts of what it meant to surrender to him, and she simply allowed herself to revel … to feel.
He moaned against her, as if the wetness smearing his lips were ambrosia, as if he’d never tasted anything sweeter. She made an answering sound deep in her throat, the early flutters of a climax beginning in the place where his tongue touched her body. The muscles in her stomach clenched, and she stiffened before falling apart, trembling and groaning around her gag. He sank a finger into her and slowly pumped it in and out, strengthening her finish, drawing it out and making it last.
She fell apart, her body going limp as she sank to the carpet, no longer fighting his hold or the tight squeeze of her stocking around her wrist. On the heels of her fading spasms, a new hunger awakened within her—the need to have him inside her. He had stoked the embers left over from their encounter last night, and now, she was on fire again, going up in smoke and ash.
Glancing down with heavy-lidded eyes, she watched him unbutton his fall, feasted on the sight of his cock revealed inch by inch. First, his flared head, swollen and angrily reddened, seeping with moisture, then the long shaft, thick with pulsing veins and covered in skin she knew to be smoother than silk. But he was all hard on the inside, just like the rest of him—hard and straining toward her.
Daphne raised her hips and made a small, helpless sound in the back of her throat, silently begging him to give her every inch of his cock. Smirking at her, he chuckled, coming up to straddle her hips, one hand wrapped around his prick.
“You want this,” he declared, stroking himself with slow, rhythmic pulls that made her inner channel clench in tandem. “Don’t you, little dove? Tell me you want it.”
She released her breath on a frustrated huff, but answered him the only way she could, her head moving in a jerky nod of confirmation. He grinned, moving further up her body, his legs now on either side of her shoulders. Reaching down with one hand, he snatched the gag from her mouth, letting it fall to hang around her neck. She licked her lips to moisten them and stared up at him, knowing what he intended without needing to be told.
“You so rudely refused my generous offer, so you do not deserve to be fucked,” he said, reaching down to grasp a handful of her hair. “But I do believe I once promised that if you did not mind those impertinent lips of yours, I’d put them to better use. Open, little dove.”
He thrust toward her face, the blunt tip of his cock forcing her mouth open. He met the resistance of her teeth, but tugged her hair hard enough to spur her into action. Her scalp tingled, her teeth parting to allow him inside while his scent and taste overwhelmed her palate. There was no going easy on her, no taking his time and letting her grow accustomed to the invasion of his length or girth. He shoved toward the back of her throat while pulling her hair again, tipping her head back and opening her up for him.
She choked, struggling to catch her breath and catch up with him, but he did not allow it. He fucked her mouth the same way he would her cunt, taking what he wanted, first with long, slow thrusts, and then with short and swift ones. His breath quickened, his chest heaving and his legs trembling on either side of her as he adjusted his position, angling himself deeper, his hips thrusting him in and out of her mouth. She tightened her lips around him and let her tongue stroke his underside, forcing a guttural groan from deep in his chest. A few more spasmodic thrusts, and he seated himself in her, holding her head in place and spilling down her throat in a rush.
She swallowed around him, and he issued a hoarse cry, throwing his head back and rotating his hips, grinding against her as if wringing out every drop of seed he contained. He slowly shrank against her tongue, pulling his sated cock out of her mouth once he’d given her the last of his climax. Rolling from on top of her, he fell to the floor, bracing himself up on his elbow as he caught his breath. She had no choice but to lie there, her arms stretched up over her head, breasts heaving and legs shaking.
He’d let her climax, but it hadn’t been enough. She needed to be filled, stretched, torn open and pounded until she splintered. But, the hard glint in his eye when he came up on his knees and began buttoning his fall told her she would not get what she wanted—not today.
Once he had tucked in his shirt and straightened his waistcoat, he crouched over her, pulling down her gown, untying his cravat from around her neck, then releasing her hands. He rose to his feet as she slowly sat up, rubbing at her wrists and working the blood back into her hands. She glared at him, her channel throbbing and yearning, her heart hammering in her chest. She could not decide whether to attack him or wrap her arms around his leg and beg him to bend her over the nearest piece of furniture and stuff her full of his cock. Biting her lip, she suppressed the urge to do either.
“You may as well cease fighting me, little dove,” he urged, extending a hand to her. “I will get what I want from you, one way or another … and we both know it.”
Ignoring his hand, she managed to stand on her own, backing away so that they did not stand quite so close. The scent of sex hung in the air—his musk mingling with the tang of her arousal. A heady aphrodisiac that made a mess of her senses.
“What do you expect from me, Adam?” she challenged. “To allow you to come in and out of my home whenever you want to fuck me? I will not play your mistress.”
“There are far worse things to be in this world,” he retorted, inclining his head and scowling in response to yet another refusal. “As my mistress, you would be protected, provided for … well-fucked.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she raised her chin. “I can protect myself, provide for myself … and if I want someone in my bed, I can have him.”
He edged toward her, that dangerous glint returning to his eyes, making the amber and green swirl together like flickering flames. “And you’ll go to sleep every night unsatisfied, longing for things no other man can give you. You will still dream of me, and miss me, and want me. Why suffer needlessly?”
“Because to let you back into my bedisto suffer,” she spat. “Especially when we both know you only want me because it gratifies you to debauch Bertram Fairchild’s little sister.”
His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring as if he barely kept a grip on his tempter. “You do not know what you are talking about.”
“Oh, but I do,” she replied, edging farther away from him toward the drawing room door. “Just as I know that I would be mad to allow you back into my life when all you seem capable of doing is destroying things … people. Go home, Adam. Go back to Dunnottar, and to Olivia and Serena. I am happy with my new life and grateful for what you gave me, but we are finished. Please … just leave.”
Pushing open the door, she stood aside to allow him through the opening. Just outside, Rowney lingered, waiting to open the front door and allow their guest out. She did not meet the butler’s gaze, not wanting to see the censure in his expression if he’d heard what had gone on in this room.
Scowling at her, Adam stomped toward the door. He paused in the opening and glared down at her, his jaw jutting out stubbornly as he ground his teeth. One hand flexed at his side as if he wished to wrap it around her throat. She almost leaned into him and tilted her chin up, offering her vulnerable neck.
