Page 85 of Wild Lily
She flailed her head against the sheets.
“I know,” he whispered, ragged, and shifted to take her other breast into his mouth and lave her to a throbbing torment. “You’re superb, darling,” he reassured her and slid lower on the bed.
“No!” She clutched at him. “Don’t go.”
“Never.” On his haunches, he winked at her and crawled between her legs. Then he sank between them, put two fingers to her fiery flesh and opened her wide.
She twisted, the urge to run and hide or scream thrown to the wind in delicious surrender as he spoke to her in firm and soothing words.
“I want to taste you. Let me.” And he lowered his mouth to her and lavished her with ardent little kisses along her secret folds.
She keened in delight, grabbing the sheets and arching, pausing in mid-air, full of the sultry wet strokes of his tongue. She hovered in space, expectant, rabid to have more, more and more again.
He gave it. Spreading her lips wide, he found that same spot he’d discovered in his coach, but this time, his fingers gave way to the glories of his tongue. He sampled her sweetly with a kiss. Slowly with a long tender suck and then he massaged her with the hard flicks of his tongue.
She lost her breath, panting. “Julian, Julian,” she cried over again as he spun her higher and tighter into a tornado of wild delight. She couldn’t think, move, wanting only this madness he gave with abandon and moans of pleasure. “Oh, Julian,” she groaned as she launched herself over a new and spectacular cliff to land, pulsing in his arms.
Languid, she locked her gaze on his. He smiled, briefly, and combed back her hair. “Shall you have more?”
She caught him close. “Yes, yes!”
He turned to one side, divested himself of his silk trousers and came back to her, crawling up between her legs. Hooking his arms under her knees, he grinned at her and moved so near she resisted his searing flesh on hers. And then the probe, slow and sure, of the tip of his cock. Next the fullness of him, a wider girth and hotter. At last, the entire length of him, so large, so hard, her mouth fell open.
He caressed her cheek and asked if he was hurting her.
She shook her head in wonder. Not like the animals at all was this joining. “No. I love you inside me.”
“Oh, Lily, I love it too.”
And with swift strokes, he surged into her once and then again. He was sure and deliberate in his strokes. Until she caught his tempor and went with him, soaring up into sweet oblivion. He took her up to that precipice, rocked them there with kisses and cries. Then they sailed down. So that, at last, she was his wife. He was her husband.
Of bliss, she could name only one missing piece. Did she love him? He her? Or were they a good bargain for each other? The marquess and the heiress. The one bought, the other sold. Could they find love somewhere in between?
She could. At the realization, tears sprang to her eyes.
He noticed, thumbed them away and cradled her close.
Yet she wondered if for those who were bought and sold, was love a commodity that was durable?
