Page 45 of The Viscount and the Vixen
She didn’t want these sensations, didn’t want the way they made her body curl around him, cling to him as though he were her only hope for salvation. Yet he refused to be denied. He continued to torment her with his mouth, hands, and cock—all working in tandem to ensure she became lost in the whirlwind of pleasure.
Bucking beneath him, she was once again crying out as an orgasm tore through her and stars exploded within her. He gave one last mighty thrust that nearly lifted her off the bed, his own throaty groan echoing around her as his muscles spasmed beneath her fingers. He buried his face in the curve of her shoulder, his mouth coating her neck in dew as he fought to regain his breath. He kept his weight off her, but as reason began to return to her, she realized his arms were trembling with the strain. She folded her hands around them.
“Relax,” she urged.
“I’ll crush you.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
He laughed, and for the first time, she thought the sound might have been laced with a bit of joy. He rose up on his elbows, placed his hands on either side of her face, and skimmed his knuckles along her cheeks. “I’m thinking now that perhaps you could move that chair across the parlor.”
“Not now; I can barely lift a finger at the moment. In the morning perhaps.”
He grinned as though they were sharing a private joke, and she realized that grin could be devastating to her heart. She liked it far too much, liked how approachable it made him.
He rolled off her, rolled off the bed, and began striding away from her.
Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side.
“Wait there,” he said as he reached the washstand and dipped a cloth into the water. “I’ll clean you.”
She stilled, not because of his words, but because Montie had never extended such a courtesy to her. She was the one who saw to matters when they were finished. “You don’t have to.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I want to.” With a wicked gleam in his eye, he started back. “If I’m lucky and do it properly, it’ll lead to another round.”
Chapter11
He did it properly. It led to another round. One that went a little quicker than the first, but was no less intense. She was so blasted tight that at first he’d thought she was a virgin. But there had been no blood to clean up. And she was far too comfortable with a man’s body not to have been around one before. Still if he didn’t know better, he’d think the pleasure she’d experienced had taken her by surprise.
They’d finally gotten around to moving the bedding aside. She was lying on her back, one arm raised, her hand toying with strands of his hair, while he rested up on an elbow and trailed his fingers over her sternum, along her ribs. He’d tried going down her side to her hips only to discover she was a bit ticklish. Who’d have thought?
“I’ve never done this,” she said quietly.
He stilled, his hand a quarter of an inch away from cupping her breast. “You were a virgin? But you were married. There was no blood.”
She laughed lightly, running her fingers up over his scalp. “No, just lay here afterward, just... I don’t know. It’s as though the pleasure hasn’t quite dissipated completely, and we’re keeping it alive by still touching.”
“Your husband didn’t touch you afterward?” He wanted to bite his tongue for asking the question, hated even more the spark of jealousy that ignited within him because another man had known her as he had.
She shook her head. “He always fell asleep right after.”
He cupped her breast. “And you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Would watch him. Feel lonely.” She emitted a sound that was part scoff, part laugh. “I’m being silly. I don’t want to talk about before.”
He didn’t want to know that she’d found her love less than satisfactory, that she might have learned it wasn’t worth the pain it could bring. He bracketed her ribs, felt her stiffen—no doubt in anticipation of his going along her side to torment her with tickles. Another night he might. Not tonight. Tonight was about building trust so every night would be as good as or better than this one.
“Afterglow,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“A woman I once... spent time with described the way she felt after sex as a glowing, told me I couldn’t leave her or fall asleep until the glow went away. She would refer to it as the afterglow.”
“It does rather feel that way. Was she pretty?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
He liked that she sounded almost jealous. “Can you imagine me with an ugly woman?”
She studied him until he became uncomfortable with her perusal and was considering that it was time to plow into her again, before this conversation went someplace he didn’t want it to go.
