Page 92 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

It was salty. It was salty and sweet and not nearly enough. Her lips closed around the head of his cock, and his hips gave a mighty jerk.

“Christ, Flick,” Griffin growled, pulling away from her even as his hands reached for her sides. “Ye’re trying to finish me off?”

“Yes?” She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “I just wondered…”

“Aye, and ye want to assuage yer curiosity.” He lifted her to face the headboard. “But lass, I’ve been thinking of little else except yer sweet arse for the last two days, so I’m no’ going to let ye lick me ‘til I come. No’ when I could be inside ye.”

It was crude. It was impolite. So why did it make her so wet?

“Oh?” she breathed, as he lifted each of her hands and showed her how to hold on the thick wood of the bed. Facing the wall as she was, she couldn’t see him, which just meant his light touch on the back of her neck made her shiver with anticipation.

“Dinnae let go, do ye understand?”

His growled command, close enough to her ear she could feel his breath, made her shudder.

“Answer me.”

“Y-Yes. I will not let go.”

The way he dragged his fingertips along her spine felt complimentary. “Good lass.”

She shuddered again, this time in need.

“Spread yer knees.” He didn’t give her time to comply, but shoved his knee between hers, spreading her legs.

Felicity leaned against the headboard, her weight supported by her hands, kneeling atop the pile of pillows, her arse on display.

Her arse, and everything else.

When his hand cupped her core from behind, she knew she was already wet. His grunt was approving. He didn’t wait, but reached around to her front and pushed one finger into her opening, even as he leaned his long length against her.

His cock was pressed into the cleft of her arse, his chest bare against her back, and he reached around her front to cup one of her breasts as his finger began to glide lazily in and out of her core.

When he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, she gasped and arched against him.

“Ye like that, Flick?” He did it again, and chuckled when she moaned. She felt his laugh more than heard it, but it was a minor miracle, she supposed, and made her gasp of delight even greater.

“Tell me,” Griffin commanded.

“I like it.” Felicity gasped again when he squeezed her entire breast. “More, please.”

“God damn, sweetheart, ye have the most amazing tits,” he growled in her ear as a second finger joined the first inside her. “I wouldnae have believed it, the way ye’re always buttoned up so prim and proper. But look at yerself.”

Obediently, she glanced down. In the last decade, her body had grown softer, curvier. Her breasts were larger than they’d once been, and hung lower. In this position, she could see they would dangle freely, gravity pulling them toward the pillows.

But instead, he held one. She watched the way his large hand covered her breast, squeezing it like a piece of fruit. It was strangely erotic, to see as well as feel.

He rolled her nipple again, and her mouth fell open on a desperate need. Perhaps it was because he’d just added a third finger into her wet folds.

“Ye like that.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered it in a low moan. “Yes.”

“Ye want more than my fingers, Flick?”

“Yes.”

“As milady commands.”

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