Page 121 of To Catch a Viscount

Andrew palmed her breasts, lifting them gently like he were weighing gold, and then slowly, he lowered his mouth.

A hiss slipped between her teeth, and her legs trembled as he took one of those sensitive peaks between his lips, suckling gentling, tugging at the bud.

There was something so very erotic in the wet sounds of him kissing her in a place she’d not known men kissed before this man.

Closing her eyes, Marcia surrendered herself completely to feeling… and him. She brought her hands up, curling her fingers in his unfashionably long, golden hair, and held him close, anchoring him against her, never wanting him to stop. Not allowing him to stop.

But then he pulled back against her hold, and Marcia made a sound of protest, but Andrew was merely turning his attention to the other mound, worshiping the other nipple in the same way.

With a little sigh, she closed her eyes and let herself just feel as he flicked his tongue back and forth over that pebbled tip, as he suckled, then stopped, suckled, then stopped.

She grew shamefully damp between her legs, the pulsing there not unfamiliar. The ache was both terrific and terrible, but one she yearned to have assuaged.

Suddenly, Andrew stopped, and she cried out as he straightened, but then he took her in his arms, and kissed her mouth, this time with a greater intensity.

“There will come a day when you regret our marriage, Marcia,” he said harshly between kisses that dulled the hint of peril that hung on his words. “But this will not be that day.”

She wanted to debate him, to fight him on the point. She couldn’t regret marrying him, because she’d married one of her best friends. And she’d come to love him with a woman’s heart. But thoughts failed. Her voice failed. Nor was she brave enough to make that profession to him. Not when she also knew him well enough to know such an admission would send him running in terror.

Lifting her up slightly, Andrew perched her on the edge of the pool table.

“Wh-what are you—?”

“Shh,” he whispered, gently guiding her down so that the hard red velvet surface was a makeshift mattress beneath them.

She allowed him to lay her back, would have followed him to the bowels of hell in this instant, if he’d so asked.

In any instant,a voice mocked through the dizzying pleasure of being in his arms. Refusing to let the terror of whatever these new feelings were for this man intrude, she pushed them aside and forced herself to focus on this. Only this.

Andrew guided her skirts up slowly. Each swath of skin he revealed to the night air was kissed by that cold and then his mouth.

He trailed those kisses, higher and higher, his lips hot and moist upon her, fueling a fire within.

Her mind clogged by a thick fog of desire, Marcia attempted to push herself up onto her elbows. “Andrew?” she asked breathlessly.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his breath stirring the thatch of golden curls at her apex.

And then he kissed her.

He’d kissed her several times. Five times, to be precise, each kiss more potent and powerful than the one to precede it. But none had been like this.

A hiss exploded from her lips, and Marcia shot her hips up off the table. “An-Andrew!” she cried out as he parted her folds and slipped his tongue inside.

He flicked the sensitive nub, teasing it, teasing her. Tormenting her.

“Just feel, Marcia. Let yourself feel only this,” he whispered.

Her body went weak, and she lay back, surrendering herself to him completely.

Closing her eyes, she let herself do as he’d urged.Just feel.

Every lap of his tongue, every delicious stroke.

It was forbidden and naughty, and she should be ashamed. For surely ladies didn’t do this, didn’t enjoy this.

But she did, and she felt like she would dissolve into nothing if he stopped.

“Do you like this, love?” His voice, heavy with desire and masculine approval, only heightened her hungering.

---