Page 70 of Any Duke in a Storm

Lisbeth did it again, but lightly scratched her nails over the tight spheres at the base of him this time. He stiffened even more, a bead of translucent liquid forming at his tip. Eyes on him, she bowed and lapped gently, the salty taste making her want more. Her tongue flicked around the top of his piercing, forcing a deep groan from his chest. “Lisbeth.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

When she took the thick head of him inside her mouth, careful with both ends of the apadravya, his hands fisted the bedsheets. She gripped the base of him with one hand and swirled her tongue. Raphael almost came off the bed, his hips thrusting jerkily toward her. Lisbeth took him as deep as she could, the metal dragging along the roof of hermouth and the flat of her tongue as he slowly withdrew. It was not unpleasant, but the idea of it stroking elsewhere made her empty passage clench on air. She moaned around his crown.

As if he’d read her mind, Raphael sat up and pulled her to him, capturing her lips.

“I wasn’t finished,” she protested.

“And I want to be inside you.” With that, he settled her over his pelvis, the blunt head of him gliding over her entrance. Cool metal hit the needy bud at the top of her sex, making her shiver. “Guide me in, Viking.”

The excruciatingly tight slide of her down his throbbing length was going to kill him.

Raphael had meant to torture her by keeping her on edge, but that kind of seduction was a double-edged sword. Copious amounts of fluid had leaked out of him, his cock so engorged that even breathing had made him ache…and when she had taken him into the warm depths of her mouth, he’d had to think of every possibly repulsive thing he could conceive just so he wouldn’t be too rough or spend too soon. And that fucking piercing was the bane of his existence.

Already, he could feel his ballocks tightening and he wasn’t even fully seated, but that was because every sense felt raw with desire. He was drunk on the glorious sight of her like a goddess perched atop him with skeins ofsilvery-blond hair tumbling over her shoulders, lips parted and green eyes glazed with passion. The scent of her like ocean and sunlight. The feel of the miles and miles of velvety skin and the warm clasp of her body urging him inside. The sounds of her breathy whimpers as she worked to take him. And the taste, Dieu, the fuckingtasteof her. Even now, his mouth still watered for more.

“Raphael,” she gasped, writhing down, her face flushed with exertion. “It’s too much.”

“Slow, love,” he said and brushed his fingers down the front of her flat belly, his thumb going to her clitoris, nudging it in small circles.

“Oh…” she breathed as she canted her hips, eyes widening at the combination of sensations—the rough friction of his finger and the girth of him inside. “That’s…fucking good.”

Hinging upward slightly, she shuttled south, gaining another inch as they both groaned at the intensity of the fit. “Again,” he told her, and when she complied, he quickened the circles of his thumb. “Good girl.” Her passage clamped down around him so hard that he grunted, and he gave a dark chuckle. “Does my pretty Valkyrie like to be praised?”

“I don’t know why,” she admitted, cheeks on fire. “It’s nonsensical. I’ve never been this way with anyone.”

“Which way?”

“So goddamned needy as if all I want is for you to look at me the way you are right now.” She worked her hips down the final inch until she was seated to the hilt, the pleasure intense as she squeezed him like a vise.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled.

She panted. “Raphael, I can feel you everywhere. I’m so full. I feel like I need to move.”

“How good of an equestrian are you?” he said with a grin.

That green gaze darkened with desire at the erotic suggestion, but she quirked a brow as she planted her hands on his chest. “Est-ce que tu veux que je te monte comme un cheval, Monsieur le Duc?”

He blinked. “You’re fluent in French?”

“I speak seven languages,” she told him.

Yet another thing he had not known about her. Whowasthe Countess of Waterstone, really? That was a riddle for later. “Alors, chérie, chevauche-moi.”

His eyes nearly rolled back in his head when she did just that, posting on a diagonal slant using her thighs and then cresting down. She found a rhythm easily, the breathy sounds falling from her lips as she chased her pleasure, music to his ears.

Ciel, she was so beautiful like this—full, uplifted, pink-tipped breasts, firm, quivering stomach, and curving thighs clamped over his hips—her graceful, strong body eager to please. Running his hands up her ribs, he cupped her breasts and plucked at her taut nipples. He needed them in his mouth so he sat up, one palm splaying against her spine as he held her to him. He drew one furled peak into his mouth, relishing the cry on her lips when her head fell back.

“Wrap your legs around me, love,” he whispered. When she did, they both groaned at the deliciously snug shift inposition and the way his piercing rubbed up against that perfect spot inside her.

“Oh!” Her head snapped up, eyes wide as ragged breaths sawed from her lips when he planted his hands firmly on her hips and rocked her back and forth against him. “You’re so deep…and,yes, right there.”

It only took two more shallow thrusts before she was undulating around him, her channel rippling greedily as she clenched down hard, nails scouring into his shoulders, begging for more. He found her mouth, kissing her and swallowing her cries as she tumbled into her release. He was so close, too. He could feel it, lightning gathering at the base of his spine.

Lisbeth protested irritably as he withdrew from her, but then gasped when he flipped her to her hands and knees, and plunged back in without warning. “Raphael!” she screamed, her chest slumping to the mattress as her body broke anew and quivered around him.

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