Page 37 of The Devil's Torment

Her eyes flare. “Why?”

“Because you’re as stiff as the spine on a brand-new book. This will relax you.”

“Oh.” She shifts onto her front and rests her head on her arms. “I bet this isn’t how you thought your wedding night would go.”

“Half-pint, stop.” I gather her hair in a ponytail and tie it out of the way.

“Stop what?”

“Stop with the self-deprecating. It doesn’t suit you. You’re a feisty, opinionated woman.”

“Which is why you chose Elizabeth.”

I sigh. She’s not wrong, and I won’t disrespect her by pretending otherwise, especially after my speech about lying. Her audacity and irascibility are the precise reasons I chose her meek and mild sister, but now we’ve spent a little more time together, I’m starting to agree with what Dad said when he proposed this marriage. Maybe I should have picked her all along. Maybe taming her is the last thing I should want.

I’m confounded, truly.

Instead of responding, I pour oil into my hands and rub them together. I start at her feet, massaging the soles, grateful she isn’t ticklish. My cock and balls are too close for comfort, and while my wedding night isn’t going as I thought it would, I’d rather not spend it with an ice bucket between my legs.

I work my way up to her calves, then the backs of her thighs. I skip her backside, forcing myself not to give into the urge to bite the perfectly shaped round globes.

Slowly, the muscles in her back slacken, and her spine moves into a more neutral position. It’s as though she’s sinking farther into the mattress, and she keeps making these sexy as sin keening sounds that has precum leaking from my dick.

I spend at least fifteen minutes kneading the muscles of her neck and shoulders, and by the time I roll her over, she’s half asleep.

“Still with me?” I brush my lips over hers, then re-oil my hands.

“Mm,” is all I get in response.

A smile inches across my face, but her eyes are closed, so she doesn’t see it. I work my way down her arms, into her hands, across her clavicle, avoiding her breasts even though her erect nipples are begging for my tongue. Her skin is flushed pink—a sure sign of arousal. She’s getting there.

By the time I finish back where I started at her feet, she’s as relaxed as a cat sleeping in the sun. In fact, as she stretches, she reminds me of exactly that.

Scooting down the bed, I press my hands to her thighs, parting them. The glistening sight of her pussy almost makes me come, but tonight isn’t about me. It’s about her. Tonight, I’m going to fucking prove she’s not broken. She’s a woman who takes a little longer to reach orgasm, that’s all. It’s not her fault she had the misfortune of sleeping with two guys who clearly couldn’t find a clit if I gave them a state-of-the-art GPS system. And even if they found it, it’s evident they didn’t have a fucking clue what to do with it.

When my tongue connects with her damp flesh, she tenses, but only for a moment. I circle the hard nub with the tip of my tongue. Once, twice, a third time. Her pelvis lifts off the bed and she pushes her pussy closer to my face. A good sign. I cup her arse, and I do what I do best. I fucking feast.

“Ohhhh, Goddddddd.” Thrusting her fingers into my hair, she tugs hard enough to pull it out at the roots. “Nicholas. God.God.”

My mouth is full of her, my nose is brimming with her scent, my hands roving over her soft curves. I lose track of time, lose myself inher.My jaw aches, my tongue throbs, and still I keep going, keep eating her like she’s a rare, exquisite delicacy.

“Don’t stop.” She’s panting now, her muscles undulating. She’s close. I slide my hands over her ribs, cup her perfect tits, and pinch both her nipples.

“Nicholas, JesusChrist.”

My tongue is inside her when she comes, the walls of her pussy rippling and clenching as her cum floods my mouth. I don’t stop, not until the pulses abate and she collapses back to the mattress.

My cock is leaking, desperate to push inside her wet heat, but I don’t. I’m not sure why. Instinct maybe. Instead, I crawl beside her and wrap my arms around her waist. The second I do, I’m glad I didn’t fuck her because she bursts into tears.

Victoria isn’t a crier. Not that I’ve seen, and my family have known hers for years. She’s tough as they come, one of the few people who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. Her eulogy at Elizabeth’s funeral is testament to her courage. Yet she’s quivering and shaking in my arms, her tears soaking my neck and shoulder where she’s buried her face.

It takes a while before she gathers herself. I wait, my fingers trailing up and down her spine. When she tilts back her head, greeting me with stained cheeks and eyes still shining with tears she’s held back, something shifts inside my chest.

“I’m s-sorry.”

I brush my thumbs over her cheeks. “What for?”

She gives a little laugh tinged with disbelief. “You won the jackpot with me, huh? Takes a monumental effort to climax, then I break down the second I have. You’re a lucky man.”

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