Page 60 of Lord Garson's Bride
A frown wrinkled her brow. “You don’t seem to be enjoying it.”
Even through his urgency, he couldn’t contain a grunt of grim laughter. “If I enjoy it any more, I’ll burn to a crisp.”
Relief filled her face. “Am I doing it right? I want you to like it.”
How could he veer so close to flying apart in a million flaming fragments, yet still want to laugh? He wasn’t used to this barrage of emotions. Jane had this extraordinary ability to engage his senses and his feelings at the same time.
Now despite the pounding need to put his cock into her mouth, his most powerful response was tenderness. This combination of uncertainty and daring was so true to his wife.
“I’ll like it.” Even if he knew that she’d subject him to the torments of the damned before she was done. “Whatever you do.”
He cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb over her lower lip, feeling the lush cushion of flesh give under the gentle pressure. Best to avoid picturing those lips closing around him. Otherwise he’d lose himself here and now.
Jane turned her head and drew his thumb into her mouth, rousing inevitable thoughts of what else Garson wanted her to do. When her tongue rasped against his skin, heat sizzled through him and he gritted his teeth to contain a guttural groan. Then all the air escaped him in a whoosh as she sucked.
Damnation, he’d never survive this. He closed his eyes and snatched for air until he stopped seeing colored lights behind his eyelids. The pressure relaxed, and he struggled for control. “By God, Jane, do that again.”
He opened his eyes to meet a speculative expression. She pulled his hand away from her mouth, pausing to kiss his knuckles with one of those heart-arresting gestures of affection that he should be used to by now, but somehow wasn’t.
Her smile set his heart slamming against his ribs. “I’d rather do something else.”
His reeling mind struggled to encompass what she meant. She turned him into a thick-witted ox. Then even the few wits he still possessed evaporated in a searing conflagration, as she lowered her head and took him fully into her mouth.
Suction. Pressure. Heat.
Garson groaned and twined his fingers in the soft mass of her hair, as he battled to hold himself back. Although perhaps next time they did this, he’d convince her to let him come in her mouth. After today, who knew what fresh sins he could tempt her to sample?
She drew harder, and he bit back a profanity. Her fist slid to the base of his dick, so that between her mouth and her hand, exquisite pressure encompassed his length. Excruciating pleasure tightened his balls. All he could hear was the saw of his breath and the evocative sounds her mouth made as it moved on him with succulent greed.
With a shaking hand, he pushed back the fall of her hair so he could see her face. Her features were set with concentration. As she took to her task with a diligence that threatened to incinerate him, her rump rose impudently into the air. The thin silk nightdress molded to her bottom, revealing every lavish curve.
At first, she was beguilingly clumsy, but soon she found the rhythm, sliding up and down his shaft. Her tongue circled his tip, and her hand cupped his balls. With every second, he verged nearer to spurting into her mouth.
“Hell, Jane, I’m too close,” he growled in a voice he didn’t recognize. “Come here.”
She sat back and licked her lips in unabashed appreciation. The sight smashed through him like a cannonade. He needed to be inside her now. Her earlier clumsiness was nothing compared to his quaking desperation when he hauled her up.
“For pity’s sake, take me.” Blatant need thickened his command before he pressed his eager mouth to hers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jane rose on her knees, breaking the kiss, and regarded Hugh with dazed eyes. His rich taste lingered on her tongue. How she’d relished having him at her mercy, as she’d licked and sucked him until he shook. She’d loved the physical intimacy, as she claimed him in a way she never had before. What they did in bed was wonderful, but lying beneath him, she’d always felt the possessed, not the possessor.
“Like this?” Her voice sounded rusty, and she swallowed to loosen a tight throat.
A muscle jerked in his lean cheek, and he bumped his hips up between her legs. “Ride me, darling.”
Who was she to argue? She kissed him, but didn’t linger. He was too close to the brink. She gathered her silky skirts in one hand, so she could watch as she lowered onto him. Below the pale plain of her belly, her dark red curls glistened. She was slick and ready.
His rod was large and engorged, and straight as a ruler. The head shone with moisture. Thick veins made her think of a mighty tree. A thrill ripped through her, as she recalled her tongue tracing those veins.
She shifted to find the right spot, then held him steady with one hand as she sank down. The stretching sensation wasdifferent from their other joinings because of the angle. As her internal muscles clenched, she gasped and bit her lip.
When her body closed over the head, Hugh jerked and released another of those long, hoarse groans. She stared into his face. His eyes were closed, and his jaw was set so hard that she feared it must crack. He shook as if he had a fever.
She let her skirts fall about her thighs and placed her hands flat on his powerful chest, feeling the soft friction of hair against her palms. Inhaling air that tasted of male musk, she descended. To her surprise and pleasure, he slid into her with splendid ease.
She moaned and wriggled to take him deeper. He became completely hers. To prove it, she squeezed. When he bucked, a gush of heat welcomed him. Astonished at the swiftness of her response, she felt the fluttering beginnings of a climax.
