Page 11 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
It wasn’t a nice grin.
It was the grin of a man who’d had to fight for every advantage, every insult. Every revenge.
Her eyes widened. In the dark mirror he couldn’t see their color, and truthfully, it was better this way. He didn’twantto see the emotion in them. Didn’t want to seeher.
She was using him, aye. Well, he could use her in return, couldn’t he?
Fawkes’s hand returned to her arse. “Pleasure doesnae wait, lass. Thanks to yer insistence, I’m aching for ye.”
Despite his admonishment about being crude, he stepped forward until he could place his cock against her arse’s cleft. The tip rested well above her arsehole, still damp from her saliva. “Ye feel that? Ye feel how ready I am for ye?”
“Yes,” she breathed, arching her back so her rear end cradled him. “Yes.”
His hand moved beneath her to cup her mound, and what he found didn’t surprise him. “Ye’re wet for me already, are ye no’?”
This time, she didn’t flinch away from his touch, but pressed herselfintoit. His fingers followed, stroking her dripping cunny.
“I’m sorry,” she moaned, and his strokes stilled for a moment at her odd response.
His fingers curled around his cock once more, pumping slowly, as his fingers stroked her, and he hummed softly. “What a good lass.”
“Wh-What are you doing?”
Wasn’t it obvious? The tip of his middle finger found the hidden pearl of her pleasure, and she gasped again and jerked against him.
This time his grin was genuine.
“I’m making ye ready, Ellie.” Her desire coated his hand and he wanted to spread it across his cock, but it was more fun to tease her like this. “Wetter.”
But she was shaking her head in a sort of confused way. “Ready? I am ready. I am no virgin.”
Aye, she was ready now, wasn’t she? But he was enjoying himself. Fawkes pressed a finger up into her channel, and she froze for a moment, then softened against him. “Ye like that?” he murmured.
“I—please, Fawkes.”
She definitely sounded close to tears now.
“Please, what?” he murmured.
Her head had dropped down atop the back of the sofa, and she was holding on as if she might fly away at any moment. “Please fook me,” she whispered.
“Hard and deep and fast?”
At his reminder she nodded vigorously, just as he pressed a second finger into her, her agreement turning into a moan.
Aye, he’d teased them both enough.
In one movement, he slid his hand away from her and pressed his cock against her entrance. “Aye, Ellie?”
“Please,” she sobbed.
When he glided in, they both exhaled.
Despite his threats, Fawkes didn’twantthis to go hard and fast. He gripped her hips and gently slid from her. Then in again.
The cadence was soothing, aye, but…exquisite.
She was tight—so tight—and wet. She’d been wet before he’d even touched her, and the knowledge that sucking him had aroused her made Fawkes’s grip tighten on her hips, his fingers digging into the bunched petticoats and skirts that stood between them.
