Page 19 of A Whisper of Desire
He crawled onto the bed beside her. “You were a few minutes ago.”
“I guess I was caught up in the moment. You looked magnificent and I wanted to please you.”
He linked his hand with hers. “Do you no longer wish to please me, little one?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I know I’m large and ungainly—”
He silenced her with another kiss. Finally he drew back. “You’re not ungainly, you’re simply little compared to me. I think you’re beautiful—perfect, in fact.”
He let go of her hand and moved to cup one breast. “Your bosom fits my hand as if made for it.” He gently squeezed and ran his finger over her taut nipple, making her squirm. He pushed her onto her back and she sank into the soft mattress. Lying next to her, he ran his hand up her long, toned leg to where it joined her hip. “These long legs were made especially so they can wrap round my waist, allowing me to pleasure you deeper and harder.” He placed his hand over her stomach, stretching his fingers from hip to hip. “You have broad hips, all the better to cradle my children deep within your womb.” Lastly his hand rose and his thumb traced her lips. “Your lips are plump and ripe, and now all I can think of is kissing them.” He watched her nibble her bottom lip, running her tongue over it as if testing if his words were true. God, what he’d love to teach her to do with those lips. He pictured her taking him into her mouth, those lips suckling him until he exploded once more.
Already his dark desires surfaced. He’d have to be careful. Marisa could be the ruin of him and the Lyttleton name.
Focus.For the rest of the night and into the morning, this would be all about her. Her pleasure, her wants, and her desires.
She looked at him from under lowered eyelashes, her silky dark hair the perfect shield for her expression. “I don’t know what to do to please you. Show me,” she entreated on a soft sigh, and she took his hand and placed it at the junction of her thighs, leaving her hand on top of his.
He relished her letting him take command, leading her how he wanted, teaching her how to pleasure herself and how to please him. Focusing on his partner’s pleasure kept his needs at bay.
He was expert at helping his partners learn the ways to make passion last, to reach the pinnacle again and again until they were fully sated.
He rose up on one elbow, resting his head in his palm. The other hand, the hand that was exactly where he’d longed to be since she’d walked into his bedchamber, he let sink into her curls, shuddering at how wet he found her. He loved that she readily responded to him. He took her tiny hand in his and ran one delicate finger down through her wet folds and then back up to press firmly on her hardened nub.
“I love that you’re so wet for me. I bet you taste like the sweetest nectar.” He repeated the movements, but this time he lifted her finger coated in her body’s fluids to his mouth and sucked. “Delicious.”
He guided her finger back to her wet folds. “Now do it on your own. Stroke and then press, hard or soft; you find the rhythm that brings you the most sensation. Then, when you’re ready, taste.”
He settled in to watch as she unthinkingly obeyed him. She explored as he directed with the odd comment all the while never taking her eyes from his face. She watched him watching her, and she could see his desire for her build. At one point Marisa briefly closed her eyes on a sweet moan, but when she felt his member stir against her thigh, they flashed open. Only then did she raise her finger to her lips and taste herself. Before she could remove the finger from her mouth, his lips sought hers and they tasted her together.
“I need more; you taste delicious,” he said, then let out a gravelly command: “Move further up the bed.”
Once she had done as he’d directed, he lay in the V of her thighs, spreading them wide with his shoulders. He drank in the sight and smell of her.
“When do I get to taste you? It’s amazing what a young lady can learn when her brother is easily distracted and has not-very-discreet friends.”
“Whom did you spy on? Was it me?” The thought of her secretly watching him at love sport made his cock throb.
“No. It wasn’t you.”
“Then I don’t want to know.” The idea that she’d seen another man being pleasured and got aroused by it saw a possessive haze blur his vision.
“Soon you’ll taste me, and only me. Just as this feast before my eyes is for me alone.” He ran his tongue up the inside of her trembling thigh. “Now is about your pleasure. You have some catching up to do.”
—
She’d registered the angry scowl that had crossed Maitland’s handsome features when she’d mentioned seeing another man being serviced.
Only a few weeks ago, at Lord Donnel’s ball, she’d sought the quiet of the gardens when Rutherford had once again failed to propose to her. She was sitting quietly by a small fountain when on the other side of the roses a couple appeared. She recognized Arend’s voice. She hadn’t meant to watch, but the look upon Arend’s face as a woman on her knees serviced him, taking his member into her mouth with her hand stroking him, had kept her frozen to the spot. She’d come over all hot and flushed, her body reacting to the sight of his obvious pleasure. She’d watched a man she’d thought dark and dangerous come apart, his hands wrapped tightly in the woman’s hair, his hips thrusting his erection deep into her mouth, his growls animalistic, and yet the vulnerability in his face as he came almost made her weep. The woman may have simply been one of Arend’s many lovers, but he gave all of himself to the act. For a brief moment you could see into his soul, pure and good.
The woman also seemed to enjoy it immensely, because as soon as he slipped free of her mouth, Arend pulled her into his arms, his hand fumbling under her skirts, and it took no more than a few strokes before she was quivering in his arms and calling out Arend’s name. They simply held each other, breathing deeply. That’s when he’d looked over to where she stood on the other side of the arbor and smiled. She’d turned tail and run. He’d never once mentioned the moment to her.
Since that night, she’d always dreamed of being able to make her lover lose control like that. To be so caught up in passion that they dispensed with their outer armor and showed their inner selves, their vulnerability.
Maitland’s previous release seemed so controlled, as if he was scared to expose his inner self. Perhaps it was because they were still strangers?
A nip on the soft skin of her inner thigh refocused her. She looked at Maitland’s head as it lay between her thighs and wondered if he ever completely lost himself in passion, or would he stay controlled, as he had when he pleasured himself. He stroked himself as if to order. He’d obviously found release in the actions, but to her it was as if it could have been any woman lying open and naked before him. There was nothing special about the woman in his bed being his newly married wife.
It was as if there was a routine or pattern to his lovemaking. Perhaps he started all his amorous pursuits this way.
