Page 76 of Dukes of Peril

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Whatever. I reada lotof romance novels back at the Hideaway.” Romances where the hero always knows exactly what to do with his woman’s secret pleasure zone. How the fuck did I end up with one so broken? “Sy, come on. If we’re ever going to get past this, then you’ll need to touch me.”

The mirth fades from his eyes, and they grow dark, grim. “What if I hurt you again?”

“You won’t,” I say, fluttering my fingers through his hair. Before he can argue, I add, “And if you do, I’ll say so and you’ll stop.” I hold his eye. “Right?”

His eyes soften with a sorrow I’m still unused to seeing. “Of course, I will.” Quietly, he adds, “Lav, I promise.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.” I lie back, spread my thighs, and press his hand between my legs again. That alone is enough to send a zing of pleasure through my limbs. “Tend to my lady garden, Big Bear. Cultivate that flower. Plant those seeds. Fertilize my—”

When his mouth crashes into mine, it’s clearly just a way to get me to shut up, but I embrace it, parting my lips so I can taste his tongue.

The tension melts away and his ministrations turn diligent—worshipful. This time when he teases me, it’s the right way, the way we worked on before ‘the incident.’ He rubs delicious circles into my clit, thumb pressed in exactly the right spot. My hips rise, desperate for more and he gives it to me, shoulder shifting to give him more access.

Sy kisses me absently, his mind clearly focused on the route of his fingers, sliding through my slickness. Every time my own fingers skate up his arm, his ribs, the broad expanse of his shoulders, his muscles flex into the touch, almost like it’s just instinct to chase it down. I’ve noticed his reaction to my touch for long enough to understand what it is.

Sy is used to being hit, used to being the one doing the hitting, but this? The way my palms smooth down his back, the tickle of my fingers at the top of his shoulders, how my touch lingers greedily…

It makes my chest hurt to wonder how long he’s been starved of gentle touches like these. There’s an unspeakable power in the way I can make him shudder with nothing but a brush of my fingers over the nape of his neck. I watch his eyebrows crash together mid-kiss, and then suddenly, he’s gone, sliding down my body.

His face hovers between my thighs, and when he finally dips down to press a long, wet kiss to my clit, his blue eyes never leave mine. The whimper that punches from my lungs sounds pained, but in truth, it’s anything but. Weaving my fingers through his curly hair, I watch, captivated as he gathers my wetness with the point of his tongue.

It’s impossible to forget who he is–Simon Perilini, undefeated fighter, a man strong and violent enough to take down anyone in Forsyth–but right now, he’s licking my pussy with such a slow, careful intensity that it makes my body fill with liquid warmth.

It’s like straddling a bomb.

“Oh, god,” I gasp, fingers clenching in his hair. “Don’t–don’t stop.” My hips chase his tongue, eyes locked on his as he brings me steadily, unforgivingly to the edge of annihilation.

It’s a battle to watch his face as I come apart beneath his mouth, my eyes wanting nothing more than to slam closed as I ride the wave of ecstasy. The flash of wicked satisfaction in his eyes is enough to hold me there, trapped beneath the glow of it as he holds my hips down.

He claims his victory with a sharp, pleased rumble against my clit.

When the arch in my back falls, my body collapsing bonelessly into his mattress, he doesn’t shift away. I’m too blissed out to really pay much mind to what his fingers are doing, but in the back of my brain, I know they’re exploring me. My pussy is slick, wet and loose, and he pulls back far enough to look at it, his finger slowly descending.

His finger brushes the entrance, stalling there. A flash of trepidation crosses his face before he finally shifts his shoulder, sliding a long, thick finger into me.

I suck in a breath.

Freezing, his blue eyes jump to mine, throat jumping with a swallow. “Good?”

“Easy peasy,” I reply, brain clearly befuddled from the orgasm.

After a second of hesitation, he drags the digit out and back in, eyes pinging back and forth between mine and his own hand. Sy approaches most things with a sense of aggressive curiosity. It’s one of the aspects of his personality I can relate most to, and it’s on full display here, his head dipping to observe the way I look as I take him to the knuckle.

It’s with that same air of investigation that I begin feeling the teasing pressure of a second finger. Slowly, carefully, he slides it in along the first, brow furrowed as he meets my gaze.

“Now?” His voice has dropped to a low, rough octave that sends a shiver through my spine.

I spread my thighs wider for him. “You’ve seen your brother’s dick, right?” I hold up three fingers to indicate size. “I can take more, Sy.”

He looks at my pussy skeptically. “Are you sure?”

I rock my hips, taking the two fingers in deeper, whining at the feel. “Please.”

The expansion of his chest on a long inhale isn’t the only sign this is affecting him. His stiff cock bobs heavily between his legs when he shifts, a trickle of eager precum dripping from the head. “Here goes,” he says, the tone full of warning.

He pushes in the third, and yep, like everything else with Sy, his fingers are big. Thick. Blunt. Long. Three fingers are more like four, and this time I feel the stretch. But I force myself to exhale, to let the burn dissipate, my body adjusting for him.

He pauses, eyes watching mine. “Lav?” This time, I hear the strain in his voice.

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