Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
Page 84
The words sent a shock through her as she imagined all those things, a repeat of the night in his swimming pool. The glorious feel of him against her.
“A moment I do not stroke… or kiss… or lick.”
She exhaled at the final word, at the way it seemed to deliver on its meaning, leaving a trail of fire straight through her to the place he asked for… to the place she wanted him.
He understood. “You enjoy it when I lick you, don’t you, my lady?”
Good God. She was not a prude; she’d spent the last six years surrounded by gamers and prostitutes. She ran London’s finest gaming hell, for heaven’s sake. But all that seemed entirely ordinary and acceptable compared to this man, who had turned into sin incarnate the moment they’d touched.
It was broad daylight, and he spoke of licking as though it were the weather.
“Georgiana,” he prompted, her name a slow promise. “Do you enjoy it?”
That finger on his lips was driving her mad. She pressed her thighs together, reminding herself of their game. “I seem to recall it being quite pleasant.”
Something flared in his eyes. Humor. Understanding of the part she played. “Only pleasant?”
She smiled, small and soft. “As I remember.”
“We have differing memories, then,” he said, “As I remember your hands in my hair, your cries in the darkness, your legs wrapped around me like sin.” His gaze fell to the apex of her thighs. “I remember the flood of you when you came, the way you arched toward the sky, everything forgotten except pleasure. Wrought by me. By my tongue in all the places you ached.”
She forgot the game, her muscles going weak as he spoke.
“I remember the taste of you, sweet and sex… and the feel of you, like decadent silk, soft and wet… and mine.”
That word again. His.
He was seducing her with nothing but words, promising her everything she’d ever wanted if only she gave in – if only she opened to him. She took a deep breath and matched him once more. “You speak of before,” she said, unable to keep the breathlessness from her words. “But what good is that to me now? Here?”
His brows rose in surprise before he leaned forward, his words part danger and part play.
And all desire.
“Open for me and let’s find out.”
She giggled. The sound shocking them both with its honesty. She was almost embarrassed – would have been if he hadn’t dropped his hand and leaned forward the instant the laugh escaped her lips. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He reached for her, then, one large, warm hand curving around her knee, the touch erasing the game they played.
Her legs parted.
“So goddamn beautiful,” he said, his gaze not leaving her face as he came off the chair, falling to his knees at the edge of the desk, between her thighs. “So goddamn perfect.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then her thigh. “So goddamn honest.”
She stiffened at the last, even as his lips curved high at the crease of her thigh, where it met the part of her that ached for him. For this.
Honesty.
She hadn’t been honest with him. There was nothing honest about this. Nothing honest about her. And he deserved better.
He sensed the change in her, lifting his lips, meeting her eyes across the long expanse of her torso. “Don’t think it.”
She knew he did not understand, but replied nonetheless, shaking her head. “I cannot help it.”
He pressed a kiss to the soft hair above the most secret part of her, the caress long and lingering and somehow sweet. “Tell me,” he said.
There were a dozen things she should tell him. A hundred she wished to tell him. But only one that found its way out. And it was perhaps the truest thing she’d ever said.
“I wish it could be like this. Forever.”
Her words nearly killed him. The truth of them, the way they mirrored his own thoughts, here in this place that was not his. Was not hers. This place that would ruin them both without question.
He wanted it forever, too, but, it was impossible. His past, her future, neither was conducive to forever. Those outside forces that loomed, they were barriers to forever.
No, forever was for simpler people and simpler times.
He leaned forward on his knees, keenly aware of the position, of the way he worshipped her, as though she were a goddess and he were her sacrifice. He pressed a kiss to the pretty soft curls that hid her secrets. Her position – the trust in it – the pleasure in it – made him harder than he’d ever been in his life.
He wanted this woman.
He might not be able to have her forever, but he could have this moment, this memory… This could last. It could stay with him on dark nights.
And it could ruin her for every other man who came after him.
“I’ve never tasted anything like you,” he whispered, letting his breath tease those curls as he parted her slowly, adoring the way she glistened, warm and pink for him. “Sweet and sinful and forbidden.” He ran one finger down the wet slit gently, and she lifted her hips toward him. She was so tender, so ready for him. “Slick and wet and perfect.”
He ran one finger down the center of her, listening to her breathing, to the way her breath hitched and rattled as he explored. “And you know it, don’t you? You know your power.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He met her gaze, leaned in, let his tongue stroke once, long and lush along her. He reveled in the way she gasped, the way she closed her eyes against the pleasure. “No,” he said. “Don’t look away.”
“A moment I do not stroke… or kiss… or lick.”
She exhaled at the final word, at the way it seemed to deliver on its meaning, leaving a trail of fire straight through her to the place he asked for… to the place she wanted him.
He understood. “You enjoy it when I lick you, don’t you, my lady?”
Good God. She was not a prude; she’d spent the last six years surrounded by gamers and prostitutes. She ran London’s finest gaming hell, for heaven’s sake. But all that seemed entirely ordinary and acceptable compared to this man, who had turned into sin incarnate the moment they’d touched.
It was broad daylight, and he spoke of licking as though it were the weather.
“Georgiana,” he prompted, her name a slow promise. “Do you enjoy it?”
That finger on his lips was driving her mad. She pressed her thighs together, reminding herself of their game. “I seem to recall it being quite pleasant.”
Something flared in his eyes. Humor. Understanding of the part she played. “Only pleasant?”
She smiled, small and soft. “As I remember.”
“We have differing memories, then,” he said, “As I remember your hands in my hair, your cries in the darkness, your legs wrapped around me like sin.” His gaze fell to the apex of her thighs. “I remember the flood of you when you came, the way you arched toward the sky, everything forgotten except pleasure. Wrought by me. By my tongue in all the places you ached.”
She forgot the game, her muscles going weak as he spoke.
“I remember the taste of you, sweet and sex… and the feel of you, like decadent silk, soft and wet… and mine.”
That word again. His.
He was seducing her with nothing but words, promising her everything she’d ever wanted if only she gave in – if only she opened to him. She took a deep breath and matched him once more. “You speak of before,” she said, unable to keep the breathlessness from her words. “But what good is that to me now? Here?”
His brows rose in surprise before he leaned forward, his words part danger and part play.
And all desire.
“Open for me and let’s find out.”
She giggled. The sound shocking them both with its honesty. She was almost embarrassed – would have been if he hadn’t dropped his hand and leaned forward the instant the laugh escaped her lips. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He reached for her, then, one large, warm hand curving around her knee, the touch erasing the game they played.
Her legs parted.
“So goddamn beautiful,” he said, his gaze not leaving her face as he came off the chair, falling to his knees at the edge of the desk, between her thighs. “So goddamn perfect.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then her thigh. “So goddamn honest.”
She stiffened at the last, even as his lips curved high at the crease of her thigh, where it met the part of her that ached for him. For this.
Honesty.
She hadn’t been honest with him. There was nothing honest about this. Nothing honest about her. And he deserved better.
He sensed the change in her, lifting his lips, meeting her eyes across the long expanse of her torso. “Don’t think it.”
She knew he did not understand, but replied nonetheless, shaking her head. “I cannot help it.”
He pressed a kiss to the soft hair above the most secret part of her, the caress long and lingering and somehow sweet. “Tell me,” he said.
There were a dozen things she should tell him. A hundred she wished to tell him. But only one that found its way out. And it was perhaps the truest thing she’d ever said.
“I wish it could be like this. Forever.”
Her words nearly killed him. The truth of them, the way they mirrored his own thoughts, here in this place that was not his. Was not hers. This place that would ruin them both without question.
He wanted it forever, too, but, it was impossible. His past, her future, neither was conducive to forever. Those outside forces that loomed, they were barriers to forever.
No, forever was for simpler people and simpler times.
He leaned forward on his knees, keenly aware of the position, of the way he worshipped her, as though she were a goddess and he were her sacrifice. He pressed a kiss to the pretty soft curls that hid her secrets. Her position – the trust in it – the pleasure in it – made him harder than he’d ever been in his life.
He wanted this woman.
He might not be able to have her forever, but he could have this moment, this memory… This could last. It could stay with him on dark nights.
And it could ruin her for every other man who came after him.
“I’ve never tasted anything like you,” he whispered, letting his breath tease those curls as he parted her slowly, adoring the way she glistened, warm and pink for him. “Sweet and sinful and forbidden.” He ran one finger down the wet slit gently, and she lifted her hips toward him. She was so tender, so ready for him. “Slick and wet and perfect.”
He ran one finger down the center of her, listening to her breathing, to the way her breath hitched and rattled as he explored. “And you know it, don’t you? You know your power.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He met her gaze, leaned in, let his tongue stroke once, long and lush along her. He reveled in the way she gasped, the way she closed her eyes against the pleasure. “No,” he said. “Don’t look away.”
