In answer, she nestled her bottom more firmly on the shelf, spread her legs wider, and hiked her skirts up to her knees.
Jesus, he adored her, this brave, stubborn, extraordinary woman. He could not get enough of her.
“Oh no,” he growled, and he peeled her fingers off her skirts, moving them back to the shelf. “Right there. Don’t move.”
Her skirts started to slip back down, and she whimpered, twisting her body. “Christian, please—”
He went down on his knees in front of her.
Her moan of relief was so loud and greedy that his cock pulsed in his trousers. He pushed her skirts back up and peeled her stockings completely off, his hands tracing the dips and curves of her legs, teasing up the inside of her thighs.
He watched her hands, which flexed and tightened on the shelf. Her hips bucked as he coasted closer to her sex, his fingers brushing over her curls, red as fire in the late-afternoon light.
“Please,” she gasped, “please—”
Her voice was fractured with need. His hands shook with the desire to dig into her flesh, to leave marks on her skin.
Instead he lifted one hand and put his thumb against her mouth. “Suck.”
She did as he commanded, her lips closing around his thumb, drawing him into the wet heat of her mouth. She sucked hard; he felt the flutter of her tongue against his skin.
Jesus Christ, he could feel that hot suction all the way down in his cock. He turned his face in to her inner thigh and bit her there.
She gasped, his thumb slipping from her mouth, and he ran his hand down her body, bringing his wet thumb to her sex.
He licked the place on her thigh where he’d bitten her, and then he circled his thumb around her clitoris. Matilda made a little incoherent sound, and her hips bucked again, bringing his thumb harder up against the taut bud.
He pulled his thumb back, sliding down into the searing heat of her channel. “I thought I told you not to move.”
She shuddered. “I’m—I can’t—”
He blew a cool stream of air against her wetness, and she gave a soft cry. “Christian—”
He circled her clitoris again with his thumb, then pushed two fingers inside of her. “What is it you want, Matilda?”
“This,” she said. Her voice was fractured, dusk dotted with stars. “You. Inside me.”
He gave his fingers a slow, deliberate thrust, and she cried out again, louder this time. He leaned forward to bring his mouth to her clitoris above his fingers, licking, sucking until she started to shake.
He pulled back then, pumped his fingers once more, steady and slow. “This?”
“No,” she choked out.
Her head was pressed back against the shelves, her hair falling down her neck. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, her whole body flushed pink and her legs splayed wide before him.
“What, then?” he asked. He pressed his mouth to her inner thigh, letting her feel the edges of his teeth.
“More,” she managed. “Please, Christian.”
He rewarded her with his mouth and hand, with the hard sucking rhythm she seemed to like. The little broken whimpers she made had him shaking, his hips jerking uncontrollably, his cock seeking her heat.
But he mastered himself. Before her crisis, he stopped again.
She gave a ragged, frustrated cry, and perhaps the hot sound of her need should not have sent desire rocketing through his blood.
But it did. Oh, it did.
He sucked hard on the skin just above her mound, and this time, he left a mark. “Tell me how much you want it,” he said into her skin. “Make me believe it.”
