Her voice was almost ragged. That unsteady rasp worked upon him—blurred his mind, unfocused him from his purpose—and he tried to recall himself.
It was difficult to think clearly. Everything about her aroused him—the hitch in her breathing, the tiny lift of her hips as his mouth trailed closer to her sex.
He found the crease of her pelvis and ran the tip of his finger along the shallow line, then traced the path with his tongue.
She whimpered. Her knees tightened on his shoulders, and her hips moved restlessly. He put his mouth to her sex and lickedup, tasting her arousal, finding the tight bead of her clitoris with the tip of his tongue.
Jesus, she was so wet already. The knowledge that she wanted him rippled through him, flooding his body with an urgent, mindless heat.
He wanted to stand and lock her legs around his waist—Christ, he wanted to be inside her again. But he wanted to pleasure her more. He wanted her to come so hard she couldn’t see, and then he wanted to make her come again.
He worked her clitoris with his tongue and ran his first two fingers through her wetness. She made another wordless sound. Her hips rose erratically toward where his hand met her flesh, as though her body felt the same driving need for completion that his did.
He eased back. “Tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”
“I—I don’t—Arthur,please.”
Her thighs were trembling. He rubbed one palm soothingly along her leg. With his other hand, he pressed two fingers just inside her. He felt her body squeeze down, drawing him in.
“You want to come, my love?”
“Yes—Arthur—don’t stop.”
God. He loved when she said his name. He loved to hear her, ragged and panting and on the edge. He loved knowing that he could stoke this flame in her, that his mouth, his hands, his body could give rise to the desperate need in hers.
He pushed his fingers all the way inside her.
“I will never have enough of this,” he said. “Of you.” He slipped his free hand to the soft slope of her belly, and she groaned, low and loud, as he brought his mouth again to her sex, as he worked her harder with fingers and tongue.
One of her hands came to his hair, grasping for purchase. Her hips bucked, desperate, and he pressed his palm against her abdomen to hold her in place. She gave a sobbing cry as he did so, at the way his fingers curled up, and then he felt the powerful rhythmic contractions of her body and tasted her release on his tongue.
She was wordless in her pleasure, all breath and heat, and as soon as she stopped clenching around him, he stood. His hands went to the buttons of her dress, unfastening them in a shaking rush, pulling her bodice down to reveal the pale bounty of her breasts.
The cot was too damned small. He caught her to him, spreading her legs to straddle his hips, and brought both of them down to the ground.
She gasped a little as she shifted in his lap, her knees pressed to his sides. There was still a fine trembling in her body that redoubled when he brought his mouth to one nipple. The groan on her lips was unsteady.
He flicked his lips across the taut peak, and she rocked against him. She reached for the fastenings of his trousers, but he would not let her. He locked his hand over hers and dragged their joined fingers beneath her skirts.
“I’m—” she gasped. “I can’t—”
“Aye, you can.” He teased her nipples with his mouth, with his free hand, watching them flush in the dim room. “There’s no rush. Let me touch you a while.”
She whimpered and clutched at his wrist.
He brought her up again slowly, a gentle suction at her breasts and careful rhythm between her legs. He was easy with her—patient—fighting back the clawing need that rose in him at the sight of her nipples wet from his mouth, at the clamp of her thighsaround his hips. He brought her hand to her sex and urged her in soft earthy words to touch herself.
Her head tipped back, her throat exposed and her breasts arching forward. He wanted his mouth everywhere on her skin, wanted to taste every part of her. Jesus, he wanted to lick the perspiration that had beaded between her breasts, and then he wanted to slide his cock along that slick valley.
She started to tremble again as their fingers moved together, his inside her body and hers at her clitoris. Satisfaction licked along his skin. Yes, God yes, he wanted her to come again. He wanted—he wanted—
“Say my name,” he said hoarsely.
“Arthur,” she murmured.
The sound of his name on her lips felt almost like a release in itself—a physical pleasure, a throb of need.
He pulled his fingers from her body and she made a wordless sound of protest. Her lashes fluttered open, her eyes all dazed dark blue as she found his face.
