Dev felt a sound rise out of his chest and vibrate up his throat. As whatever the fuck it was breached his lips, he was very sure he’d never heard anything like it come out of him before.
“Oh, I’m feeling something,” he muttered.
Stretching her leg up, he urged the other out to the side so her foot slipped off the sofa and landed on the nice wall-to-wall carpeting. As he went down, he reminded himself that good things come to those who wait—so he did what he could to linger with his lips on the inside of her thigh, only inching upward while every part of him just wanted to dive right in on her. Bringing his hands to the lace piping on the panties’ top edge, he started to pull them—
With a smooth move, Lyric sat up and shoved the things down at the same time, yanking the undies under her ass.
He groaned as she lay back down, that shirt of hers still on her shoulders but fallen completely free of her breasts, her bra cups down by her sides, now her panties halfway to her knees.
And hey, he could help with that last one. He took them the rest of the way.
And then just stared at the glistening core of her.
There was absolutely no going back. He spread her wide and led with his tongue, licking upward—
As she cried out, her spine jacked up and her breasts splayed out, her nipples taut and beautiful as the flesh bounced. With her blond hair falling to the floor, and her lithe body undulating with sexual need, she was the single most compelling thing he’d ever seen—and then there was the knowledge that he had done this to her. She wanted…him.
The feeling was more than mutual, he thought as he went in her sex again.
She was hot and wet, and he made her wetter as he worshipped her exactly where she deserved to be treated so well. And he knew she was getting close to another orgasm by the way she panted and strained,her hands gripping the cushions under her, one of the throw pillows flipping off the arm of the couch.
He watched it all, looking over her belly, and between her breasts that moved to the beat of her rapid breaths. He couldn’t see anything of her face. She had her head craned back, only the graceful rise of her chin showing, but her throat was as gorgeous as the rest of her.
Dev kept going, even after she came for him, right against his fucking face.
He loved the taste of her.
And the sounds she made.
Actually, he could do all of this for an eternity…
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The aristocrat Whestmorel stood facing a wintery lake view, his back to the roaring fire in the hearth across his safe house’s study, his feet in monogrammed slippers, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Courtesy of the darkened room, he could readily see out across the vista he had come to love. Though he was a city male at heart, and very fond of the things that urban living could provide such as good food, good company, and opportunities for acquisition and financial appreciation, there was something to be said for the seclusion and privacy of wilderness.
Especially when you were being hunted by the Black Dagger Brotherhood.
The floor-to-ceiling windows before him were coated on their exteriors so no one could see inside his Adirondack retreat, and the panes were also thick enough to withstand a bullet. Well, mostly thick enough. During the installation of this expanse of glass, the contractor had referred to things as “bullet-resistant,” not “bulletproof,” and one had to admit that the latter was in fact far more desirable. At the time, however, he had been more concerned with climate control for his bourbon collection than protecting his body from lead projectiles.
His ambitions had not been so clearly formed two years ago.
Lifting his rocks glass to his lips, he took a sip. The Pappy 25-Year was always a little oaky for him, but it was rare and it was an indulgence.
He liked indulgences.
This remote house on the shores of a lake where property values were very high and the head count of neighbors very low was another indulgence—although at its conception, the spec project had been a luxury meant for someone else. In the planning stages, the multi-layer, terraced stack, mounted on the side of a mountain, had been just another way to make money. However, as the site had been judiciously cleared to retain the tree canopy, and the shape of the home had started to come to fruition, he had begun to see a bit of himself in the construction.
And then very much of himself in its layout, flow, and especially, this view over the currently frozen water that stretched out as far as one could see to the south and the north.
In fact, a male with ambition could see the whole future from this spot—
A knock sounded at the door.
“Yes,” he said without turning around. “What is it.”
Conrahd Mainscowl the Elder entered. The male was like a sword in so many ways, tall, thin, and angular, with prematurely silver hair that was always precisely in place, and a wicked tongue that was sharp with wit and intelligence. He had proven to be quite an asset to the cause, although one did not fully trust him. In this work of treason, one should indeed take no single person fully into confidence—and that truism was especially apt with somebody as shrewd as Conrahd.
“I believe we may have a problem,” came the announcement.
