Page 69 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

He pushed her back onto the mattress, pinning her there with one big hand.

And only when he was satisfied that she was going to stay still did he use his thumbs to part her slick folds, licking into her, rolling the tip of his tongue over her bud. Back and forth, licking, sucking, drawing her into his mouth until she bucked and writhed against the mattress and he made a sound of approval against her flesh. She was lightheaded and sweaty and quite desperate.

She was coming apart.

There was no warning—one moment she was desperate and then the trembling heat washed over her in cresting waves that stole her breath. It stole every worry, every thought. Everything that was not Keir and his hands and his mouth and the filthy sounds of his enjoyment.

When she finally collapsed back, utterly spent, he looked up at her from between her thighs, green eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You look very proud of yourself,” she murmured.

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, desire feeding desire, even when her muscles felt so soft that she was not sure she could stand.

Luckily, what she had in mind did not require standing.

“My turn.”

She pulled at him until he prowled onto the mattress, naked and delicious. His erection speared up, hard and flushed with arousal, just from bringing her pleasure. This man.

She closed her lips around his cock and sucked. He cursed, groaning. She liked him like this, at her mercy, without the trappings and pressures of his title. She always had. She swirled her tongue on the underside of his length, over the tip, and then sucked again, and again, harder and harder. His breaths grew harsh and guttural. “Your mouth.”

He tasted salty and clean, and he was trying so hard not to lose control.

“Sybil?”

“Yes?”

“You are making me feel quite uncivilized.”

“About time.”

“Wicked, wicked thing. Come here. Now,” he demanded, pulling her up next to him and then pushing her onto her back when she took too long to comply. He lifted her knee, surging into the space between her thighs, pressing down over her. He blocked out the firelight, the cold draft at the window, everything.

It was overwhelming.

Too much.

Perfect.

She lifted up against him, opening the cradle of her thighs further until he looked quite feral, watching her as though he could eat her up. The tendons of his neck worked and his shoulders tensed as he held himself up over her. He bent his head to kiss her again, deeply, stroking his tongue along hers as he slid inside her. Her intimate muscles clenched around him. She took a deep breath and relaxed around him, and he slid deeper still, making them both moan. He was everywhere. He was everything.

They clung to each other, meeting thrust for thrust. Chasing every sensation.

“Not yet,” he muttered when she closed her teeth around the spot where his shoulder met his neck. He cursed. “Vixen. Not yet.”

“Now,” she argued, sweat gathering in the hollow of her throat.

“Not until you come again.”

“I can’t,” she babbled, lost to the friction and the stretch of her body around him. It felt so good. He kept his pace, brutal and deep and unhurried.

“You can,” he promised, gently domineering. Demanding everything from her. Giving everything to her in return. He reached down between their bodies and stroked her nub, slippery and sure. She moaned. It was too much. Just enough. She was past thoughts. She was nothing but her body, nothing but the heat pooling inside and sparking down her limbs.

When she bucked against him, the rhythm of his thrusts changed, stuttered. “Now,” she urged him, just as demanding. “Now, Keir.”

He groaned, pulled out as though it cost him several years off his life, and spent into the sheets. There was only the sound of their panting, the pop of the fire. She had never experienced such a violent release, and the world remained quiet, a cold winter’s night.

Keir got to his feet, pushing his tangled hair off his face.