“Oh,” she said huskily. “I thought that was what you meant.”
“Mmm. And this.” He pushed his tongue inside her. The honeyed flavor saturated his mind with desire. More, more. He craved more.
He kept his touch gentle and light, his movements soft as he stroked her with his tongue,holding her thighs apart. Varying the location and tempo until he found a pace and a pressure that made her thighs clench and unclench and her breathing hitch. When she started making soft little moans he knew he was on the right track. Maybe a little faster now? A little harder?
He hadn’t spoken out loud—his lips and tongue were far too occupied for that—but she answered his question.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes. Dane.”
His heart overflowed with pride. He’d win this race. The finish line was in sight.
It wasn’t quick and it wasn’t without effort, but he’d be happy to stay here and lick her all night until she reached her climax.
There was a moment when he thought she was about to, when her thighs began to quake and one of her hands wound into his hair to press his head closer, but it didn’t happen.
“That’s all right,” he whispered. “Don’t try too hard. It will come, sweetheart, it will come.”
“Dane?”
He lifted his head.
“This is rather embarrassing. I have to... I have to use the chamber pot,” she whispered.
“Of course.” He jumped up. “You won’t be able to reach your release until you tend to that. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He held out his hand and helped her out of the bed, giving her privacy as she went behind the screen.
She was a little shy when she came back, covering herself with a towel.
Lying back down, she spread her legs of herown accord this time, and he smiled, a swell of fierce pride in his chest. “Now, where were we?”
It was quick now. She’d been holding back because of the call of nature. Only a few flicks of his tongue and a gentle sucking pressure and she came, pulsing under his tongue, moaning softly and clutching the back of his head with her hands.
His cock strained against his breeches, harder than he’d ever been.
When he’d teased the last ripple of pleasure from her and she lay back limply, spent, he moved her back lengthwise on the bed, pulling the covers up over her and kneeling by the bed.
She hid her face in the pillow.
He caught her chin and turned her to face him. “You did very well. I’m proud of you.”
“You’re very good at that.”
“I’ve made it something of an art form.” He knew that not every man was as focused on bringing his partner to pleasure. It was something he loved and something he was proud to excel at.
“I feel so languid now.”
“A climax will do that.”
“I’d like to give you... I want to do one wicked thing to you.”
“I’m all right. I’m off to my chair now.”
“No, Dane.” She caught his hand. “I want to at least see you. In the flesh, instead of oil on canvas. At least remove your boots.”
He removed his boots. “There.”
“Now your coat. You won’t want it to be wrinkled tomorrow.”
The coat went over a chair back.