“I’m curious,” she said, looking at him through her eyelashes, her eyes big and gray behind her glasses. His heart gave an uneven thump; he now knew to expect wonderful things when she confessed to being curious.
“How might I satiate your curiosity?”
Her cheeks tinted a delicate red, and he marveled at that, too: that he could make this lady, whose worldview was so very pragmatic, blush. “You recall how you used your mouth on me?”
Vividly. In great detail.He enjoyed showing her new things, and he enjoyed even more the trust with which she allowed him to.
“I do,” he said, the blood rushing south almost immediately.
“Then will you do me the honor of allowing me to try the same?”
He stifled a groan. “You would like to?”
“Yes.” Her gaze dropped to where his cock strained against his trousers. “And I think you would like me to, too.”
She was a fast learner; it had not taken her long to memorize his responses to different stimuli, and now that she knew to look for them, she never failed to read him.
When it came to her, various things almost always meant instant arousal.
He let out a harsh breath as she put her hand on his erection, squeezing slightly through the material. The thought of her putting that sweet, clever mouth on him had him throbbing against her touch, and she smiled in vindication.
“Leave your glasses on,” he said.
Her brows rose, but she did as he’d commanded, unbuttoning his fall and bringing his cock out to the light and the glory of her touch. Her hands were small, and she used both of them on him now, just as he had instructed several days ago. Precum leaked from the tip, and she leaned forward, tongue darting out and licking it away.
There went his dignity in one fell swoop as he strained to be closer. By God, the thought of her tasting him, of him painting her with his seed… Every crude fantasy came to life with Christiana in a way he could never have anticipated. When he’d first met her, he’d assumed she would be unwilling and stiff when it came to pleasure—not that he had ever intended on pursuing that road with her.
But once she committed to something, she did so wholeheartedly, and he was the lucky man benefiting from that curiosity and dedication.
He would be her willing test subject as long as she wanted him, and he hoped she would want him even after her experimentation ran dry.
“Mm,” she mused, her attention utterly focused on his cock. “A little salty.”
“You will be the death of me,” he grunted, already perilously close from the force of his imagination. He tried, in vain, to think of something else. His great-aunt. Horse dung. His father’s brandy-soaked breath after a long night of pontificating. The pain of his burns. Anything to stop him from spilling too soon.
Her hand slid to his base. “Tell me what you like.”
“I like this already.” He reached down to slide a hand through her tangled hair, giving it an experimental tug. Judging by the way her nostrils flared and her eyes darkened, she liked that just as much as he did. “The sight of you before me on your knees.”
“Mm, I knew that already.” She kissed his thigh, copying the way he had kissed hers just last night. “But, if you please, I would like specifics.” As though to torment him further, she slid her hand up his shaft, to the head, squeezing another bead of moisture from him, and licked it clean before making her slow way back down.
He cursed under his breath. His fingers tightened around the arms of his chair. Composure be damned; it was all he could do to hold on.
“Hugh?” She licked around the flared base of his head this time. “I should like to know.”
“Stop a moment.” He brought his hand to her chin, thumb smearing the saliva on her bottom lip as he pushed her back. All he needed was a moment in which to gather his thoughts. If she wanted coherency from him, she would have to give him space.“Keep your hand here. Take me into your mouth, but be wary of your teeth. Keep them tucked behind your lips.”
She surveyed him with interest. “If I take you all in, I would practically have to swallow you.”
“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “I believe that is possible, in a manner of speaking.”
“Down my throat?” With her hand wrapped around his base as he’d shown, the pressure as he had asked it to be on a previous occasion, she slid her lips over him. Slowly, slowly, she sank down on him, and took him deeper into her mouth. Until he felt himself brush against the back of her throat. She choked, eyes watering, and he resisted the urge to drag her off him again; if she wanted to retreat, she would. A few times, he had been afraid she might dislike a particular act—his body pressing too firmly against hers, or the indignity of being on her hands and knees as he’d entered her from behind—but she had informed him that she was at liberty to make up her own mind.
So, he let her.
And, eyes streaming, she persevered. In the name of science or pleasure or sheer determination, she took him in deeper, until her lips reached the hair at his base, and he was firmly ensconced in the scalding, soft pressure of her throat.
It was too much. He jerked free, the tightening of his balls promising imminent release. Christiana, realizing what was about to happen, barely had time to remove her glasses before climax came upon him, and ropes of his seed landed across her face. She sat there, perfectly placid as he painted her just as he’d imagined, and when he sagged back in his chair, she merely took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face.