Her Secondhand Groom(88)

“Drake,” she groaned in excitement, her hands coming up to settle against his head, clutching him to her breast.

“That’s it, Juliet, enjoy it.” His blood ran cold at his own words. How could he have ever doubted her enjoyment and been so cruel as to accuse her of such a thing? She wasn’t the type who would endure misery to please someone else, especially him. He pushed away the thought and resumed his earlier pace. A moment later, he brought his head close to her ear, tempted to whisper the words he’d never thought he’d ever say to a woman again.

A low, pleasure-induced cry accompanied by Juliet’s inner muscles convulsing stole his thoughts and attention. He slowed his movements, and brushed a kiss across her flushed forehead. A moment later, her eyes fluttered open and the tension left her body. “Were you―”

“Watching you? Yes,” he admitted. “There is no sight I enjoy more than seeing your face as you find pleasure.”

Her face might have blushed if it weren’t red already. Suddenly, her hands were between their bodies and blindly pushing down the waistband of his smalls.

He groaned and rolled off to the side and directed her hands to the drawstring. With a few quick flicks, she had the knot loosened and slipped her hand inside. He groaned again at the feel of her soft hand wrapping around him.

“You'd better not do that tonight,” he said hoarsely. She had this torturous knack for sending him close to the edge just by merely stroking him. Tonight he wasn’t sure he had enough control left in him for her games.

She slid her hand from the base to the tip, exerting more pressure every inch of the way. “What was that?” she asked, running the pad of her thumb along the sensitive ridge of the tip of his erection.

He sucked in his breath. “I said you’d better stop.”

“Or what?” She pushed at his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. She climbed on top of him, her hand still firmly in place on his shaft. She squeezed again, then ran her hand back down. Then up.

He shuddered. “Juliet―”

“Shh.” She leaned forward and planted her lips right on his.

Excited by her boldness, he responded to her kiss, matching her level of passion. He brought his hands up and dug them into her hair only to have her mouth leave his and scatter kisses along his jaw and down his neck, torturing him the same way he’d done her. Lower and lower, she went. Her fingers closed around the top edge of his drawers. He lifted his hips up off the bed, and she tugged his drawers down and off. Need and desire pounded through him.

She slowly came back up his body, dragging her fingertips along his skin as she went. His muscles jumped and his erection grew. Her fingertips skimmed his waist, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingers stopped and she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his and her breasts against his chest. His hands itched to reach up and take hold of those perfect orbs, but he resisted. This was her game, her turn to drive him mad. And, oh, how she was succeeding. Far more than she realized, he was certain.

She broke their kiss, and brought her lips down to kiss his jaw. Turning to give her better access, he froze. Her lips were no longer on his skin, and her body was no longer pressed so wonderfully against his. His sweet wife was now sitting atop him, astride. Though she still wore that confounded dressing robe and torn-down-the-middle nightrail, he still had an excellent view of her exquisite body.

She held him captive as she rose up on her knees, then took hold of his rod and sank back down, taking his length inside of her. He groaned. He’d never experienced Juliet this way. He stilled, panic seizing him. There was a reason he’d never had Juliet this way.

He met her eyes. She liked this position as much as he did, and he’d be damned if he stopped everything now to put on a sheath. He’d just better be careful. He gripped her hips, and urged her up. She stayed planted. Wordlessly, she wrapped her slender fingers around his wrists and pulled his hands from her hips, then, pushed them back over his head. Her breasts so close to his mouth as she pushed his hands back, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and sucking one hardened nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue before letting go.

She sat back up, and he obediently kept his arms in their invisible shackles. Rising on her knees until he was certain she’d almost gone too far, only to then sink back down over him with a swift, fluid motion, she delivered him another round of torture, then another.

She changed her position slightly, and they both sighed. Juliet leaned forward and braced her arms on his shoulders, then rocked her hips again. This time, her pattern wasn’t slow and torturous, it was quick and torturous. He moved his hips to match, to give her that extra bit she wasn’t able to find on her own. Her nails bit into his shoulders.