Chapter 17 #2
Tristan moved her across the room and backed her against the edge of the couch. His body was like a furnace against her.
“Cathy,” he rasped, as he seated her on the velvet.
“Your Grace?”
“Not Your Grace. Call me by my name,” he groaned, as he tugged her bodice down to expose her heaving breasts.
Cathy’s eyes widened, looking down at her own exposure. She should be ashamed, surely? But she did not feel shame, then, just a feeling of inevitability and excitement.
“T-Tristan?” Her voice trembled.
“You were right,” he replied. “How can we have an appetite for the food when there are other things to be hungry for?”
Cathy’s cheeks burned. She gasped when she felt the tip of his tongue trace paths around her nipple.
He licked around the hardening bud over and over, until she whimpered and almost begged him to do something about the wetness between her thighs.
Then, he sucked her nipple hard, taking it deep inside his warm mouth.
Her head fell back against the couch as she let her husband feast on her breast. When he was done with one, he shifted to the other breast to give it the same lavish attention.
“Tristan...” she sobbed.
“Hush, my love,” he murmured, “lest you disturb my meal.”
As he continued licking and sucking her, his hips spread her thighs apart, and a hand went under her skirts, searching for something until he found her aching spot.
The man was relentless. He moved his mouth back to hers, nudging her lips apart with his tongue. Cathy did not know a kiss could feel like a melding of souls, as he rubbed along her seam. Her legs trembled with both surprise and pleasure. When he slipped a finger in, she stiffened.
“Do you want me to stop, Cathy?” he asked, moving his finger in and out of her.
He knew what he was doing to her, his movements slow and deliberate. Her breath hitched, but he did not give her any reprieve. He crooked his finger, touching a nerve within her that made her back arch. Her husband took it as an invitation to suckle her once more until she was writhing.
“I need... more, Tristan,” she admitted, her voice sounding ragged.
“I know you do,” he murmured, his breath so close to her skin. His thumb caressed her jaw possessively.
She did. She wanted this, and it made her a creature of pure sensation. His hand picked up the pace, and soon, she found her hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusts. She did not want him to stop, but he pulled away, and she almost screamed in protest.
“Do not be so hasty, wife. I know something you will like even more. And you are going to let me give it to you.”
Before Cathy could even process his words, Tristan gripped her by the waist and pulled her toward the edge of the couch. He hiked up her dress and parted her thighs.
“W-what are you doing?” she asked, blood draining from her face. Her Grandmama never talked about this happening, and why would she? Perhaps, it was a secret between husbands and wives.
“Be still, Cathy,” he commanded softly, his hands planted firmly on her knees. “Trust me.”
He did not wait. With the first swipe of his tongue on her, she trembled. He drew circles around it repeatedly, taking her, pulling her, inviting her to the edge. Her vision blurred as he matched his actions with gentle thrusts of his finger inside her.
“Delicious,” he growled, watching her face as she came undone. Miss Priggish had become a wanton siren, breathing hard while being thoroughly pleasured. She let him feast on her in such a way that she had never imagined before. She had become a wanton woman as her breath became ragged.
“You can let go, Cathy,” he hummed against her. “Give it to me.”
She moaned loudly, and then he doubled his efforts by sliding another finger in, testing her. Was he claiming her tonight? Would she be ready?
The questions flew from her mind when he started sucking her nub while thrusting his fingers more vigorously. This time, her breath came in pants, blending with his grunts of effort.
“I... I think something is happening,” she moaned, as she felt her insides tighten around Tristan’s fingers. Her body was preparing for something as the thrusts became more urgent and her hips moved up and down the couch as if they possessed their own life.
“You are doing so well,” he said, his voice gravelly but confident. “Do not fight it. Look at me, Cathy. Yes, like that.”
He squeezed her breasts and flicked her nipple in rhythm with his fingers’ urgent movements. Blinded by white-hot pleasure, she bit back a scream. Her body shook, and it took a long time to still. It felt like an eternity, one that she was willing to hold on to.
Tristan straightened himself, and she could not help but see the bulge in his breeches. She belatedly realized that she took her pleasure and gave him nothing in return.
“W-what about you?” she asked in a haze.
“Tonight is all about you, Cathy,” he said gruffly.
“And that? What will happen to you?”
“I will think of terrible thoughts,” he said, grinning, “so that it will go away.”
“Does it hurt?”
“This? It feels like exquisite torture. As for you, the first time might hurt a little at first,” he said seriously. “I want to prepare you for it, and it is best we do it properly, in your bed or mine.”
“It will be planned, then?”
“Planned?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “It will be inevitable.”
“All right, then,” she said, as she straightened her clothes.
“Now, it is time to eat,” Tristan reminded her. “The dishes on the table this time.”