Chapter 18 #2
“Help me with my gown,” she said softly.
The demure line of buttons on her bodice was no match for his nimble fingers or his desire to get her naked.
It was gone in less than twenty seconds, followed swiftly by her skirt and petticoat, until she stood before him in her embroidered stockings, drawers, chemise, and a bold corset that was light-blue silk trimmed with white lace and embroidery.
She was so stunning he had to take a moment to simply admire her, the flare of her hips, the nip of her waist, the bountiful, lush breasts pooling over the top of her corset.
“What else would you have me do?” he rasped, already half crazed with lust.
Miranda turned, presenting him with her back. “My corset next.”
The back of her was every bit as tempting as the front, her bottom round and full, her pale shoulders partially on display, along with the elegant nape of her neck.
“With pleasure.” He untied the knot on her laces, unable to keep from pressing kisses everywhere he could find bare skin.
Her scent enveloped him—rose and orange blossom and Miranda.
The laces loosened, and she turned toward him again.
He gripped her busk, removing hooks from eyes, until the last was unfastened and her corset landed on the floor with an ever-growing mound of their garments.
Her pink nipples tented the thin fabric of her chemise, and he couldn’t resist cupping her breasts, rolling the stiff peaks with his thumbs.
“Is this your revenge on me for making you wait in the carriage?” he asked softly.
She arched into his touch with a low purr of sensual appreciation. “If it is?”
“Then I foresee a great deal of playing with your pretty pussy on carriage rides until you’re almost ready to come,” he murmured wickedly. “Now, tell me what you want me to do next.”
Miranda met his gaze boldly. “I want you to fuck me.”
Pure, molten need washed over him, so potent and all-consuming that for a moment, he could scarcely think. But all too quickly, his body took the reins from his mind.
“I’d love nothing better,” he growled as his hands flew over her remaining undergarments.
The chemise sailed over his shoulder. The drawers glided down her hips.
He tore at his trousers with considerably less elegance, shucking them and his stockings until he finally took Miranda in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Once there, he laid her on the bedclothes, admiring how sinfully beautiful she looked in nothing more than her garters and embroidered stockings.
She was all pink and cream, curves and sleek, feminine allure. He had to have a taste.
His cock rigid and aching, he parted her thighs and buried his face between her legs, concentrating all of his attentions upon her pleasure.
His tongue flew over swollen, hot flesh, the taste of her—musky and sweet—better than her most decadent cream ice.
Cupping her rump in his hands, he held her to him like a feast and devoured her, licking and sucking, fucking her with his tongue until she was crying out and coming on his face, and he was coated in her dew everywhere.
And then he couldn’t wait. She was still throbbing with the contractions from her climax when he rose over her, guiding his length into her.
Slick heat greeted him, her muscles lovingly clinging to his cock as if welcoming him home.
She was so perfect, wrapped snugly around him, her body soft and perfumed and lush beneath his.
He was undone, losing himself as he thrust in and out of her, his ballocks already drawn taut.
She raked her nails down his back, wrapping her legs around his hips as she matched his rhythm, pumping into him, taking him deep.
The time for games was over. They were mindlessly one, both of them seeking, straining for their release.
It was messy and it was perfect, his hips slamming into hers again and again, until she had slid up the bed and into the headboard.
Cradling her head with one of his hands, he continued pounding into her, his knuckles rapping off the carved mahogany as she clutched him tighter, her inner walls milking his cock.
He suckled a pointed nipple, wringing a moan from her, and reached between their joined bodies to find her clitoris and stroke.
She convulsed on him with so much force that she nearly drove him from her, but he shoved his cock deep, riding out the ripples of her release as she came, drenching him anew.
The urge to spend inside her rose up, so strong.
To fill her up with his seed, fill her so full of him, to watch it seep from her pussy afterward, to know that she was covered in him…
He tore his mouth from her breast, muttering a savage oath.
Reluctantly, Rhys withdrew, fisting his cock as he came all over her belly and inner thighs.
The sight was erotic—Miranda lying there with lashings of his seed decorating her pale form.
He rubbed it into her skin, claiming her in the only way he could.
And then he collapsed atop her, heart pounding, not caring about the sticky mess coating them both. They could take a bath together later. He would wash her clean and then relish every moment of making her filthy again.
His wilted prick twitched anew at the thought.
Miranda held him tightly to her, a soft chuckle stealing from her. “Again?”
He kissed her slowly, lingeringly, feeding her the taste of herself on his lips. “For you, it would seem I’m insatiable.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, her brilliant gaze dipping to his mouth. “I feel the same way.”
Rhys took her lips again, sending up a fervent, futile prayer that the next month would last forever.