Chapter Fourteen #2
Who could blame her? Montague Lancaster, Duke of Caelfall, was a fine specimen of manhood with his clothes on. Without his shirt, Sarah could see every detail: the taut muscles that crowded his arms and chest, the way dark wiry hair crept down that chest toward his breeches.
Sarah tried to swallow, but instead, she obeyed her body and raised a hand to his chest.
He was warm. His heart was beating thunderously fast.
“You are even more handsome than I thought,” Sarah breathed as she stepped into his arms.
“Charmer,” Montague murmured as he kissed down her neck toward her décolletage, his fingers once more returning to her gown’s ties.
“Something like that,” Sarah moaned as fronds of pleasure soared through her.
Oh, being touched like this, kissed like this—how did anyone stand not to do it, once they had experienced such—
“Montague!”
His name slipped from her lips as her gown slipped from her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but her undershift and stays—but that was not why she had uttered his name.
No, that was because, with only a moment’s hesitation as he bent his stiff leg, Montague had dropped to his knees before her, lifted up her undershift and—
“Montague,” moaned Sarah, eyes closing as her hands found his shoulders.
She needed them to balance, impossible to stand without something to hold, for—
“Oh, Montague,” she breathed, unable to stay silent.
He was kissing her. Not her lips, but her secret place—kissing, and licking, his tongue moving slowly yet delicately into that most intimate part of her.
And it was causing pleasure to roar through her chest. The ache in her stomach was dropping lower, lower, and Sarah’s breath hitched in her throat as she tried to think.
But all she could do was feel. Feel the heat building in her, feel his tongue start to increase in pressure, darting into her boldly as though there was nothing Montague wished than to taste her.
This was far beyond anything she could ever have expected or hoped for! If he was not careful, he was going to make her—
“Oh, Montague, yes, yes!” Sarah cried as the pleasure overwhelmed her.
Her fingers clung to his shoulders to prevent herself falling. Every inch of her shook as ecstasy she had never known threw her off a cliff, flying through the air as though she would never need to touch the ground again.
When Sarah could see again, she was gifted with a vision of Montague untangling himself from her skirts and looking pleased with himself.
“Acceptable?”
Sarah blinked. “I—acceptable?”
“Well, one never likes to assume,” Montague said with a wicked grin. “Come here.”
In very short shrift, the duke had removed the last of her clothes and placed her on the bed.
Sarah shivered. She had never felt—never been more exposed, but at the same time, the shiver was not of shame but of anticipation. If that was what he could do with his tongue…
“Your breeches,” Sarah said.
The moment she had spoken, she regretted it. Of course he had no wish to remove his—perhaps they could be satisfied both without—
“You do not have to,” she immediately began to say.
Montague caught her gaze. There was such intensity within it that Sarah’s words melted away. “I know I don’t have to. But I want to.”
Without looking away, the duke very slowly undid his buttons, kicked off his boots, and allowed his breeches to fall.
Sarah gasped. It was not the scar across his thigh that instantly caught her attention, though it looked as though a great injury had slowly healed.
Oh, no. It was the tall, erect, and rather intimidating manhood between his legs.
“I’ll go slowly,” said Montague quietly, clambering onto the bed and lying beside her.
There was naught but a few inches between them. Sarah could feel his heat across that small distance, a distance she wished to close.
“Won’t…won’t it hurt you, though?” she whispered.
Why had she not thought of that? All her desperation, she had practically begged him to take her…yet she had not spared a single thought for the fact that he may be in pain.
“Well, there is one way we could—but I would not ask that of you—”
“Ask.”
Sarah reached out as she spoke to the one part of him she greatly wished to know. Her fingers curled around his manhood, which twitched against her.
Montague groaned. “No, I can’t—Sarah, I need you to stop doing that while I try—”
“Do what?” Sarah asked, heart racing.
She was not doing much. Just moving her hand slowly up and down the thick shaft.
Montague did not reply. Not, at least, in words.
Before Sarah could exclaim or ask what on earth was happening, his strong hands had encircled her waist and he had pulled her up and over him. Legs splayed out, Sarah placed her hands on his chest to balance herself.
“Montague, what—”
“Tell me if you want to stop, at any time, and I will,” Montague said hurriedly as he pulled something over his manhood. “A French letter,” he explained after Sarah’s curious look.
Ah, that made sense. What did not make sense, Sarah thought wildly as she indulged in the feeling of Montague’s skin against her own, was why he was lying on his back and she was straddling him!
She was hardly an expert, but she was fairly certain she should be lying on her back…
“Trust me,” said Montague with a knowing smile.
His hands gently eased her up and Sarah permitted him to do so. She also allowed herself to be moved slightly forward—and gasped as he slid her onto his manhood.
Sheathing him like a sword, Sarah moaned at the intensity of the feeling. Oh, this was beyond anything she could have imagined! Such pleasure, such a sense of being filled with every inch of him—
“Sarah? Are you well?”
Sarah allowed her head to tilt back, unable to bear it anymore. “Oh, so good.”
“Good?”
She saw the anxiety on his face. He was worried she was not enjoying herself? She could barely take in the pleasure!
“Tell me what to do next,” Sarah managed to say. “I want more.”
“More?” Montague first looked surprised, but then clear delight filled his eyes. “In that case…God, I cannot believe I’m…have you ever ridden a horse, Sarah?”
It was so obvious, now he had said that.
Sarah lifted herself up ever so slowly as pleasure sparked across her body, then sheathed him by plunging down onto his manhood.
Their cries mingled in their air. So this gave him pleasure too?
“Oh, God, yes,” Montague moaned, his hands reaching up to grasp her breasts.
Sarah arched her back. How had she never known that such sweet ecstasy could be gained by the twisting of her nipples, by the—
All thoughts disappeared as her craving for pleasure took over. Slowly at first, then rising in pace, Sarah rode the Duke of Caelfall until he brought her to pleasure again.
Her eyes fluttered as decadent frenzy overwhelmed her. “Oh, Montague!”
And something was happening to him too—as she thrust down upon him, eagerly claiming the pleasure that seemed just out of reach, Montague shuddered and thrust into her.
“Sarah!”
She collapsed into his arms as the pleasure started to fade, her skin tingling with bliss. Montague’s hands clasped her close as they tried, and failed, to catch their breaths.
Eventually, Sarah felt a finger brushing her cheek.
“Sarah?” Montague stared with delight and yet hesitancy. “You…you are well?”
Sarah let out a slow and juddering breath. “Well, I think we’ve found something far mightier than both pen and sword.”