35. Heir Beneath the Veil #3
Her fingers hook beneath my chin, tilting my head back until I’m staring at an image that’s so virtuously indecent it has my ribcage splintering against the pounding of my heart.
“You said I should tell you what I want your mouth to do, and maybe you’d be willing to obey,” she whispers, voice teetering on the edge of bashfulness.
“Then tell me,” I plead. “Tell me, Francesca, and I’ll obey.”
She looks down at her chest, drawing confidence from her desire. “I want your mouth on me.”
Permission makes a pathetic fool of me, and I bow my head, taking a nipple into my mouth. I suck until I feel the pulse of her through it. “ Eric ,” she moans, fingers clawing at my hair again. “Don’t stop… please…”
As if I could.
My free hand cups the other breast, thumbing that nipple in the same rhythm as my tongue.
She’s grinding against me again, biting down on every scream because there’s still another Sheffolk in this house right now.
With my teeth grazing her flawlessly smooth skin, I take her nipple deeper.
Francesca shudders at the slightest bite, and I mitigate the pain with wet, gentle kisses.
“God, Eric—” Her legs tighten, and she arches. She’s working herself towards release when all I’ve done is worship her chest. Perfect girl, so responsive, giving me everything with each sigh. “Right there. Please, more—just like that.”
I pull off with a wet pop and graze my mouth against the hinge of her jaw before she can even complain. “So fucking perfect,” I kiss the words into her skin. “Is that all it takes, Francesca? Are you going to come just from me tasting these perfect tits?”
Her answer is a whimper and a desperate nod.
Black has eaten away at the green in her eyes, and with her lip caught between her teeth, she gives me a devastatingly greedy look that I can’t even think to deny her.
I’m begging time to crawl instead of run because I’m alternating between two perfect swells of heat, and anything else I’ve got planned for the day pales in comparison.
She tastes like soap, salt and the utter fucking ruination of my sanity.
I eat as if this goddess herself just informed me that I’ve been eating the wrong food all my life and then extended an invitation to finally sate my hunger.
Her requests become increasingly incoherent and desperate, her hips twitching against mine, until she suddenly drags my face up to kiss her again.
In that same motion, she catches my right wrist and shoves my hand between her legs.
Wet even through fabric. Warm . My cock aches at the very thought of what she’d feel like bare.
“ Shit ,” I hiss against her mouth. Instincts drive me forward, two fingers already sliding into the seam to test the heat.
I press harder, and she cries out once my thumb finds her clit.
Slow first, then faster; with each move, she bucks into me.
A particular tight circle has her gasping into my mouth. “There?”
“ There ,” she echoes, forehead dropping to my shoulder. I draw my middle finger through her slit again, awed by how damp her shorts are. The audacity of her body, to trust me this deeply, to curse me with this need. “Yes, yes, yes .”
Her lips make another attempt to meet mine, but she loses all coherence after another cruel touch to her clit. “Can’t even kiss me, huh?” I kiss the dimple that appears when she bites down on her lip. “So close for me, you can’t even remember how.”
“ Oh —I’m so close?—”
“I know, baby. I know.” The shape of her clit is a frantic pulse beneath my touch; I glance down because I have to see it, have to see that dark patch grow the more attention I give her. “You’re right there, aren’t you? Right on the fucking edge. Let me have it.”
I slide my left palm up to cradle the back of her head, gently tilting her face so I have those eyes.
So I can watch the orgasm take her. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed, feeling her claw at my biceps as her hips lock.
No philosophy could’ve prepared me for the addiction that takes root.
The soft cherry of her lips forms a perfect ‘o’, suspended in that shape as I continue to rub.
“There we go,” I hum, pleased at how she hasn’t looked away. Not even once. I give her another slow grind so she has something to break against. The wet patch spreads further, and I fight every urge to drop to my knees and greet it with my mouth. “That’s my girl.”
“Oh my god , consider his theory disproven— shit ,” she moans, twitching when I flatten my palm to drink the last of her aftershocks.
Well, if this isn’t the most satisfying chain of causation I’ve witnessed. If I were generous, I’d thank Charlie. Absurd that this started with his arrogance, and here she is, nearly boneless in my arms.
Perhaps the closest he’ll ever come to giving her pleasure.
Without giving herself a chance to catch her breath, Francesca grabs me by the face and gives me a lazy kiss. I let her eat at my mouth, biting my lip until I forget everything but the taste of her. And then she laughs, drugged on both relief and dopiness.
The saccharinity of my contentment could fund a bloody sweets factory. “What would all the nobles in the castle say if they knew their duchess-heir just came in her kitchen at 9am?”
She laughs even harder at that, snorting at the second kiss I deliver to her dimple.
I slip my hand from between her legs and find her lower back, tugging her closer.
She’s unconcerned by her half-nakedness; my brain supplies the gilded frame and hangs this image— tits streaked with the effort of my mouth, long hair tumbling down her back —in the gallery of my memory.
I’ll probably rot before it until my bones are dust.
“Aunt Winifred would have a field day, maybe even petition for me to forfeit my claim.”
“Can already see the history books: claim forfeited not for treason but for orgasming.”
The giggle that pulls from her is deadlier than the moans she’s given me. It’s only another reminder that my cock is still a leading problem until further notice. Another minute and I’ll embarrass myself. Going to have to wank in the shower like a horny teenager. Like Edmund, probably.
I kiss the crown of her head, breathing in the lavender scent that clings to the strands. “I’m going to the bathroom first, before I wake Percy.”
“Bathroom,” she parrots, all innocent pretence. “Urgent business, or something?”
I turn around and grab her shirt off the ground, flicking it once to shake off any dust, then toss it at her. “Or something.”
She doesn’t catch it, and the fabric pools in her lap because she’s too busy staring at my crotch. “Something I could help with?”
My civility nearly sprints from the room. “Something that’ll absolutely fucking ruin me if your hands are anywhere near it.”
“Well then, that’s something I’d definitely like to see.”
I give her my back so fast that I hear my ankle crack, and my ears are blessed with more of her laughter.
I need to look somewhere else because if I succumb to the sight of her, I’ll forget Percy exists.
Then, as if summoned, the floorboards announce Percy’s slow approach.
As she wrestles back into her shirt, I hear Francesca leap from the counter.
I peek over my shoulder, one pathetic, greedy little glance.
She shoos me with two fingers and a smile.
I’m already moving out of the kitchen, through the looparound corridor at the living room’s entrance to avoid bumping into the redhead who’d no doubt tease the fuck out of me. As relentless as the kingdom’s favourite middle child.
Percy’s calling Francesca’s name, and she responds with an enthusiastic, “Kitchen!”
The bathroom door shuts behind me, muffling Percy’s enthusiastic reaction to the smoortjie on the stove.
I bolt the door and plant myself at the sink, where my reflection shows me a man utterly doomed.
The head of my cock presses against the waistband of my briefs, and without Francesca to distract me; the ache is almost torturous.
I palm it once and nearly pass out. Fuck .
Mumbling an apology to what’s left of my dignity, I reach for the small metal tab at the front of my trousers.
The zipper gives way with a soft sigh.