Page 143 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Andrew buried his tongue inside her to enjoy the echoes of her orgasm and then employed his thumb yet again to force one more climax from her body.

Only when her hands plucked at his hair to pull him off did he stop.

He prowled up her body and kissed her then, giving her a taste of herself. He could tell by her initial stiffening that she was scandalized, but then her tongue—shy and tentative—pushed into his mouth and he let her explore.

When she pulled away, he rolled them both onto their sides. “Do you like the taste of yourself?” he asked, amused when she gave another of her adorable gasps.

“Is that—” she broke off and Andrew could easily imagine her expression of mortification.

“Is it what, my adorable lover?” To his amusement, she pushed her face into the hollow of his throat—as if to hide even more than the darkness already afforded.

“Is that something everyone does?” she asked, her voice muffled against his skin.

He rolled onto his back and laughed. “If Kathryn ever lets us out of this attic you can ask the other guests that when we retire to the drawing room, it would be more entertaining than cards or spillikins.”

She shoved him with a small hand. “You know what I mean—is it…normal marital activity?”

Andrew lazily stroked his cock—which was so wet with need that it felt as though he’d already ejaculated—and considered how to answer her question. “I am going to hazard a guess that it is not something Addiscombe—who strikes me as a selfish three pumps and done man if I ever saw one— ever did to his wife. If he had, perhaps she might not be such a miserable crone. What?” he asked when she made a mortified squeaking sound.

“That was an extremely vulgar assessment.”

Andrew merely smiled.

“But I do like hearing the truth, for once,” she added quietly.

He spread his legs just enough that he could reach his balls and tug on the tight skin of his sac.

“What are you doing down there?” she asked a moment later.

“Stroking myself.”

She turned over so quickly the bed shook, he could see the vague outline of a dark shape looming over him, as if she had risen up on her knees. “You—that is, er…”

Andrew grinned lazily and waited to hear what she said next.

“Will you put the blindfold back on?”