Page 13 of Scandal With A Viscount

“On the bed,” he said, his voice rough. “I need to taste you.”

She backed toward the mattress and he followed, his hands on her hips guiding her down. She'd barely settled on the edge before he dropped to his knees between her thighs, pushed them apart, and put his mouth on her.

The first stroke of his tongue dragged a gasp from her chest. He licked through her slit—slow and deliberate—his hands gripping the inside of her thighs, holding her open for him. His tongue circled her clit and then his lips closed around it and he sucked. Her fingers fisted in his hair.

“Louis—Oh my God—”

He groaned against her, and the vibration sent a shudder through her entire body. He slid two fingers inside her while his tongue worked her clit, curling them forward until he found the spot that made her hips jerk. He pressed against it with a rhythm that matched the movement of his mouth.

She had to muffle herself with her hand, as she couldn't help but cry out. His free hand came up and pressed flat against her stomach, pinning her to the mattress while he devoured her. She could feel him hard against her calf where he knelt between her legs. The knowledge that this was making him ache did something wicked to the tension building inside her.

“I can't—” She gripped his hair tighter. “Louis, I'm going to—”

“Good.” He didn't lift his head. His fingers pumped faster, and his tongue pressed harder. She shattered with her hand clamped over her mouth, her thighs clenching around his head, her body pulsing around his fingers. He continued, drawing it out until she had to push his head away.

He rose to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and the look in his eyes—dark, starving, not close to finished—made her stomach drop.

“Come here,” she said, pulling him onto the bed.

He settled over her, and she could feel his cock pressed against her thigh, hot and hard. She reached between them and guided him to her entrance. He pushed in with one long stroke that pulled a groan from both of them. He held there, buried deep, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged.

“Christ, Georgie.” His voice was wrecked. “You feel—every time—I can't—”

She rolled her hips and he stopped trying to talk. He pulled back and drove into her, hard, and her nails raked down his back. He set a pace that was relentless—fast and deep—as his hips snapped against hers with a force that moved her up the mattress. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. The sound he made against her throat made her grip him tighter.

“Don't stop.” She dug her heels into the small of his back. “Please, Louis.”

“I couldn't stop if I wanted to.” He hooked her thigh higher, changing the angle, and the new depth hit something that made her whole body clench. His hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit, pressing and circling while he drove into her. She was already wound tight from his mouth and it didn't take much—his thumb, his cock, the weight of him over her, the sounds he made against her skin. She came again, harder than the first time, her body arching off the bed.

He continued to work her through her climax, his rhythm breaking apart, and then he pulled out and wrapped his hand around his cock. Two strokes and he spilled across her stomach with a groan that shook through his entire body. His forehead dropped against her shoulder, his breath hot on her skin.

They lay there tangled together, his weight half on her, neither of them moving. His heart beat against her shoulder and her own pulse pounded in her throat. The room was quiet except for the sound of them trying to remember how to breathe.

What unsettled her wasn't the sex. Or what they’d been doing. It was this. The moment when she didn’t want to pull away, but knew she should. She had wanted more from a man before, and that had been a disaster. Since then, she had been able to keep emotion out of her other dalliances, but something about this was different. And she didn't know what to do with that, because she had never felt anything like this before.

She should get up. She should pull on her night rail, tie her robe, check the corridor, and pad back to her own room the way she'd done every other night. That was the arrangement. Nothing more.

Just as she thought she might have convinced herself to do just that, Louis leaned to a bedside table and grabbed a cloth. He used it to clean where his seed coated her.

After he finished, he tossed the cloth to the other side of the bed and settled back beside her, resting his arm over her body. They lay in silence for a few minutes, his thumb tracing a line on her side. The fire crackled in the hearth, and there wasn’t another sound to be heard.

His head turned on the pillow to look at her. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask. I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Fair enough.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “How many have there been? Before me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And just why do you wish to know? I’m quite certain it won’t compare to the number of bed partners you’ve had.”

If he thought to make her feel guilty that she wasn’t some virginal miss, then he’d be sorely mistaken. And he’d find himself nursing a black eye.

“I don’t ask to place judgement. I’m just curious.” But his eyes failed to meet hers, and he stared at her bare stomach instead. “If something occurred that was not by your own choice . . .”

She considered how much she wished to share with him. After Max arrived, this little arrangement of theirs would be no more. But then Louis looked at her with an expression that unraveled everything within her.

“Only a couple.” She looked away, looking at the canopy over the bed. “All chosen with care.”

“Including the first time?”