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She was sweet and sharp and utterly intoxicating.

It drew a cry from her throat, low and broken, raw with surprise. He could not get enough of the taste of her, or of her cries.

He traced a slow, deliberate line, learning her, and watched her head fall back, her spine arch, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the polished wood.

"Edward," she gasped. "Do not stop. Please do not stop."

He had no intention of it.

His tongue moved in slow, circling strokes, her thighs trembling against his cheeks. One hand slid beneath her, cupping her, holding her steady against his mouth.

She hitched herself higher onto the desk, her knees settling over his shoulders.

He looked up and smiled, her desire dripping from his lips.

She looked down at him, eyes hooded and dazed, and he licked her taste from his mouth.

Her fingers plunged into his hair, scratching his scalp, and she pushed him back toward her.

He chuckled against her, then lowered his head and took her clit into his mouth.

The sound she made echoed off the study walls, uninhibited, desperate. He circled it with his tongue and slid a finger inside her. Another cry tore from her throat, and he felt it vibrate through him.

"Again," she begged. "Like that. Just like that."

He obliged. His tongue moved in tight, insistent circles while his finger moved within her, and he felt the pleasure build in her in waves, each one making her cling tighter to the desk, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her hips rolling against his mouth.

He added a second finger and felt her tighten around him. His cock, hard and aching, strained against his breeches, begging to be let out.

Not yet.

"Please," she whispered. "Oh, Edward, please..."

His fingers curled, finding the place that made her go rigid, and his mouth sealed over her with the hunger of a starving man.

She cried out as her orgasm broke over her, her thighs clamping around his head, her body clenching around his fingers. He felt every pulse of her release and held her through each shudder.

She sagged against him, spent, yet he could not make himself stop. He did not want this moment to end. He did not want to stop drinking in her desire.

He was a man possessed, and she answered his need with one of her own, pushing her hips closer, and he gladly devoured her.

She came with his name on her lips, again and again, his mouth and fingers coaxing every last pulse of pleasure from her shaking body.

When the last tremor faded, she fell against the desk, her breath coming in ragged pulls. He remained between her thighs, his breath warm against her sensitized skin, the proof of her release on his lips and his beard.

"Mine," he breathed.

Claiming her forever as his.

And he was utterly and helplessly hers.

Chapter Nineteen

Hamburg

18th February 1819

Dearest Sutton,