Darling Beast (Maiden Lane 7)

It was all he was waiting for. He pressed her against him, angling his head to deepen the kiss. He placed his palm over her upper chest, feeling the delicate collarbone beneath his fingers, the gentle swell of her breast. Even this little amount of flesh was like wine in the desert. He traced the edge of her bodice, dipping his little finger into the hot, shadowed recess between her breasts. It was moist there and suddenly he had to taste. He bent her back, ducking his head to slide his tongue between her sweet breasts and taste her salt.

“Apollo,” she moaned, grasping his hair. “Please.”

He licked up over her breasts, finding the rise of her shoulder and biting there.

Her fingers moved in a shaking flurry between them and he realized she was scrabbling at his falls, but before he could help her, she had them open.

Had them open and had him in her hand.

He froze, groaning, trembling at her touch. Her cool fingers circled him confidently, stroking up once before caressing his head, exploring where he wept liquid tears.

She pulled one hand away and he saw, in the moonlight, as she drew a single wet finger to her lips and sucked.

That was too much.

He had her turned before she could make another move. He ripped off his coat and threw it down before one of the benches edging the pool.

“Kneel,” he said, and his voice was a guttural rasp that made him wince.

She obeyed, though, as if sacrificing herself to some ancient monster. “Like this?” And the look she gave him over her shoulder was enough to make him swallow hard.

“Exactly like that,” he said, kneeling behind her. He pulled up her skirts reverently, as though he unveiled a work of art, seeing first the gleam of her white stockings in the moonlight, then the silver of her thighs.

Then the rounded mounds of her arse. Her delightfully carnal arse, curved and sweet, that secret darkness between. If he died right now, he’d dream for all eternity of Lily’s arse and be happy.

He laid her skirts over her back and ran his fingertips over her buttocks, watching as she shivered.

“Spread your legs for me,” he ordered.

She shifted, revealing more of herself, though the darkness kept her tantalizingly modest.

He ran his finger down the dip between her cheeks, slowly, until he encountered her moisture.

“Apollo,” she whispered, wiggling just a little.

“Do you like that?” His words were nearly slurred as if he were drunk on her feminine scent.

“You know I do,” she said, bending farther. She put her head in her arms on the stone bench, jutting out her hips farther, as if she were presenting herself, a mare to be mounted.

God, he wanted her.

He took his cock in hand and crawled closer, close enough that he could run his cockhead through her weeping slit.

She moaned and arched her back, forcing herself against him.

He couldn’t think. Could only feel—and want. He shoved his prick into position, placing his palm on the small of her back to hold her still. He didn’t want to hurt her—and if he moved too fast he was liable to spill.

He eased into her tight, hot passage, throwing his head back, staring blindly at the starlit cosmos. She was so wet for him, so slick and beautiful, that tears gathered at the corners of his eyes even as he thrust and thrust again. He pushed into that sweet tunnel, uniting them, making them one, until his flesh and her flesh merged.

And then he separated them again, drawing entirely out, just so he could feel again the wonderful pleasure of joining.

She whimpered, her face against her arms, and he bent over her, his woman, his Lily, surrounding, protecting, claiming her as his. “What do you want, love?”

“Th… that.”

He licked the bared nape of her neck. “Tell me.”

“I want you,” she whispered. “I want your cock in me. I want you to fill me and stuff me full until I can’t talk or remember my own name.”