She licked again, a flick of her hot tongue, and then a more lingering trace of that wetness. His cock twitched and she jumped a little, eyes darting up.
A shock of pure lust shot through him, trailing some deeper pressure. A hint of a shadow, a dark wisp of suspicion.
She pressed another kiss, twirled her tongue over and around the head, and for God's sake, he was sure he'd die with any more teasing. Finally, she parted her lips and eased her mouth over him, just a tiny bit, an inch. He felt her tongue pressing wet and strong, then she let him go with a little pop.
That wisp of suspicion unfurled into a certain, stunning realization: she had never done this before. Never.
Her seventy-year-old husband had never asked her or never wanted it. She had never taken another man like this.
My God.
He supposed that this should have shamed him or lessened his demand, but it only pushed his lust to a more dangerous peak. His knees shuddered.
"Emma."
She glanced up, and he was sure he saw eagerness there. Please, let it be eagerness.
He took her pliant hand in his, telling himself he should draw her to her feet, but knowing he would not. Instead he wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft. She squeezed, a delicious amount of pressure.
Hart eased his shaking hand to her hair. His fingers found a half-dozen hairpins and tugged them free. The thick curtain of her hair fell down to brush her shoulders, her back.
"Do you want to do this?"
"Oh, yes." Her breath curled over him, a promise of ecstasy to come. "Yes, I want to. I've wanted to. I'm sorry I don't. . . I—"
"Open your mouth."
Her lush lips parted.
"More. Now, now your tongue . . ." He eased her head closer. Her tongue slid under him, her mouth took him in. Hart felt the tight grasp of her hand and the slippery pressure of her mouth as she swallowed around him. He urged her back, then guided her closer again, and when his hand fell from her hair, Emma took up the movement herself.
He watched past fading vision, body aching with stiff tension, as she found a slow rhythm and took him deeper. Her fist offered a steady pressure that held him still for her pleasure, gave her control.
She was sin and innocence twisted all together. The picture of seduction, in her corset, on her knees, her face a study of innocent concentration, her hair a wild temptation. Hart wanted to thread his fingers through the silky length, urge her to take him deeper, faster. He wanted to control her, but this was even better: Emma learning what she liked, what he liked. Emma doing what she wanted.
Her eyes opened slowly, and she watched him through her lashes as her mouth slid down, all the way to the edge of her hand.
Hart groaned aloud. His whole body shuddered as pleasure wound tighter and tighter, suffocating all thought and rationality. Desire was a heavy, perfect weight that began to pull him toward the edge. And her mouth . . . so wet and warm and unknowing.
He could not last. And this was part of his fantasy too, Emma drinking him up as he spilled his seed. But some hesitation stopped him. He clamped down on the rushing need and cupped his hand around Emma's head to slide her back.
She was panting, her bottom lip still pressed to his cock, breath rushing over him in cold puffs of torment.
He had to slow down. He wanted more than this. He wanted everything he could take.
"Enough," he groaned, taking her hand to pull her to her feet.
She watched him, pupils wide with lust, lips bruised. Primal possessiveness crashed over him, pressing the breath from his lungs. She was almost innocent despite her lustful nature. And he wanted to keep her for himself, seduce her, teach her things that she would do with no other man.
Then the thought of what she'd meant to do with Marsh fell like a rock through his twisted, stormy thoughts.
He was losing control here, treating her as if she were different, as if she were precious when he'd meant to show her she'd become less to him. Meant to show her that their strange friendship had ended and she was just like every other woman he'd had.
Hart refastened his trousers and her brow crinkled.
"Let us go through the ground rules first, shall we?" He strolled over to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. He didn't offer her any as he returned to stand in front of her tempting form; he didn't dare hold out a glass and reveal his shaking.
"You will not speak of me to anyone. You will not confirm or deny our relationship. If I hear even a hint, a whisper, some intimate knowledge that has been passed on, I will cease to know you. Not only will our interlude come to an end, I will cut you dead. Understand?"