Sin. Sharon Page

“I don’t want you to think you must do that. It pleases me to be in your warm mouth as much as you desire.”

      He stroked his thumb along her lip and a bolt of pleasure streaked from there to explode between her legs in a flood of wetness.

      “Come here, my beautiful naked temptress. I want you to sit on my face.”

      “Sit where?”

      Within a moment, she understood. He lay on his back along the carriage seat as she slowly dropped her cloak to the other seat. She clasped her hands in his, swung her leg over his chest, and climbed aboard.

      “Now move back, my sweet. Smother my face with your wet quim.”

      “But—but how will you breathe?”

      He laughed and she felt terribly naïve as she wriggled back. She glanced around, saw the heat in his eyes as he drank in the sight of her nether lips dangling above his face. Clamping his hands on her hips, he pulled her down so her sex sank down over his mouth. Pleasure swamped her as her aching cunny made contact with his wet, hot tongue. His tongue caressed her everywhere, and he rocked her so her fragrant quim rubbed over his face. His nose was buried against her derriere.

      He held her hips as the carriage swayed on the road. She felt completely safe on top—as long as he held her tight.

      She moaned at the forbidden eroticism of this—of sitting on an earl’s face. Fired by wanton naughtiness, she closed her eyes and danced her hips on him, twisting and grinding her wet, aroused, ripe sex into his mouth. His tongue slicked over her clit.

      Ooh! Eyes shut, she arched back, pushing her privates even more aggressively on him. She felt a rhythmic pounding and opened her eyes wide to see his hips and bottom bouncing on the seat. His cock jutted toward her, his fluid dripping from the head.

      “Would you like me to bend forward and take your Commanding Officer into my mouth?” Venetia asked.

      God, yes, temptress.

      Marcus answered her question by suckling Venetia’s hard clit until she melted over him. She must have seen pictures of soixante-neuf and she knew exactly what to do. He fought for control as she gobbled his cock into her mouth. Her soft, moist lips skimmed the sensitive places on the shaft. She sucked him hard, gripping him tight in her hot mouth. Beautiful, beautiful sucking in a perfect rhythm, driving him wild.

      He was forgetting his part of the bargain—he’d stopped licking her. He quickly rectified his lapse, tonguing the snug entrance of her wet pussy. She tasted rich and feminine and delicious.

      She licked the length of his shaft with her tongue. Up and down, driving him mad.

      Erotic art had provided a remarkable education.

      She licked his balls. He instinctively tensed even as he moaned at the pleasure. But she was gentle and cradled his sac with infinite care. He enjoyed scrotum play, even though he balanced on a knife’s edge of tension throughout. When her tongue traced the seam of his ballocks, he cried her name into her quim. She treated his balls to glorious delights, tugging the fine hairs in her mouth, even holding one delicately in her hot mouth to suck it.

      Oral sex never brought him to orgasm anymore—hell, he was eight and twenty, he’d experienced it too many times, had taught himself too much control, but Venetia’s enthusiastic exploration was bringing him close.

      He didn’t want to come in her mouth. She wouldn’t want that. With her weight resting on his face, he couldn’t even warn her. He must practice intense control, make her come, then attend to his rigid, throbbing prick himself.

      A complete assault was needed. Two hands and a mouth to take her to ecstasy. He tipped his head back to penetrate her snug anus with his tongue. She was bent over, her plush bottom jutting in his face, her puckered rosebud ripe for his tongue. He ran his tongue around the rim, gently pushed in. Her muscles slackened to let him gain entry. Then closed tight.

      She was scorching. Unbelievably tight. Delectable.

      He thrust his tongue deep, filling her rear, his fingers were in her pussy as deep as he dared, and he stroked her clit.

      She dropped his cock from her mouth. “I can’t…can’t…”

      He grasped her hand and led it between her thighs. She soon knew he wanted her to rub herself. Shyness had vanished and she masturbated with lusty abandon.

      He gripped his cock, jerking it hard, ravaging the length of it. Pumped like a wild man.

      “Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes!”

      The scream was hers, triggering his explosion. She bounced wildly on him in her orgasm, her greedy cunny clutched at his fingers, her bum slapped his face.

      His whole body went tense, and arched up. His hips launched off the seat as he came in a fierce stream. His face lifted, burrowing right into her sopping, melting, eager sex. White fire exploded in his head as his spine melted, his limbs turned to water, his very soul raced out of his cock.

      Wet heat surrounded the swollen head. She’d taken him in her mouth. Each pulse of her suckling pulled on his cock, lashed him with agonizing pleasure. She was drinking his come. To please him.

      Spent, exhausted, he lifted her quim off his face so he could breathe. “I’ll understand if you wish to spit.”

      “I swallowed.” Her eyes showed ingenuous confusion. “Was I not supposed to? You taste quite remarkable. I liked it.”

      “I’m honored that you did, my sweet.” He arched up and kissed her derriere, rewarded by her pretty giggle. Returning Venetia to London with her virginity intact might very well kill him.

      Cradling Venetia against his chest as she slept, Marcus kissed the top of her tousled red curls. He buried his face in her sweetly scented hair, inhaling roses, lavender, a hint of freshness like spring rain. The scent of her sweat and earthy female juices clung to her skin. She smelled like a woman just tumbled in a meadow. He could taste her delicious juices on his lips, the flavor of his come on hers.

      She’d slumbered blissfully against him for miles. He felt every breath she took, felt it in the rise and fall of her breasts against him, in the gentle movement of her back against his arm. He steadied her, so she could sleep despite the rocking of the carriage.

      When had he ever let a woman sleep in his arms?

      He normally sent courtesans home. Never let his mistresses stay in his bed. Over the years, his father had drummed a warning into his head. Nothing but trouble ever results from waking up with a woman.