“Shall I?” Delilah asked, reaching for the ribbon at the bodice.
“No,” he rasped. “Let me unwrap you.”
“I’ll just fetch a sponge, and some brandy. It’s the best way to prevent pregnancy—along with you spilling on my belly, of course.”
“Whatever you wish,” he replied as he continued to undress, grateful once again for her knowledge and matter-of-fact speech.
When finally naked, Bennett stalked to the bed where Delilah waited under the sheets and heavy quilt. She watched him, or more specifically his cock, and as though appreciating the audience, it thickened and rose higher and higher until it near bobbed against his lower belly. The ache hurt like hell, and a part of him wanted to plunge inside her without delay. However more urgent was the desire to lick her pussy, to taste the juices that had drenched his fingers earlier in the carriage and hear her come without the need for muffling sounds.
“How hungry you look, Your Grace,” she said, a playful smile curving her lips as she pulled back the covers and patted the mattress. “Are you going to eat me all up?”
Bennett leaned down, capturing her lips in a demanding kiss. She surrendered at once, arching her back when he trailed his mouth from neck to collarbone. Unable to deny himself, he tugged at the ribbon of her chemise bodice and parted the fabric to reveal her full breasts, each tipped with a large rose-pink nipple. On another occasion he might have studied them for hours, perhaps caressed and pinched until Delilah begged for his mouth. But he couldn’t wait. Instead, he lowered his head, took one taut nipple into his mouth, and sucked hard.
Her gasp echoed in the bedchamber.
Back and forth he went between her breasts, sucking and gently biting her nipples until they were wine-colored and glistening, and Delilah was panting. Only then did he move again, removing her chemise before kissing his way down to her bush, a thicket of crisp, neatly trimmed black hair.
“Spread your thighs,” he commanded. “Let me see that sweet pussy.”
Delilah touched herself, parting the hair to show him her swollen clitoris and the slick, tender pink petals of her labia. His mouth watered, and Bennett swooped down for one long, slow lick. She moaned loudly, open and unashamed in her need. The musky, spicy scent of her exploded on his tongue, addicting him for eternity, and he settled in to feast.
To start, Delilah guided his head with her hands and instructed him where to be softer or firmer, to lick left or right, up or down, or in tiny circles. Paying careful attention to what she needed to come, Bennett eventually mastered her preferences. When she writhed and cried out in orgasmic bliss as he sucked her clitoris, he knew another moment of pure triumph. Yet twice wasn’t enough. He craved more of Delilah’s delicious honey, so pushed his tongue inside her pussy and fucked her with it until her fingers clenched the sheets and she came again.
Soon, she tugged firmly on his hair. “I need your cock,” she pleaded. “Hard and rough and deep, like you said. Let me just put the sponge in.”
Delilah soaked it in a half glass of brandy, before expertly positioning it deep inside her pussy. The attached string remained outside to allow easy removal later on.
“Now?” he asked.
“Fuck me. Please.”
Thank Christ.
Bennett gripped his painfully hard cock, bathing the head in her wetness. This was a truly momentous occasion: at long last he would know what it felt like to be inside a woman. Slowly, tentatively, he penetrated her pussy, the indescribable sensation of her inner walls stretching to receive him and her greedy sheath sucking him deeper, almost enough to make him come there and then. Now he understood why men and women everywhere defied rules and propriety and risked all for pleasure. Nothing could compare.
“Like this?” he gritted out, experimentally burying his cock inside her, withdrawing, then advancing again.
Delilah arched, digging her heels into the bed. “Tunbury.”
He paused, mid-thrust. “You called me Ben earlier. Say it.”
“Ben. Oh God, don’t stop. Please, please. Ben.”
At the erotic sound of his name once again as a desperate plea, his hips jerked and rammed his cock brutally deep. Delilah screamed in ecstasy, her fingernails clawing his back as her pussy rippled and pulsed around him. It sent him over the edge, and he just managed to yank his cock free before spurting his seed across her belly in a vicious, wrenching, splendid climax.
Exhausted, his wits departed, all Bennett could do was slump on top of Delilah. When her arms closed about his shoulders and her fingers smoothed his hair, an unexpected feeling of peace settled over him. Of rightness. As though this was meant to be.
Perhaps December had potential after all.
Ah, but she enjoyed tormenting herself.
Lying here in a sated daze after numerous orgasms. Stroking the brawny man resting on top of her like they were a longstanding couple, not a duke and a pleasure club madam stealing an hour from the relentless demands of their respective worlds.
Oh no.
Delilah turned her head in dismay as the clock in her parlor chimed faintly through the wall. Six o’clock. Far more than a stolen hour with Ben, but an entire afternoon of abdicating her responsibilities. She still had to bath and dress before supper, privately reprimand a footman caught eating in the theater, ensure the gaming hell had extra food and drink for a patron birthday celebration, then complete her daily inspection of the Temple rooms with each staff member in charge.
Botheration. Today had been glorious, from the shopping in Cheapside to the lustiest, most satisfying bedding she’d ever experienced with a man. But now, like all good things, it had to come to an end.
“Ben,” she said softly, tapping his shoulder.
“Mmmm?” he replied, kissing her neck.
Delilah choked back a moan. She’d been so enthralled by this no longer virginal duke, that although her nipples and clitoris were sensitive to touch and her pussy ached from being taken so hard by his large cock, she wanted more. And that was dangerous. Not only did she have tasks to complete, but under no circumstances could she become attached to this man. They did not have a future, no matter how much her body—or her heart—might wish it so. Ben was a duke who wanted to wed one of those well-mannered young ladies from an acceptable family, and even once she’d sold the Temple, she would never be that.
Nor did she have any desire to be a married man’s mistress. Perhaps a selfish and shockingly unworldly stance for a pleasure club madam, but she refused to share a lover with someone else, even if there were tender feelings involved.
“Ben,” she repeated.
“Just a few more minutes. Then I’ll be ready to fuck you again.”
Her lips twitched. “I don’t doubt that, but I’m afraid I must rise and get dressed. My Temple guests expect to see me this evening.”
The duke went rigid and rolled off her, before swinging his legs over the other side of the bed. “Of course. Forgive me. I should depart also, before my staff report a missing duke.”
Her heart hurt at the sudden distance between them. She wanted to embrace Ben, kiss those broad shoulders and press her breasts against his warm back. But cool reality had settled in, and instead, Delilah rose from the bed and stumbled over to the hearth. First she removed the brandy sponge and threw it into the crackling, snapping fire. Then she dipped her fingers into the half-full metal bucket that always hung over the hearth to test the temperature of the water, before washing herself with a bar of rose-scented soap and a soft flannel. She could feel Ben’s gaze on her, and when it came time to clean her breasts, belly, and pussy, her movements slowed to something more resembling a caress. Touching herself to arouse them both.