Page 20 of Blueprints, Battlelines and Ballrooms (Tales from Honeysuckle Street #4)

She trailed a finger over his bare chest. Took her time in straddling him so that she could settle her knee at a kind angle.

Everything about him was so damn firm, so competent and strong.

What in the heavens could this man want from her?

He placed his palms against her hips and pulled her closer, then higher.

She steadied herself against the headboard with her good arm and braced with her good shoulder.

Johannes nudged his face beneath her chemise, nipped a path over her thighs, then brought her sex to his mouth.

He kissed, mouthed, and teased at the top of her slit, and the vibrations from his rumbling groan were almost as intoxicating as his tongue.

Florence clung to the board and howled, her body thrusting against the unexpected thrill of his breath.

‘So much better than I imagined. This part of you is so soft. Tastes so delicious.’ Languorously, he licked the length of her before touching her nub with just the tip of his tongue. ‘Do you have names for yourself? What words do you like?’

‘I haven’t… I’ve never…’ She gripped the board tighter, her nails scratching the wood. ‘Call me anything you like. The dirtier the better.’

‘I want your cunt on my face,’ he ordered, then buried his tongue inside her, his moan reverberating against her flesh, sending a burst of hot pleasure through her.

It started where his lips touched her and ended in the tips of her hair.

Powerless, she presented herself for his feasting.

He gripped her thigh and held her in place, sucking and laving, demolishing the last threads of her restraint.

Florence thrust harder into him, rolling against his mouth, riding him as his tongue plunged into her.

‘Is that how you like it?’ he gasped between waves of ecstasy. ‘Let me hear you.’

‘I… I don’t know.’ Florence slid her knee forwards a little, shifted her angle, and Johannes followed her lead to press his mouth against her anew.

‘Just… just… oh yes, there ,’ she groaned.

So good, everything felt so good, except for the small nip in her back that was always there, the only lingering reminder of her pain.

But soon, that was smothered, too, and that singular small part of her and his tongue against it coaxed more good feelings from her body than she’d ever experienced.

She rode the pure pleasure of his mouth as his fingers squeezed her flesh.

With her problem arm close to her chest and the rest of her nothing but bliss, she tipped and tilted, groaned and gasped, until with a roar, everything disappeared.

‘Talk,’ came his muffled order.

‘I can’t… I…’ The next sound from her lips was barely a syllable, just a long, throaty warbling, decadent and debauched.

When her limbs slackened, all tension deflated, he shook himself free of her chemise and re-emerged, his sly grin the first part of him she could see clearly.

So damn satisfied with himself… He nipped her, and she trembled again.

He knew exactly what he’d done to her. He was far, far too good at this.

‘Can you see my coat?’ He rolled out from under her and onto his side, reaching into the abyss below the bedside. ‘I have a sheath in the pocket.’

‘A sheath?’

‘I always use one.’

Of course he did. Of course he had a habit so familiar as to say always .

He rummaged, then laid back, sweat glistening on his chest. He unfastened the buttons at his waistband and pushed his trousers over his hips.

His cock sprang free. All of him was so big, so bulky, yet beautiful.

The muscles of his abdomen rippled like a valley, smooth as stone, his skin tense and trembling.

He stroked at himself, then fitted the sheath. ‘Too many days, I think of you on your knees. I think of you sucking me until I spend. I think of you in so many ways I shouldn’t.’

‘Me?’

‘Of course. Always you.’

His lust was so intoxicating. She wanted to do all those things, bend and twist and pleasure him in all the ways he described.

He reached out and kissed her, softly now, his rough lust turned tender.

‘I think of you astride me. I think of kissing you until you break. I think of holding you as you come and watching you. Of learning what you like and don’t like, and doing the bits you like over and again.

’ Florence spread her knees as she settled over him, his hips spreading her thighs wider.

With a gentle thrust, he pushed his cock into her.

His groan mirrored hers, and she clasped him tighter, angling her hips to take him deeper.

‘You are so wet. So tight. How can you feel so good?’ He dragged her down to his mouth. He tasted different from before, now salty and wild, all hardness and want. ‘That’s it. Ride me. Ride me hard.’

Thrusting, grunting, rutting, she moved like he wanted her to.

She gripped the board, and he held her firm, thumping into her with ferocious abandon.

He felt so damn good, and as she broke again, raw energy, rough desire, and pleasure trembled through her until she couldn’t even cry out, could only whimper his name.

His grip tightened as he eased, his eyelids flickering as he pushed deeper, followed by the faint, familiar tremble and settling as he spent.

He took a few heavy breaths. Then he looked up and found her eyes. Smiled the stupidest, happiest, most contented smile.

She smiled back.

Then burst into tears.

‘What’s the matter? Did I upset you? I thought you liked those words. Talk to me.’ Johannes rolled her onto the bed beside him and pulled her against his chest.

‘Stupid tears.’ She wiped them away, but to no avail, as they would not stop.

‘That’s the first time since…’ Was it wrong to say George’s name while sprawled across a bed with a naked man, one she felt a tempest for?

Was it wrong to say she’d enjoyed that, knowing that the bad times of her life had led her to this moment?

Should she still be confident, pretending she was someone she wasn’t?

How could she feel happy? But she was happy.

For a moment, she had been wild and free, and it had been extraordinary.

‘I don’t know what to feel,’ she choked out.

He tucked her into his side. Tugged at the blanket and sheets and folded them beneath the heavy quilt. ‘I feel sleepy,’ he said and kissed her temple. ‘You don’t have to feel much more than that.’

Florence settled against him. Sleepy. That was a feeling she could manage. She stroked the soft fuzz of his chest until his breathing changed.

From Miss Holt to Mrs Murray… Could she contemplate a future as Mrs Hempel?