Page 87 of To Pleasure a Prince

“Ohh, yes,” she breathed, her fingers tightening on the fretwork bars. Just the thought of being utterly exposed to his mouth and teeth and hands was firing her excitement to incredible heights.

“Do you want more?” He kissed a path down her breastbone to her belly as one of his hands fondled her breast.

“Yes, Marcus, yes,” she whispered restlessly. “More. Please.”

She turned her head to find the dratted sirens in the painting laughing at her.Theywould never beg for more, but she was positively shameless when it came to Marcus.

She shut her eyes against them. But when she felt his hand leave her breast, she arched up toward him. “Please…Marcus—”

Then his mouth touched her in a wholly unexpected place.Down there.Between her legs. Oh, heavens.

Her eyes flew open. Somehow he had ended up with his head between her thighs. His hands were parting the folds of her flesh as he bent his head to kiss—

“Marcus!” she protested, utterly shocked. She tried to pull her legs together, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Be still, dearling.” His eyes glittered up at her. “The dragon is dining.”

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he put his hot mouth right on her. Down there. Like a lover kissing her, except in the most intimate place. His tongue darted out to flick at her, and she nearly leaped from her skin.

Heaven save her. What…incredible…madness was this? She could hardly breathe. Or think. Or do anything but give herself up to the wild pleasure coursing through her.

He was even using his teeth! And it was wonderful. Amazing. Shocking. Surely the places his mouth caressed were not meant to be touched so sinfully. Or sucked so wickedly, or teased so…so…

“Marcus…” she breathed. “That is…oh…dear…oh…”

His mouth fondled her even more shamelessly. She writhed beneath it, seeking more. Every rasp of his tongue made her arch higher, every tug of his teeth wrung a surprised gasp from her throat until it ached with her cries. Soon she was headed toward the same sweet exultation she’d found that night in the carriage outside Almack’s.

She could feel it dangling before her. If she could just…reach…that…amazing…mad…

He lifted his head to growl, “Oh, no, you don’t, my siren wife. Not without me, not this time. Not until I can be inside you, sharing your pleasure.”

“Marcus!” she cried, half in alarm, half in outrage as he left the bed. She reached for him. “Where are you going?”

“To take these off.”

He removed his drawers, and she gasped. His great staff jutted out from its bed of dark hair, commanding her attention. That…thatthingwas going inside her? “Oh, sweet heaven.”

His eyes gleamed. “I’ll take that as an invitation.” His gaze flicked to her hands and he added, “What happened to your chains?”

She wasn’t sure when she’d let go of the fretwork. “I broke them.”

A strangled laugh burst from him as he returned to the bed. “That’s my wife—stronger than steel.”

Before he could climb on the mattress, she grabbed his hip. “Wait!”

“No more waiting,” he muttered, brushing away her hand.

“I want to touch you,” she protested. “And look at you.”

A dark flush stained his cheeks. “No.”

“You gazed your fill of me,” she persisted. “So it’s my turn.”

“Now?”he ground out.

She propped her head up on her hands. “Now.”

He groaned. Nonetheless, he stood still and let her lay her hand tentatively on the mighty rod of flesh between his legs. “Someonedidprepare you for this night, didn’t they?” he rasped. “Told you how this works?”