Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)

Please, she heard herself sigh. Her fingers slid into his hair, tangling and twining through the thick, black locks.

He drew her nipple into his mouth, and pleasure shot through her. His tongue circled the tight crest of flesh, flickering over the tip. Lucy arched against him, her grip tightening in his hair. He pursed his lips around her and pulled, wrenching a cry from deep in her chest. He suckled her greedily, teasing and tonguing without mercy, until she writhed under him, against him. And just when she began to believe he would never stop—and she began to believe she wouldn’t mind—he released her nipple.

Kissed his way slowly across the tender valley of her chest.

Let his tongue ascend the slope of her other breast to its taut, aching peak.

And did it all over again.

Lucy gave up. She stopped wrestling the pleasure. It lost its sharp edges and melted to liquid, and she simply let it flow. Let it swim through her in sinuous, curving currents. Felt it swirl out to her fingers and down to her toes and up to the tips of her ears. Quivered as it tumbled faster, gathered momentum, and rushed back to pool between her thighs. She dimly heard herself murmuring words. Maybe his name. Maybe hers. She had no idea.

But when he left her breast and began kissing a serpentine path down her belly, she fell silent. She drifted down with him, her awareness floating below the rippling pleasure of his kiss. He sank between her thighs, the breadth of his shoulders pushing them wide. His breath tickled against her soft curls and the tender flesh they guarded. She felt his fingers, parting her gently. And then the hot, hooking joy of his tongue.

Oh, my.

Oh my oh my oh my. The book had definitely not mentionedthis . This, she would have remembered. This, she would have underlined. His tongue flickered against her, and she cried out. Rather loudly.

He rose up on his elbow. “Lucy, hush. Someone might hear.”

She nodded, and he bent to taste her again. His tongue danced over her tender flesh, and pleasure rocked through her in a great, glittering wave. She cried out again. Louder.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I can’t help it,” she whispered when he rose up again. “It’s your fault, you know.” He had his fingers on her now, caressing her. He swept his thumb over that unbearable, sparkling place in tight, nefarious circles. Her head rolled back onto the pillow. “Oh, God.”

“Should I stop?” he asked, sliding a finger into her.

“God, no.” His finger dipped deeper, working slowly in and out. Lucy moaned against the back of her hand.

Then he was next to her, kissing his way back up her body, stretching out alongside her. Hard heat throbbed against her hip. His tongue flashed into her ear. The heel of his palm rocked against her as his finger worked in and out and in and out, and Lucy … Lucy wasready . Ready, willing, eager, prepared. Hot, liquid anticipation coursed through her veins. She was sinking through dark and wild and wet and hot, and she was ready, ready, ready. Ready for something to happen. Ready for it to never end. Never never ever ever end.

Waves of pleasure rocked through her. Flooding her, filling her. Forcing out everything else. Her hand fell away from her mouth, and a helpless cry surged from deep in her belly, wrenching into her throat. He clamped his lips over hers and took her cry into him. Joy, confusion, frustration, fear—she poured them all into one long, rapturous cry against his mouth. And he took it all. Took everything she gave, drinking it in, probing deep with his tongue to leave nothing behind.

He caressed her softly as she floated back down. Back into herself.

Oh, my.

Her body felt wonderfully languid, but soon restless questions churned in her mind. How could he know her body so well—so easily stir sensations it had taken her sixteen years to discover on her own? Ones she’d never discovered at all? How did she go about learninghis secrets, makinghim ready? And was this truly just preparation? What pleasure came next?

So many questions, and she lacked the words to even phrase them. When at last she thought she could trust it again, she tried her voice. “Jeremy?”

“Yes?”

“What is it called, that … that thing that just happened to me?”

He paused. “Well, there are several words for it.”

“Only several?” Lucy marveled. “I would think there’d be hundreds. Thousands might not be enough.”

He nipped her ear playfully. “What? Weren’t a few of them in your book?”

Lucy batted his shoulder with her palm. “I thought we discussed the limitations of book learning.” He kept nibbling her earlobe. She sighed and ran her fingertips down the strong muscles of his arm. “And it can happen to you?”

She felt his arousal throb in his breeches, prodding against the curve of her hip. “Yes,” he murmured against her neck.

“But it didn’t … not yet.”

“No.”

“Then why are you just lying there?” She pushed him away slightly and turned to meet his eyes. “How can you stand it?”