The sound made her smile.
“I’ve come to be wary when you wear that mischievous look,” he said.
Sophie fluttered her lashes innocently. “Mischief? Me?”
“Ha!”
She crawled over him and settled between his spread legs. The pattern of his breathing changed, became faster as the muscles in his thighs tensed. Her breasts brushed against his skin and his breath hissed out between his teeth. The power she held to give him pleasure was heady, as was the sight of his body, which aroused her to a fever pitch. Her hand closed around him and angled his throbbing cock to meet her eager mouth.
“Christ!” Justin arched off the bed as Sophie’s soft, wet lips surrounded him.
He had been serviced this way countless times, yet it had never felt like this. He was ready to blow. After his recent galvanic orgasm, he should be able to enjoy a lazy climb to the peak. Instead, he was gritting his teeth to prevent toppling over.
“Umm…” she purred, lifting her head. “I like this. I believe I shall do this every day.”
He choked. The sight of her mouth poised just above his cock was a fantasy he had cherished for years. To think of such pleasure daily…“You’ll kill me.”
“You’ll bear it.” Sophie pumped her hand and his hips jerked.
“Bloody hell!”
Cum beaded the tip of his cock. He watched in an agony of lust as her tongue came out and licked up the drop. The sound she made, one of deep pleasure, made his balls draw up.
“Suck it,” he groaned, reaching for her, cupping her cheeks so that he could feel her mouth open. He felt his hardness through the softness of her cheek, and gasped as her tongue lifted and stroked the sensitive underside of his shaft.
The next he knew he was writhing atop the linens, his jaw aching with the force with which he clenched it, his arms tense and fingers cramped as he forced himself to hold her gently.
Sweet Sophie was driving him insane, her hungry mouth sucking and sucking, her cheeks hollowing with every drawing pull, her head bobbing in a wild, unrestrained rhythm as if loving him this way was for her pleasure alone.
Dear God, he was going to die. He was muttering and cursing and begging, wanting her to stop. Wanting her never to stop.
Her gentle fingers cupped his tight sac and squeezed gently, rolling his balls, heating them with the warmth of her palm. His eyes widened with the knowledge that he was about to come, his throat working to warn her, but no sound came out.
With the last of his strength he pushed her away. Her response was a growl and hard, deep suction.
He came like a geyser, groaning, blasting deep into the welcoming depths of her mouth. Her hand urgently stroked the length of him that would not fit inside her, pumping his cum up the shaft to spill over her working tongue. She wouldn’t stop, the demented female, taking to him to heights of pleasure he’d never reached, then carrying him back down with long, savoring licks.
The mattress cradled him as he sank into it, devastated. Then it was Sophie who cradled him, her lush body coming to rest over his, her cheek settling over his madly beating heart.
“I love you,” he whispered, his damp face nestled in her fragrant hair, his arms hugging her close. “Christ, I love you so much.”
He felt her press a kiss into his chest. He gazed up at the canopy above them and basked in his contentment. The days ahead would bring challenges, but if the nights ended thusly, he would bear them all with nary a complaint.
“I will make you happy,” he promised. “I will do my best to make Thomas happy.”
“I know, my love,” she crooned.
“But,” his tone was a warning, “if you ever blow pepper up my nose again, I will take my hand to your arse.”
“Perhaps I shall like that,” she teased mischievously.
His cock twitched wearily, insanely interested despite being spent. “Bloody hell.”
Chapter Eleven
The day promised to be bright and beautiful the morning Justin began his campaign to win over the young Master Thomas. His mind was occupied with possible things to say, suggestions for activities they could share, answers to questions that may be asked of him. It was a dreadfully taxing business, this. The happiness of his fiancée rested on his ability to bond with her child. It therefore meant a great deal to him.
He intended to give the boy an active and prominent role in the wedding, but that plan would only succeed if the child was willing. To that aim he intended to make a nuisance of himself until they were friends. Of course, the emotions behind the plan were nowise near as simple as that.
He was nervous such as he had never been. Standing before the mirror that morning, he had rejected several cravats and coats, trying to picture himself through a five-year-old child’s eyes. Would Sophie’s son find him distant and hard to approach, as some adults did? Would Thomas resent him for winning some of his mother’s affection?
Filled with concerns and doubts, Justin took a deep, fortifying breath as the golden-bricked manor house came into view. Despite his mental preparations, he felt in need of a stiff drink by the time he reached the end of the front drive.
He dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting groomsman. Then he took the steps to the front door two at a time. Before he could knock, the portal swung open and Sophie was launching herself into his arms. His heart stuttered at the feel of her and he crushed her close.
“My lord,” she greeted, lifting to her toes and kissing him full on the mouth.
“Stop that,” he admonished, glancing nervously over her head. “What if he sees you?”
“My darling.” Her eyes sparkled. “How I love you. Thomas is in the nursery and cannot witness my affection.”
“You might be surprised. When I was his age, I was never where anyone would expect.”
Common courtesy dictated that they share tea with the countess first and so they did, both of them enjoying the obvious happiness Lady Cardington felt over their union.
And then it was time.
With her fingers linked with his, Sophie led him up to the nursery on the upper floor.
“Ready?” she asked when they reached the closed door.
“Yes.” As he would ever be.
She pushed the portal open and entered. “Tommy,” she called, her voice pitched sweetly.
“Hmm?”
The distracted sounding reply made Justin smile. He stepped into the sunshine-filled room and found the source of his anxiousness seated innocuously on an English rug surrounded by a legion of tin soldiers. Nearby, on the window bench, a governess knitted quietly.
“I would like you to meet someone,” Sophie said, sinking to a crouch.
The small, dark head lifted, revealing handsome features and big brown eyes. Justin tensed as Thomas turned his head and found him, steeling himself for an unknown reaction.
Sophie made the introductions.
“Hello, Master Thomas,” Justin said carefully.
“Hello, my lord.” The boy’s inquisitive gaze dropped to the marquess’s riding boots. He frowned, then looked back at his toys.
Justin thought he had been summarily dismissed, which tied his stomach in knots, then Thomas picked up a soldier and held it out to him. “This one has boots like yours.”
“Oh?” Bending at the knees, Justin accepted the offering and remarked, “So he does. How lucky I am to have such boots.”
Thomas smiled. The gesture was Sophie’s in miniature, and Justin’s chest tightened. He sank the rest of the way to the floor.
“You can play with the red ones,” Thomas said magnanimously. “I shall be blue.”
“Thank you. I should like that very much.” Justin glanced at Sophie. She blew him a kiss that went straight to his heart, then rose and moved to the bookcase.
“Shall I read you both a story?” she asked, in a voice huskier than usual.
“Yes! The fables.” Thomas glanced at him. “You do enjoy fables, don’t you, my lord?”