81
" Tell me, is it good?" he murmured.
Was it 'good?' She'd no words for what it was, and she didn't want to narrate.
"Tell me." He sucked gently, his hands stroking, stroking her thighs.
"Oh God. 'Too' good... harder..."
How did she know she wanted "harder"? But she knew. She gripped his shoulders. Hard, strong, solid, necessary when the world around her was dissolving in spangled heat. She found herself arching against him as his tongue, like hot, muscular satin, stroked hard where she was slick and aching, and his fingers followed with deft and skillful strokes. "
― Julie Anne Long , What I Did for a Duke (Pennyroyal Green, #5)
82
" He pressed her thighs far, far apart. She was wide open to him now, and his muscular, brilliant tongue delved deeper, found and indescribable rhythm and stroked her, her body colluded until they found precisely the rhythm she needed. Her fists knotted the counterpane, and she arched into him, rippling with the untenable pleasure. She hissed her breath through her teeth. She was hot or she was cold or there was some other word that meant both; all she knew was that her skin stung as if every cell of it was alive and singing hallelujah, and that pleasure was a river roaring through her, threatening the very seams of her being. Building, building.
And bliss crashed over her with a white burst behind her eyes. "
― Julie Anne Long , What I Did for a Duke (Pennyroyal Green, #5)
83
" And then she felt it when it was no longer within his control. His white hips drummed, the tempo grew ever swifter. She arched to meet him, drawing hot breaths in. She clutched his shoulders, her nails dragging over his biceps, and whimpered his name, for as their bodies clashed hard another release came from nowhere and she growled like a feral thing, thumping his back with her fists as the rush of pleasure crashed through her, bucking from it, and he pounded into her until he swore hoarsely and pulled from her body with a ragged groan. "
― Julie Anne Long , What I Did for a Duke (Pennyroyal Green, #5)
84
" She arched up, opened her legs to accommodate him, as he guided himself into her. So thick and hard and shockingly masculine.
She gasped when he was deeply seated.
But then he lowered himself over her and with languid, graceful ease rolled the two of them so that they faced each other. And side by side, legs entangled, he moved inside her. His hips rocked almost languorously; they rippled together like a flame. Their eyes locked. Their mouths met and parted, caressed and left each other in distraction, as pleasure banked in each.
"I want to watch you come," he whispered against her mouth. "I want you to watch me come."
It was so coarse and shockingly intimate, and it ought to have appalled her, she supposed, but it was frantically erotic.
She understood his temptation to turn away when he revealed something important, for she felt- she knew- he could see right through her, had penetrated her body and her mind if not her heart. She felt exposed, raw. But she bravely kept her eyes open; she was both lost and found in the soft, burning depths of his eyes. But their mingled breath became a low roar as release came upon them. His eyes became brilliant and intent and inwardly focused; he was lost to her. She closed hers as her head thrashed back, because she only wanted to feel what was coming upon her, not see, not think. An impulse entirely new. And she was keening from the urgent press of her release, which came from everywhere in her body, roared toward escape like a molten river. He knew his was upon him, too. She was arching against him, shattering into bliss and he drew himself from her body with a gasp. "
― Julie Anne Long , What I Did for a Duke (Pennyroyal Green, #5)
