“Why don’t you stroke me—with your mouth?”
“Stroke you with…my…mouth?” she repeated in a whisper as if she was working through what he meant. He knew the second realization dawned. “Really? Touch it—with my lips? My tongue?”
Though her forehead creased in dismay at the idea, Zeus caught the swift licking of her lower lip, that pink tongue slipping out to slick over it before venturing toward the tiny vee centered on the top. Her lips glistened after its journey; his dagger grew heavier still. Her mind might be rebelling at the thought of trying something so very wanton, so womanly, but the rest of her was obviously intrigued, her ladylike sensibilities unable to stifle the carnal awareness arcing between them.
“Aye. One of the many varied sexual pleasures we can share in the marriage bed or out of it—I’m not particular where I taste your charms—has to do with licking each other.”
“Licking each other…” Uttered as though the idea was completely foreign. “Where exactly? Just…there?”
“Certainly here.” His fingers found their way back to his staff. He supported its weight, palm up, as though humbly giving her an offering.
The heat of his shaft seared through the silk stocking wrapped about his hand. Zeus steeled himself not to groan at the sight. His hardened, elongated flesh displayed upon pale pink, served up for her approval—or disapproval—like a trophy presented before a queen.
Watching him with rapt attention, she gave an involuntary whimper when he circled his fingers and pumped himself.
“You could lick me all along here,” Zeus pointed out, easing his tightened fist along his erection with excruciating slowness, the whispered hiss of silk against his skin echoed by his mouth.
Like a lightning strike, the unexpected decadence of her sultry stocking caressing his flesh ripped through him. Flashed white-hot through his being and ballocks. When he reached the tip, he grazed his thumb across the slit, barely avoiding a whimper of his own. “Here too. But there are other places I might enjoy being licked or might enjoy licking you.”
“Such as?”
“The side of your neck.”
As though feeling his tongue upon her person, she brought one restless hand up to her neck and caressed several fingers down the side. “Mmmm.”
“Behind your ear. The inside of your dainty wrist. Your breasts…your nipples.”
With each place he mentioned, her own fingers trailed behind, caressing the spots in lieu of his tongue, but just before alighting upon one of her breasts, they fluttered in the air. Again she brought them to her sides and bundled them in her shift. Her gaze skittered away from his. “All right, but not yet. I’m not ready to lick you. Not right now.”
“Very well. I can be patient. Enjoy the anticipation.” If it didn’t do him in.
That brought her eyes back to his, one sunset brow arched in surprise. “You can? I thought impatience was one of your strengths, not the other way around.”
“When it comes to tasting and savoring your body? Or offering mine up for your dining pleasure? Consider me Job, my lady.”
A shy smile toyed with her lips before she chastised, “For shame, Mr. Tanner, bringing a scion of the Good Book into this wicked interlude.”
“’Tis not wicked if we wed. And did I not already tell you—I’m no saint.” To emphasize his claim, his fist pumped faster along his pained shaft, drawing her attention back to what she’d asked to see.
She stared intently at his actions a moment, then bounced her focus up to his chest. “Nay, one would never be charged with accusing you of behaving saintly.”
“Then we’re agreed?”
She gave a light laugh, once again meeting his gaze. “On what? That you’re an impatient wretch?”
“That I may step forth and begin my licking exploration of you, but that yours of me may be postponed.” Pray God, let us be agreed.
The smile faltered, then fell. “We certainly are not agreed upon that, nothing of the sort!”
“Pity. I’d hoped we’d reached such an accord, but alas”—he gave a hearty sigh—“as we have not, I refuse to stand here, such as I am, any longer.”
The moment he released his beleaguered bauble and reached for his buckskins, she exclaimed, “No, wait!”
“Aye?” Without making any effort to rise or continue the motion of modesty, he held his position, knowing the extended length of his deuced “male part” continued to fascinate her, the constant glimpses she attempted to sneak at his primed penis despite her own modest restraint obvious indeed. “If exchanging intimate kisses is not on your immediate agenda, then there exists no need for me to remain in such a state of…déshabillé.”
Intentionally, he tossed the feminine word at her. Let her think standing there made him uncomfortable. Let guilt begin to creep over her at the way she treated him. No need to grant her the knowledge of how very much posing brazenly before her—his prim little lady—nearly nude and at her mercy, had excited and aroused. Had banished his initial discomfort to the dungeons. Definitely no need for her to see how close to eruption her uninhibited appreciation of his anatomy made him.
“There does!” Juliet exclaimed, seeking the words to convince him. “There exists every need to remain as you are.”
She couldn’t bear for him to mask the masculine attributes she was only now growing bold enough to stare at without flushing. “There exists every reason, I assure you!”
“Is that the way of it, eh?” The beautiful scoundrel remained hunched, poised to return his clothing to their rightful, respectful place. Close to laughing at her if she wasn’t mistaken. “Then why, pray, am I not hearing a litany of convincing ones? Your mouth remains mighty mute on the subject at hand, my lady.”
Mayhap so, but Juliet definitely noticed the change in timbre, the slight wavering of his voice, as he’d just murmured at hand. She’d caught the subtle tightening of his now empty fists and the way the thick column of his majestic male part gave a tiny jump toward her, as though defying his efforts to tuck it away.
Aye, he
