His mouth pulled up on one side, his eyes hooded. “We will save that for our wedding night. But tonight … tonight I want to explore you and bring you pleasure.”
What did he even mean?
His hungry expression turned almost gentle as he kissed the tip of her nose. “It’s fine if you’d rather wait until we are—”
“No, I want you to t-touch me, Hugo.”
He pushed onto his knees and his gaze dropped to her chest, which she’d somehow forgotten was uncovered, and he cupped her breasts with his big, warm hands.
Martha bit her lip just in time to catch a whimper.
“You’re so beautiful.” His dark eyes moved lower.
The mortification at what he was seeing crumbled beneath the raw desire in his gaze and heat pooled in her belly.
“Hugo? Should we—maybe close the flap on—”
“No. It would be too dark without the firelight. I need to see you.”
Martha knew she should insist—what if somebody saw them?
But she wanted to see him, too.
He stared down at her as he casually thumbed her already hard nipples, each touch sending painfully pleasurable bolts to her tightly clenched thighs.
A guttural sound slipped from her mouth and she thrust her chest up at him as he lowered his mouth. He didn’t suck, as he’d done before, but dropped frustratingly soft kisses, stroking her with one hand while his other pulled the bunched fabric around her middle lower and lower.
“Lift your bottom, darling.”
She obeyed and he shoved the dress and chemise down, his gaze dropping to the triangle of dark curls. Instead of touching her there, he rubbed her stomach in a circle. His mouth curved as he caressed, the circles becoming larger and larger, and lower and lower until . . .
Martha stiffened when he brushed her mound and he paused, his dark eyes locking with hers. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
His eyelids lowered and his lips curved into a faint but well-pleased smile. “Spread your thighs for me, Martha.”
The muscles in her legs jerked and jumped to do his bidding, shame mingling with want as she opened herself to him. He caressed down her belly and over her mound, stroking the seam of her lower lips, the pressure he exerted never quite enough to touch that exquisitely sensitive part of her.
Martha pushed her pelvis up on his next stroke.
He chuckled, his hand not ceasing its heavenly work. On the next stroke the tip of his finger slid between her lips and she whimpered. “So wet and swollen, and it’s all for me, isn’t it, Martha?”
Martha wasn’t in any condition to speak.
His stroking became rhythmic. “Your little bud is engorged—needy.” Hugo groaned. “Chri—fuck I want to put my mouth on you.”
Her entire body shook at both his crude language—she was not so lost to pleasure that she didn’t notice his hastily-caught blasphemy—and shocking words: his mouth?
“I have been dreaming about this every night.” He stroked from the part he called a bud to her entrance, and then he pushed a finger inside her.
Martha gasped and her body clenched.
“You’re so tight, sweetheart.” He began to work her with gentle strokes, his chest rumbling with a sound that was remarkably like a purr.
Finally—finally—he touched her sensitive core.
Martha couldn’t help it; she moaned, her body going liquid as his thumb circled the source of her pleasure while he eased another finger in beside the first, the stretch both uncomfortable and wildly erotic.
“Have you ever felt yourself inside?” He pumped her harder and deeper, as if to demonstrate which inside he meant.
A choking sound escaped her parted lips and he chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no. You feel like hot, slick velvet inside, Martha. I can’t wait to watch you explore your body.” He did something with his fingers that made her whine and buck. “You are so close,” he said, working her toward her climax with shocking ease. Martha tried to hold back, to draw out the pleasure, but she was no match for his magical hand.
“Come apart for me, Martha.”
She exploded at his command and lost herself in pure bliss, only vaguely aware of her hoarse, desperate keening and his soothing voice as she drifted.
It was the tickle of hair on her belly that brought her back to herself.
She shoved up onto her elbows, her arms shaky and weak. “Hugo—what—”
“I’m going to use my mouth on you.” He opened her with his thumbs
“Hugo! That’s—
“Oh, Martha.” His tone was reverential. “You have the most beautiful cunt I have ever seen.”
Martha’s mortified yelp turned into a moan when he lowered his mouth over the already stimulated bundle of nerves, shattering her with the soft wet heat of his mouth.
“Hugo,” she whispered, more than a little reverence in her own tone.
The urge to give herself up to pleasure, to collapse and close her eyes, was almost overwhelming, but she needed to see—to bear witness to his exquisite wickedness. His dark head bobbed between her spread thighs as he laved her with the flat of his tongue, again and again and again.
Martha began to shudder as the now-familiar pleasure built, incited not only by physical sensation, but also by the sheer depravity of the act—the knowledge that Hugo was touching such an intimate, private place with his mouth.
Her climax hit her like a bolt of lightning and her back arched, her heels digging into the bedding as she ground herself against his mouth, grunting and mewling and all but sobbing.
“That’s right, darling, let it all go.”
Her body clenched and released, clenched and released, until she was as limp and wrung out as a rag.
When Hugo pulled away, she opened her woozy eyes. He’d pushed up onto his knees, a hand on the front of his trousers. Instead of untying his makeshift belt, he stroked the obscene bulge over the thin fabric, the muscles in his forearms ropey and taut. “I will be a long time getting to sleep, Martha.”
She reached for his belt, but he shook his head and leaned away.
“Not tonight,
