Page 48 of Disciplined by the Duke
Slipping an arm under her left leg, he pulled it up, draped it over his shoulder, opening her wide. He ran his tongue from her clit to her core, lapping at the opening, before retracing his path. When he sucked her nub into his hot mouth, she went boneless. Her body lay limp against the rock, her head resting on the soft earth as she stared up into the trees. She watched as a blossom above her lost a petal and it drifted away on the breeze. She knew how the flower felt, because she was coming apart, too.
She couldn’t get enough air. Her lungs were working like bellows, but the oxygen wasn’t reaching her head. Montague thrust two fingers into her clenching channel, twisted them, and she just about flew off the rock.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Her hips rubbed shamelessly in his face. She was so close. If he stopped now she would die. He brought her up to the peak, and she hovered there, knowing the crash was inevitable. Lifting her hands to her face, she bit into the cravat binding them, and screamed her release.
Her body shook as he kept pistoning his fingers, extending the ecstasy, until she was as limp as a noodle. Slithering down the rock, she landed in a heap in his lap, and tried to catch her breath.
When her heartbeat slowed from a gallop to a trot, she opened her eyes. “Oh God.”
Montague’s lips curved against her neck. “You’ve said that. Many times. I think you’re giving the wrong man credit.”
“That was . . .”
Lifting his head, he stared down at her, one eyebrow raised. “Finally something that was, how did you put it? ‘So tremendous as to remove your abilities’? Speech seems to have been lost to you.” He began unbinding her wrists.
Liz frowned until she saw the glint in the duke’s eye. The man was teasing her. It had been so long since someone she cared about had done so, she’d almost forgotten how to recognize the gesture. Warmth curled through her chest.
“Speech, perhaps.” Liz wiggled her bottom against the hard bulge pressing against her thigh. “But maybe my mouth can be useful for other tasks?”
She held her breath as Montague’s jaw dropped open. She’d shocked him, and Liz suspected the duke wasn’t easily shocked.
“What do you know of such things, little bird?” Setting her on the ground beside him, Montague rose to his feet. “Here I thought I was introducing you to your carnal nature, but I see you’ve already had some lessons.”
He extended a hand down to help her up, but Liz ignored it. Standing as he was, he was at the perfect height for what she had in mind. Rolling to her knees, Liz braced both hands against his firm thighs.
“I once saw a woman . . . kissing a man down there”—the Earl of Westmore had been only too happy to make Liz watch as prostitutes serviced him—“but I never knew a man would do so on a woman. I thought—”
“That men only took pleasure from women, never gave it.”
Her cheeks heated. “Yes.” All this man had done was give; he’d yet to take. Liz wanted to change that. “You said this was about sharing. Both parties have to give.” Shrugging, she ran a hand along the bulge in his trousers. “It’s my turn.”
Montague sucked in a deep breath, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t remove her hand. “You don’t have to.” His voice was as rough as crushed gravel. “I wasn’t expecting reciprocity.”
“And if I want to?” She worked her fingers at the buttons of his falls. The junction at her thighs started to tingle again, and she shifted. “I suspect I will enjoy this as much as I hope you do.”
Then he did still her hands, but only to tear away the drop to his trousers himself, shove his smallclothes down his hips. His member rose, thick and long, to rest against his stomach. A pulsing vein ran from the base up to the ruddy crown.
Liz sat back on her haunches. Were they supposed to be so large? Montague had several inches on Westmore, and the fact that she knew Westmore’s size turned her stomach the smallest bit.
Darting a glance at his face, she tentatively ran a finger around the tip, then down along its side until she met his curling hairs. He was softer than she’d expected. She’d thought something so intimidating looking would have to be rougher. A bead of moisture pooled at the head, and she rubbed it away with her thumb.
Montague growled.
She snatched her hands back. Men were extrasensitive on this area of their bodies. Seeing one of their neighbor’s boys butted by a young goat when she’d been a child had taught her that.
Montague bent down and took her hand, wrapped her fingers around his warm flesh. Guiding her movements, he slowly stroked up and down. She marveled at the way his skin moved with her hand. Nothing on her body slid in that manner.
Rubbing her cheek with his thumb, the duke leaned back upon the rock. “That feels wonderful, Liz.”
Her given name falling from his lips jolted her. She squeezed her fist, and a curse followed her name.
She paused.
“Don’t stop,” he said, his voice catching. “I’ll let you know when I want you to stop. My poor language means that I’m enjoying it.”
With a smile, she slid her hand up his length, stopped at the crown. “Your . . . you are . . . leaking.”
Biting out a laugh, Montague spread his legs wider, bringing him closer to her face. “Cock. You have your hands wrapped around it, you should at least be able to say the word.” His eyes glittered darkly. “You are stroking my cock and proof of my desire is escaping. That liquid is the result of what you do to me.”
