Page 13 of The Devil’s Submission

“Count on it,” Eliza snapped, hands on hips, her eyes shooting silver sparks at him. She was so magnificent in her fury on his behalf, his cock began to stiffen.

It should have been impossible after the wedding, the bottles of brandy, the evening at Fallen, and a complete lack of food, but the damned thing kept getting harder. Thickening and lengthening and sticking out from its nest of coarse black hair like a sword, while she watched. Avidly. Which only aroused him more. “Excuse me, I’ll just get a towel.”

“No.”

The whispered word floated across the chamber, but had the impact of a shout. He stilled, helplessly obedient, his hands at his sides as he waited for her next move. Seconds later, Eliza rubbed and patted a soft yet slightly abrasive towel across his shoulders, down his back, around his backside and farther down each leg until half his body was completely dry, the other half still dripping wet.

By the time she moved around to face him, he was near panting. Agonizingly slowly, she dried his face, then his neck, dancing with a light touch across his collarbone, then rougher across his chest. Back and forth she rubbed, stimulating his chest hair and nipples with the towel until his whole upper body tingled.

He groaned, his cock so hard it nearly rested on his belly now. “Eliza…”

His wife ignored the entreaty, instead kneeling down to dry his feet and the front of his legs, sliding up from ankle to knee to thigh, circling higher and higher to pat dry his abdomen but deliberately not touching his cock. “I’m nearly done.”

Devil stared down at her, a fiery angel who might have been at his feet but remained in total control, and there was only one heartfelt word he could say. “Please.”

She smiled. And dropped the towel.

The next touch he felt was a warm, wet tongue. Licking the length of him from base to tip, then lapping the engorged head, removing the bathwater but inviting a trickle of pre-come to drip into her mouth. He moaned at the exquisite teasing of her lips and tongue, reveled in the firm grip of her fingers, hard enough to make his back arch in ecstasy. Somehow he fought the rapidly building climax, never wanting her luscious ministrations to end. Until she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Come for me. Now.”

Surrendering immediately with a low, guttural roar, he climaxed. But she didn’t turn away or draw back; instead she opened her mouth wider and took him deeper down her throat, greedily swallowing his seed. Finally, when the last splendid, wracking spasm had waned, and the likelihood of him passing out again was strong, he could only look at her in awe.

“Lizzie…” he breathed, not even sure he still possessed the ability to speak in complete sentences.

She stood, her lips curving into a smile so wicked his spent cock still managed to twitch. “Supper time, Grayson. You’ll need your strength for the rest of the evening.”

Incredulous joy battled innate caution.

Dare he hope that courtship Eliza had returned to stay?

…

While Grayson devoured the supper sent up on a tray, Eliza stared at the roaring fire. How could her body still be in one piece when her thoughts were flying in a thousand directions?

Exactly what had possessed her to behave how she imagined Charlotte might during one of her performances, she couldn’t say. But what a result. Even now, she could still taste his salty sweetness in her mouth, and though she’d been the one kneeling, not once had she thought herself the supplicant. It had been so very heady, touching him, stroking him, teasing him to the point of madness in the guise of drying, then ordering him to come. Never had she felt so powerful, so alluring, so utterly feminine, and yet she hadn’t obeyed a single Brimley teaching.

That was the difficulty, comparing the two realities of this chamber and a lifetime of instruction and rules.

Strong arms slid around her waist, the cool quilted satin of his untied black robe a delicious contrast to his hot skin. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything and nothing,” she replied with a sigh, leaning back against Grayson’s bare chest. “It is very strange when a hidden truth is suddenly clear.”

He froze. “And what hidden truth might that be?”

“You like me better when I am not what I ought to be.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest, the tension leaving his muscles. “That is half-true. I like you most when you are the fiery, whip-smart angel who charges in to save me from myself, and makes her needs and desires plain.”

Heat sizzled along every nerve ending. “So if I were to, for instance…tell you to do something to me, would you do it?”

Grayson’s lips trailed a path of fire to her ear. “Anything that brought you pleasure, yes.”

“Then undress me.”

His intake of breath was audible, even over the crackle and snap of the fire, and Eliza shivered in excitement. When she lifted her arms, he tugged off her gown with deliberate care and draped it over the low side table. Then he got to work on her stays, loosening the silken cords, every scrape and chuff only increasing her anticipation as the constricting garment gaped a little farther with each tug and pull. Last of all he removed her knee-length chemise, though accidentally tearing it from her body might have been a better description. He now stared in comical dismay at the two jagged halves of whisper-thin linen in his hands.

“I’ll buy you a new one. No, twenty.”

Eliza laughed, sinking onto the long chaise next to the fire. “My, my. The ledgers will never recover. Now, perhaps you should pour me a drink. There was a bottle of champagne on that dinner tray, wasn’t there?”