Page 95 of The Favourite

She glanced up at him and found his eyes glued to her face, rather than his erection. His hand traced up her neck to lightly cup her face. Jane closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath as he slid his thumb along her jaw. “I want you to kiss me,” he said unevenly. “Can you do that, Jane?

“Kiss you?” Jane repeated, a suspicion dawning. Her gaze traveled from his face to his turgid manhood.

“Yes, there,” he whispered hoarsely. Jane swallowed and slowly turned her face to press a light kiss to the swelling flesh there. He made a strangled sound in his throat. “Fuck.” She listened expectantly, half fearfully, to see what came next, but to her surprise, all that was forthcoming was his ragged breathing. That kiss certainly seemed to have affected him strongly, she thought, glancing up at his face.

In fact, he seemed to be struggling right now to find words. After a moment, he simply shut his eyes, nostrils flaring. Did he like it that much? she wondered incredulously. Jane had a suspicion that if he could speak right now, he would.

She lowered her gaze again, eyeing that unwieldy part of him that seemed to be straining with all its might toward her. What a strange looking thing it was. How odd to think something so inelegant could lurk between Viscount Bardulf’s thighs. The skin had felt surprisingly soft and warm against her lips and not unpleasant, precisely. Suddenly, she had an impulse to repeat the kiss that had left him so shaken.

Mustering her courage, she leaned slowly forward, squeezed her eyes shut, and kissed it, this time, a little clumsily. Her kiss glanced off it, and she nearly poked her eye out. He let out a gasp, his eyes springing open. “Jane?” he said hoarsely.

“Er—sorry!” she gasped, feeling embarrassed. Closing her eyes had been a mistake. “I thought—”

To her surprise, his hand clamped down on her shoulder, preventing her retreat. “Do you think you could do that again?” he asked politely, though his voice still sounded a little strained.

“Oh.” He couldn’t have found it so very bad, after all. “Well, yes …” she agreed cautiously.

“And maybe, use your tongue this time.”

“My tongue?” Oh. Suddenly, she realized this would be no more than returning the favor of what he did to her. But … she could hardly lap and suck at this ugly, great thing, she thought, her mind reeling. Could she?

Apparently, she could. She did her best, though she was sure she made a very bad job of it. Alisander’s hand slid up and down her neck, encouraging her and assuring her he was a grateful recipient, though Jane felt horribly awkward and unsure of herself the entire time.

If she gave herself time to pause and think about it, she just knew she would freeze, so instead, she tried to shut down her thoughts altogether and simply pressed her lips and plied her tongue wherever he guided her. Her face felt so hot, she was sure she would scald his groin.

She could not possibly imagine being as enthusiastic over it as he was. Then, she remembered that she had been the first person to receive these particular ministrations from him, and redoubled her efforts.

Alisander was gratifyingly vocal in his appreciation. He groaned and huffed and panted her name, his fingers gentle in her hair and at her nape. Finally, he caught her chin. “No more,” he murmured and bore her back down onto the mattress, aligned their bodies, and drove into her without more ado.

Jane gasped, but then his ardor seemed to quickly ignite her own, and suddenly she was glad he had not let her reach her rapture earlier, after all. Had he wanted them to reach it together? she wondered dazedly as their bodies moved in synchronization. If so, how clever of him. The pleasure built and built as he stroked her face, and kissed her mouth, murmuring sweet, sweet words into her ear.

Her laughing tormentor from earlier had all but disappeared. Afterward, he was affectionate, holding her close and settling her comfortably against him. Jane kept her eyes shut, though she could feel him playing with her hair. “Next time, my dove, you could take me in your mouth, if the mood takes you,” he suggested.

“In my mouth?” she repeated before she was sure what he was referring to. He made a choked sound, that might have been laughter, but she was too tired to take him to task. “You weren’t playing fair,” she grumbled sleepily. “You kept switching between one and the other, so I could not get my bearings.”

“One and the other?” he repeated, a frown in his voice as he ran his fingers through her hair.

“Between Viscount—” She broke off, remembering she had never voiced her theory aloud. “Never mind.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. He would likely laugh, and she would be embarrassed. “No, it is just … a way of thinking I have fallen into recently.”

Fortunately, he was too distracted to pursue this. “Your hair, Jane, is the precise color of sunshine,” he murmured. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” she admitted, then hesitated. “Helen always used to say she wished her hair was my color,” she confided a little awkwardly.

“Hmm. I expect you foolishly wished yours was a warmer shade of gold like hers.” She nodded, wondering how he could possibly know that. He pulled a face. “So sadly predictable.” She pushed against his chest, and he grinned sleepily, catching her up in his arms and holding her against him. “The way you talk about your sister …” he said slowly.

“Yes?” She tensed. She could not help it. Any talk of Helen made her defensive.

“Makes her sound a good deal more … likable than she appeared at court.” She could tell he was choosing his words carefully and appreciated his consideration.

“Yes,” she agreed. “For my favorite memories of her are from before we came to court. She was always the best of sisters in those days.”

He ran his hand soothingly up and down her back. “It’s good you remember her like that.”

“Yes,” she agreed, relaxing. “It’s just … difficult, that no one else does. There’s nobody I can really talk to her about. It’s … strangely painful.” As usual, with such talk, her eyes filled with tears. She turned her face into his shoulder.