Devil in Disguise (The Ravenels #7) by Lisa Kleypas

“You’re the bonniest thing I’ve ever seen, Merry,” he said huskily, cupping one of her breasts and stroking his thumb over the tender peak. “You steal my breath away.”

He moved with the care of a man handling some volatile substance, leaning over her to catch the tip of her breast with a slow, open kiss. She gasped, her hands coming to his head as he sucked the nipple into a hard, delicately textured bud. He framed both breasts in his hands and feasted on the lush curves, using his lips, tongue, the light grazes of his teeth.

Quivers ran along her body, and he followed them with his fingertips, his lips, down to the tender niche between her thighs. His fingers traced the softly closed slit until she panted and writhed. Staring into her dilated eyes, he realized she was already close to the edge.

“No’ so fast, darlin’,” Keir whispered. “Bide for a while, and let me love you longer.”

He watched her lashes lower, trembling against her cheeks as she felt him part the folds of her sex, tickling the petaled edges. He stroked down to the entrance of her body and let his finger slip inside her by gradual degrees. The silky flesh pulsed and closed on his finger as if trying to draw him deeper, wetness emerging to ease his way.

She began to breathe in whimpers, trying to hold them back. He loved the sounds she made, her ladylike composure dissolving in sensation. Withdrawing his touch slowly, he bent to kiss her stomach. His lips skimmed down to the enticing triangle of curls, and her hands came to his head with an uneasy flutter as if to push him away.

“No, let me,” Keir murmured between her thighs. “I love this part of you, like the sweet heart of a rose. Merry, honey-love … dinna ask me to spend the rest of my life never knowing the taste of you.”

She subsided in a daze. He gripped the sides of her body carefully, keeping her in place as he parted her with his tongue and stroked the sides of the soft furrow. Entranced by the vulnerable shape of her, he lapped at the edges of softly unfurled lips and tickled them lightly. The delicate flesh was unbelievably hot, almost steaming. He blew a stream of cooling air over it, and relished the sound of her moan. Gently he licked up through the center, a long glide through silk and salty female dampness. She squirmed, her thighs spreading as he explored her with flicks and soft jabs. The slower he went, the more agitated she became. He paused to rest the flat of his tongue on the little pearl of her clitoris to feel its frantic throbbing, and she jerked and struggled to a half-sitting position.

Pausing, Keir lifted his head. “What is it, muirninn?”

Red-faced, gasping, she tried to pull him over her. “Make love to me.”

“’Tis what I’m doing,” he said, and dove back down.

“No—Keir—I meant now, right now—” She quivered as he chuckled into the dark patch of curls. “What are you laughing at?” she asked.

“At you, my wee impatient bully.”

She looked torn between indignation and begging. “But I’m ready,” she said plaintively.

Keir tried to enter her with two fingers, but the tight, tender muscle resisted. “You’re no’ ready,” he mocked gently. “Wheesht now, and lie back. ’Tis one time you won’t be having your way.” He nuzzled between her thighs and sank his tongue deep into the heat and honey of her. She jerked at the feel of it, but he made a soothing sound and took more of the intimate flavor he needed, had to have, would never stop wanting. Moving back up to the little bud where all sensation centered, he sucked at it lightly until she was gasping and shaking all over. He tried to work two fingers inside her again, and this time they were accepted, her depths clenching and relaxing repeatedly. As he stroked her with his tongue, he found a rhythm that sent a hard quiver through her. He kept the pace steady and unhurried, making her work for it, making her writhe and arch and beg, and it was even better than he’d imagined, having her so wild beneath him, hearing her sweet little wanton noises.

There was a suspended moment as it all caught up to her … she arched as taut as a drawn bow … caught her breath … and began to shudder endlessly. A deep and primal satisfaction filled him at the sounds of her pleasure, and the sweet pulsing around his fingers. He drew out the feeling, patiently licking every twitch and tremor until at last she subsided and went limp beneath him.

Even then, he couldn’t stop. It felt too good. He kept lapping gently, loving the salty, silky wetness of her.

Her weak voice floated down to him … “Oh, God … I don’t think … Keir, I can’t …”

He nibbled and teased, breathing hotly against the tender cove. “Put your legs over my shoulders,” he whispered. In a moment, she obeyed. He could feel the trembling in her thighs. A satisfied smile flicked across his mouth, and he pressed her hips upward to a new angle. Soon he’d have her begging again, he thought, and lowered his head with a soft growl of enjoyment.

MUCH OF THAT night was a dark, sweet blur of sensuality, but some details caught in Merritt’s memory like barbed quills, never to be dislodged. The smell of cold rain coming in through the window … the satiny locks of Keir’s hair sliding through her fingers … the incredible fullness and heaviness of his possession.

He was so very gentle, despite his power and size, his fingertips sliding over her in light, beguiling patterns. His focus on her, his awareness of every sound, pulse, shiver, was absolute. His low voice tickled her ear as he murmured how beautiful she was, how good she felt, how hard she made him … and all the while, the thick shaft kept sinking deeper and deeper.