Thomas had exaggerated nothing, even the way she made this abrupt transition from haughty goddess to merciless sorceress. As overwhelming as she was, he wanted to please her, to give her the gift of losing herself in her own desire. She was so lonely. He felt it from her like a labored heartbeat that made his own chest ache. . So he shifted his lips to her instep, tasted her there, his tongue flicking along the curve as he nuzzled the sole of her foot. When she placed her other foot against his shoulder, he figured she was about to shove him back on his ass. Or through a wall. But when he lifted his lashes, he found she'd gone motionless and was watching him. Turning his head, he brushed his hair along her ankle before he put his mouth against her calf. Slowly, so he conveyed his respect and his intention, he gripped her ankle and lifted her foot from his shoulder, supporting her calf in his other palm as he tasted her, all along the length of that fine limb.
The gauzy points of the skirt brushed his forehead. His nostrils flared when he smelled her response, which spurred his cock like a shot of adrenaline. Steady, mate. Make it about her.
He didn't suppress the male passion that made him nip at her as he reached her knee, her thigh. She arched, a gasp leaving her at the rougher contact, and he did it again, marking her lightly with his teeth. Her other foot moved, rested on his thigh as he squatted before her. Then, not content with that, she slid it under his arm, bent her knee so her leg curved around his bare back, drawing him in. He made himself take his time though, nuzzling the thigh of the leg he still held, working his way up in millimeters. A tiny caress of his tongue, a quick suckle from his lips, then that scoring again, tasting her flesh in his mouth, feminine, silky skin.
Always ask permission.
The recollection of Thomas's instruction was an irritating intrusion. Jacob didn't ask women's permission to drive them to pleasure. He took his cues from their bodies, their gasps, the clutch of their fingers. With her response, he felt an aggressive need to prove he could take over her senses. Perhaps it was because she was challenging him in a way no woman ever had. Or perhaps it was because he sensed against all logic and Thomas's teachings she needed him to try to take her over. But for the moment, he chose to obey Thomas's directive. In his own way.
He made himself look up at her. "My lady, you don't need to tear me limb from limb to destroy me. Just deny me the taste of you now. May I give you pleasure?"
He was already giving her pleasure, on so many levels all Lyssa could think was she wanted his lips to be doing far less talking. But the part of her that still hung grimly to a shred of rationality was reassured by such hard-core evidence of Thomas's tutelage. She suspected her answer was obvious to him, since her eyes could not help but drift down his bare upper body to the hard and impressive evidence of his own desire, revealed by his spread thighs. His cock was a long hard ridge against the hose, held against him only by the tight constraint of the fabric. There was a small wet area marking the tip as she'd suspected.
"Put your mouth on my cunt, Jacob," she said softly. "Prove to me you want to be my slave."
Most human servants were not fond of the term, but that was what they were. Bound to her service forever, compelled by an oath to serve whatever need his Mistress demanded of him, a servant could not deny the true nature of the role. So she used it deliberately, watched his gaze flicker, a flare of resistance. But as she moved, intending to push him back from her, he wrapped his arm over her bent knee, his palm hot on the inside of her thigh as he levered it outward and followed the line of it beneath her skirt, the gossamer fabric drifting over him as he worked his way ever closer, his tongue now on that tender pocket of bone and flesh at the joining point of thigh and hip, his jaw brushing the outer labia beneath her soaked panties.
"Vanilla," he murmured against her flesh as he turned his head. His mouth nuzzled her fully, still separated from her flesh by the panties. She quivered at the contact. "Powder. Perfume. So sweet, m'lady."
His voice was husky, muffled by the fabric rucked up onto his broad shoulders. She curved her legs up on those shoulders, resting her heels along the slope of his back. However, she clutched the arms of the chair, not daring to allow herself the intimacy of touching him with her hands. It had been two years since she'd allowed a man to touch her like this. This was simply bottled up lust, being released with the uncontrolled explosion of anything kept too long under pressure. But God, now she wanted him to keep talking. The trace of Ireland was there the more he got aroused, and it vibrated against her flesh.
Talk, don't talk. Smile, don't smile. My lady, your moods are as mercurial as the weather, and ten times as hard to predict.
Shut up, Thomas. It was her mind imagining what the monk would be saying to her now, but the recollection was so strong she could almost believe he might be standing here, watching them with amusement. She'd no wish for a third party at the moment.
Jacob worked his hand beneath the skirt, hooked her panties, pulling the crotch aside so he could lick and nuzzle her flesh. She sucked in a breath, moved against him. Shoved actually, pressing her wet heat into his mouth, his nose and chin, unable to prevent undulating against the friction of that soft beard. It and the tickle of the moustache were a rough contrast to the moist texture of his mouth, his invading tongue.
Ah, gods… deep inside of her. He plunged, working her, his lips moving on the outside while that tongue thrust, caressed.
Jacob Green. I give you Jacob …
He knew her clit better than her own fingers, alternating light butterfly touches of his upper lip against it with the rougher abrasion of his moustache, even as he sealed his whole mouth over her, brought his tongue out to play with her clit before delving in again, fucking her with his mouth in a way that made her think of that big cock prominently outlined in those indecent hose plunging into her cunt, stretching her.
The orgasm detonated in her body as if he'd tripped mines strategically placed at every erogenous point. Her breasts, her lower abdomen, her arched throat, her brain, heart, soul. Even in the soles of her feet, pressed hard against the taut skin of his back, her toes curled into him. Everything screamed with the release so that she had to bite down on her tongue to prevent her vocal cords from doing the same.
Even so, a long moan broke from her, a quiet, broken sound that almost sounded… pleading.
More, more, more… If I could just be lost like this for a decade, forget everything that's happened…