Her fingers went to his neck, played with his hair. “Will you tell me more poetry?”
“Anything you want,” he agreed. Anything so he could get his hands on her.
“I’d like that.”
He racked his brain, trying to think of something that came to mind that would suit the moment. He normally had a sharp memory for these kinds of things, but with Violet straddling him, her br**sts inches from his wanting hands, it was difficult to concentrate. He mentally went down his list of favorite poets anyhow. Not Frost, his personal favorite. He didn’t tend to romantic moments. A few love poems came to mind, but he suspected that if he started vowing love to Violet—however poetically—she’d skitter away again. The first few lines of a filthy poem by John Wilmot he’d memorized in college sprung to mind, and he began to speak. “‘Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,’” he began, his voice husky. The next line was “I filled with love” but he modified it. “‘I filled with lust, and she all over charms.’”
Her eyes shone as he began to recite, fascination in her gaze.
Jonathan’s hand traveled up her arm and to her shoulder in slow, deliberate motions as he recited the next stanza. “‘Both equally inspired with eager fire, melting through kindness, flaming in desire. With arms, legs, lips close clinging to embrace, she clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.’”
Surprise flickered on Violet’s face and she laughed, the sound sweet and pure. Her br**sts jiggled with her laugh, and he was momentarily speechless at the gorgeous sight. “‘Sucks me to her face’?” She echoed, giggling. “Is that supposed to be poetic?”
“It is,” he said, a bit of a smile on his own face. He tried to tear his gaze away from those magnificent br**sts and failed. “This is also the only poem I know of that uses the word ‘cunt.’”
“Cunt? Really? How?”
“Patience, my lovely,” he said with a playful wag of his eyebrows.
She snorted and tilted her head, regarding him with amusement. “I’ll try to be patient.”
“You’re interrupting my seductive moment,” he chastised her.
“Seductive? That was supposed to be seductive when you talk about sucking people to your face?”
“It gets better, I promise.”
She nodded, biting her lip to contain more laughter. “I’ll do my best not to laugh, then.”
“Laugh all you want,” he told her. “It makes your br**sts bounce very enticingly.” She sucked in a breath at his words, and he was pleased to see the soft desire return to her eyes. His hand went to her waist and brushed against the soft skin there, and he felt her tremble. “Shall I go on?”
“Please,” she whispered, all laughter vanished, replaced by need.
His fingers caressed her shoulder and then moved to brush against the curve of her mouth. “‘Her nimble tongue,’” he continued in a low voice, “‘love’s lesser lightning, played within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed swift orders that I should prepare to throw the all-dissolving thunderbolt below.’” Before she could laugh at the newest absurd euphemism, he went on. “‘My fluttering soul, sprung with the pointed kiss, hangs hovering o’er her balmy brinks of bliss.’”
And he trailed his fingers down her neck to her breastbone, and waited.
A whimper escaped her throat. “If you don’t touch me—”
He leaned in and kissed her mouth gently, feeling her br**sts brush against his own bare chest. “‘But whilst her busy hand would guide that part which should convey my soul up to her heart, in liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er . . .’” Jonathan trailed off as she burst into giggles. “I think I forgot what this poem was about,” he said sheepishly. “All I remembered were the dirty words.”
“Jonathan Lyons,” she said, sliding her fingers over the lines of his shoulders playfully. “Have you been reciting me a poem about premature ejaculation?”
Hell, this was embarrassing. “I might have been.”
She giggled again, and damn, he loved that sound. “By all means, please keep going.”
Since he loved her laughter almost as much as he loved her whimpers of desire, he did. “‘In liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er,’” he repeated. “‘Melt into sperm, and spend at every pore. A touch from any part of her had done’t: Her hand, her foot, her very look’s a cunt.’”
“Mmm, there’s the naughty little cunt,” she said, sliding a finger over his nipple playfully. “It’s almost . . . sweet, really, the way it’s used in the poem.”
He took her hand in his and pressed his mouth to her palm. “It’s true, you know. Every look, every touch from you and I feel like losing control.”
The amusement in her eyes quickly spun back to desire. “Still after all this time?”
“Worse after all this time,” he told her. “Because now I know what it’s like to wake up without you.”
Her breath caught. “Jonathan—”
“Hush. Tonight is about me giving you pleasure. Let’s not think about anything else.” He gently kissed her palm again, and then placed it on his chest, over his heart. Then, he brushed a knuckle along her jaw and slid it down to between her br**sts to distract her.
“All right,” she said softly, her gaze rapt on him.
He forgot about everything but the need to pleasure her, and, his eyes locked on hers, he grazed his knuckle over the mound of her breast, circling one nipple slowly. “I remember these br**sts,” he told her in a low voice. “I remember the taste of the tips on my tongue, the weight of each breast in my hand. I remember how they bounced when I thrust into you. And I know how sensitive the undersides are,” he said, tracing his knuckle down and curving it over the rounded slope.
She shivered in response, arching against his touch. Her eyes closed, and it was clear to him that Violet was determined to lose herself in the moment.
He loved that. He wanted that. He wanted to see her wrecked within herself, made wild by his touch.
And the best thing was, he knew her body intimately. He knew how to make her need turn into an inferno of desire.
And he knew that, for starters? Violet needed her br**sts played with. She needed her ni**les toyed with, her flesh kneaded and fingered, the peaks teased until she was breathless. He set to making her crazy, using both hands to palm and cup her br**sts. “These look sweeter than I remember. Just as full and plump as before, but more soft and inviting. I can’t wait to put my mouth on them.”
She gave a little shiver in his lap that told him she liked his words.
“In fact, I think I will,” he told her. He wanted to lean forward and suck on one of those juicy-looking ni**les, but with the way she was sitting on his lap, it’d be an awkward position. So he hauled her forward, dragging her body toward him. When her belly was inches away from his mouth, he took one of her br**sts in hand and made it point, the tip aiming for his mouth. He knew from the flutter of her lashes that she was excited by the anticipation, so he drew his motions out a little. Instead of taking her nipple fully into his mouth like he wanted to and sucking on its sweet, pebbled tip, he brought it to his lips and . . . waited.
She practically wriggled off of his lap, pressing her breast toward him. Inching closer.
Jonathan looked up at her face, at the need and tension on her lovely features, the anticipation etched there as she watched him breathlessly, waiting for his mouth on her skin. He tilted his head forward, that dark pink treat so close that he could smell the fresh scent of her skin, and gently rubbed the tip across his lower lip, not quite taking it into his mouth. It was deliciously hard.
Violet gasped, her eyes dark slits intent on his mouth as she watched him roll her nipple back and forth across his lips, never quite taking it between his teeth or touching it with his tongue. It was a tease. A tormenting, heavenly tease.
Her fingers tightened in his hair and she pressed hard against him, pushing her breast forward. “Oh, God, please, Jonathan.”
Hearing her say his name did all kinds of things to his resolve. Without further ado, he flicked his tongue forward and lashed it against her nipple.
She moaned.
He loved the sound of that, so he tongued the nipple hard again, stroking it with the broad flat of his tongue, then circling it with the tip. Then, he gently took it between his teeth and flicked against it again.
Now she was whimpering, her breath coming in small pants, her hands plastered to the sides of his face as she held him to her. Her eyes were closed, and the look on her face was pure ecstasy.
He wanted more of it.
Jonathan nuzzled her breast, teasing and coaxing with teeth and lips and tongue, using every caress in his arsenal to drive her wild. His hand went behind her back to hold her steady and his other slid to the waist of her yoga pants. The stretchy material was bunched at her waist, and he pushed at it, wanting to shove his fingers into her waiting warmth so close nearby. He imagined the hot feel of her pu**y lips over his fingers, slick with need, and nearly lost his mind. His c**k was so hard it felt close to bursting, but he’d control it. Violet’s pleasure was more important than his own.
She made a soft mewing sound as he lightly nipped, surprised by the bite of his teeth. He soothed it away with soft licks and kisses, murmuring her name over and over again. His other hand pushed at the yoga pants, wanting them to give and slide down her hips. When they didn’t, he gave up on that and just pushed his hand down into the material and pressed against her skin, seeking the warm cradle of her sex.
She panted as he brushed his fingers over the crinkle of curls shielding her pu**y. Jonathan groaned against her breast, nearly overcome, but when she directed his mouth to her other breast, he attacked it with relish, biting and licking and teasing it until she was whimpering and wild in his arms all over again. His hand, paused just above her pu**y, then slid downward, and he cupped her mound. This is mine, he wanted to tell her. This is mine and no one else’s.
But he bit those words back and tongued her nipple, sending her into new sighs of pleasure. Ever so slowly, he pressed his middle finger forward . . . and nearly lost control when it slid easily between her soaking wet folds. Holy Christ, she was turned on. He mentally cursed and had to take a moment to compose himself, pressing his forehead against her pillowy br**sts and trying to retain control.
Violet shifted on his lap, his hand. “Is . . . everything all right?” Her fingers dragged through his hair.
“I just need a moment. You’re too much. It’s making me lose control, and I don’t want to. I want this to be about you.”
“Take as long as you want,” she said softly. “I’m right here.” And she stroked his hair again, the move almost loving. When she touched him like that, he almost believed she loved him again. Almost.
The realization that this was probably no more than a quick release for her dashed his erection faster than anything. He continued to press his face against her br**sts, heartache nearly destroying him. He was touching Violet’s skin, breathing Violet’s scent, his fingers buried in Violet’s pu**y.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough. He wanted her heart.
But when she rubbed against his hand, sliding his fingers up and down the folds of her sex, he knew she needed this. Hadn’t he said this would be about her, not him? It should be, and so he’d pleasure her even if it broke his own heart to do so.
So he kissed the sides of those soft br**sts and looked up at her, easing a finger forward until it dragged against the hood of her clit.
She nearly jumped off of his lap, crying out, “Oh!”
Now, that? That was beautiful. He rubbed over it again, even as she squirmed against his hand, half trying to pull away and half trying to brush against his fingers harder. When she arched her back again, his mouth latched on to one of her ni**les and he sucked hard even as he rubbed her clit, enjoying the tiny wail that escaped her throat. His sensitive, delicious, lovely Violet. He could never get enough of her, never have enough even if he lived to be a hundred years old.