Page 116 of The Boxing Baroness

His hips bucked and he groaned, his breathing uneven and heavy, his slumberous gaze greedy.

“You want more?” she whispered, lightly exploring his slick, salty offering with the tip of her tongue.

His jaws clenched as he struggled for self-restraint. “I want more.”

“I want to hear you say the words. Tell me what you want,” she ordered, stroking his shaft but leaving his crown untouched.

“Pleasure me with your mouth, Marianne.”

She mouthed him gently, lightly. “Is that how you want it, St. John?” she taunted.

He clenched his jaws, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Suck me harder.”

Her inner muscles clenched at his gruff command, and she smiled wickedly, licking his length far too lightly to do anything but tease. “Make me.”

His heavy lids drooped even lower, his dark eyes glittering. “Do you know what you are offering, Marianne?”

“Oh yes.” She lowered her mouth, taking him all the way to the root, her bold, challenging gaze locked with his.

He growled. “You would make a beast out of me, Marianne.”

She nodded as best she could; she had fantasized time and time again about watching this proud, controlled man come apart.

His hands closed around her skull as he forced her mouth back down. “Open for me.”

She obeyed without hesitation, her submissive posture a silent invitation to deepen his thrusting, her eager mouth fanning the flames of his primitive, masculine impulse to dominate—an urge that would, no doubt, shame him later.

“Yes, just like that,” he praised, plunging into her deeply, slowly, and giving her his length with each thrust.

She explored his body with her hands while she used every trick another lover had taught her, massaging and sucking until his eyes darkened and grew almost crazed and his hips snapped harder and faster, raw desire eroding his polished veneer until scarcely any trace of the controlled, civilized, proper Duke of Staunton remained.

His thrusting became wilder, less controlled, his teeth bared as he struggled to hold back his need. “I’m going to—” He tried to push her away, a gentleman to the last.

She wrapped her arms around him, using all her strength to keep him close.

He bucked, his hands shoving at her shoulders even while his hips ground against her. “Marianne!” he shouted, losing the battle and thrusting wildly thrice more before hilting himself.

Marianne held him tightly while he spent in jerks that wracked his big body, emptying himself deep inside her as the last vestiges of his reserve shattered and the duke fell away, leaving only the man she loved in his wake.

* * *

Sin stroked her hair as they cuddled together under the blankets, his heart finally beating normally.

“Are you asleep?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head and pushed up, until she lay on her side, her head propped in her hand.

Sin stroked her lips, red and swollen from his rough handling, ashamed of the primitive, possessive throb that pulsed in his groin at this mute evidence of her desire to please him.

One side of that puffy mouth pulled up. “Don’t,” she warned.

It was a sign of how similarly their minds had begun to work that he knew what she meant. “I wasn’t going to apologize for behaving like a savage and using you like an animal,” he said, his own mouth curving into an answering smile.

“You liked it.” She glowed with smugness.

“No. I adored it—and you. You have no idea how beautiful you looked taking me.” He leaned forward to claim her mouth, tasting a hint of himself in their lingering kiss. “Marianne—”

“Please, don’t say it.”