Blood Fire by Sharon Page Page A

Sutcliffe as he stretched his long, lean form along the carriage seat. He rolled onto his back. “Sit on my face, Lady O.”
    She gasped at his blunt words, yet understood what he wanted. She stood, crossed to him, but the carriage lurched in a rut.
    Laughing he caught her. Releasing her hands, he lifted her skirts. As she swung her leg awkwardly across his chest, he let go of her skirts and pulled her quim onto his mouth.
    She gaped down at him. “What are you doing? You asked me to marry you.”
    “This is to convince you.”
    Muslin and petticoats flopped over him, hiding him. But she felt everything he did. Gently, he tugged her nether curls with his lips. Just that light tug and the heat of his breath sent shivers everywhere.
    Her palm flattened against the velvet seat, and she let her nether lips lower onto him. She was right on his mouth, her legs wide. He was devouring her with his mouth. His tongue played, but it was the suckling on her nub that made her want to go mad.
    She thrust against his mouth in her excitement. She mustn’t do that—it must hurt him. How could he breathe?
    But when she tried to pull back, Sutcliffe gripped her rear firmly. His hands were big and strong. If he wanted to smother himself with her cunny, how could she argue?
    It made her feel naughty but so good. . . .
    Embarrassed but lovely . . .
    She thrust madly on him, praying she wasn’t hurting him, and then he suckled her clit, harder then softer, in the same wild rhythm. Perfect . . . it was so perfect. . . .
    The carriage lurched, and her hands slipped. She was balanced on his mouth, and he was . . . merciless. He nuzzled her, his stubble tickling. Then he suckled really hard, really intensely.
    She screamed loudly enough to deafen them both when the orgasm exploded in her.
    God . . . God . . . God.
    Exhausted, sobbing with delight, shaking, she slumped on him.
    Then realized she was on top of his face.
    Octavia tried to scramble off him, aware he would want to breathe again. With his long body sprawled along the velvet seat, her foot caught, and she stumbled.
    He launched up and caught her again, wrapping his strong arms around her.
    Suddenly, she was on his lap, and he was embracing her. The carriage swayed, but he ensured she didn’t fall off his firm, slightly spread thighs. He gave her the most beautiful smile. Her breath caught. She had never seen a man smile like this—his eyes literally glowed at her.
    He captured her mouth with his. She tasted an earthy, salty taste—the flavor of her cunny.
    As amazing and impossible as it should be, already she felt stronger. Octavia glowed with strength and delight, and she wanted to share. “I want to do this to you.”
    Matthew blinked. He thought Lady O had just told him she wanted to pleasure him with her mouth. He gently laid her onto the soft velvet of the carriage seat. He began, gruffly, “I don’t expect you to—”
    “I want to,” she said quickly. “But—but shouldn’t I be on top?”
    She was so sweet in her innocence. And innocent, gently bred ladies did not suck men’s cocks. He should not let her—
    She grasped his trousers and efficiently unfastened the top two buttons. Her graceful hands went to the next fastening, and his cock strained against his underclothes. He’d been thinking of something. Something he had to do. What was it?
    Oh yes, he’d intended to stop her. But he couldn’t . . . hell, he couldn’t . . .
    Her knuckles brushed his linens, and the muscles of his gut tightened reflexively. She wriggled on the velvet. “What do I do?” she asked ingenuously. “I have no idea. I’ve seen pictures—”
    “You’ve seen pictures?”
    “One of Father’s books. He collects erotic books in his studies of human civilization. I suppose they do show a lot about society.”
    She was adorable. “They depict what people—mainly men—fantasize about,” he said. “Not necessarily what they do.”
    “Well, it showed women holding the man’s privy