The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер

and then squeezed its twin. ‘Darian, I believe I am going to—’

      ‘Come for me, Mariah!’ he urged fiercely, both hands cupping her breasts now, squeezing and pinching her nipples as he gazed up into her flushed face.

      ‘I—’ She cried out her pleasure as another climax suddenly ripped through her body, the longest and strongest yet, as her empty sheath contracted and pulsed hungrily, again and again, the swollen nubbin above throbbing. ‘I had no idea I could— That it could happen so—so spontaneously.’ She rested her head weakly on Darian’s shoulder.

      It had never happened for Darian with any other woman before now. But as he now knew only too well, Mariah was indeed a woman unlike any other. And the fact that he had been able to give her such pleasure, just by touching her breasts, gave him more satisfaction than he could describe.

      Not that he had time to dwell too long on those feelings of wonderment as Mariah now moved sinuously down the length of his body, her bared breasts briefly resting either side of his fiercely jutting erection before she moved to lie between his parted thighs and take him in hand.

      ‘You are so wondrously big,’ she murmured admiringly as she stroked the length of him. ‘Your skin so velvety soft,’ she added huskily before wrapping the fingers of both hands about the thickness of his engorged and throbbing length. ‘And so wet.’ The soft pad of her thumbs stroked over the tip of his shaft.

      Darian felt his groin tighten as her fingers continued to caress him sensually. ‘Mariah!’ he groaned harshly, tensing, as he watched her little pink tongue flick out to taste the tip.

      ‘Would you like me to stop?’ Her glance up at him, from beneath her long lashes, was wickedly teasing.

      ‘No!’ Darian protested, groaning as he saw her smile widen, his head falling back on the pillows as he watched her continue to lick him, her tongue a sensuous rasp across his highly sensitised skin, her long golden hair cascading forward to drape sensuously across his thighs.

      ‘You taste delicious,’ she murmured appreciatively, her breath hot against his dampness.

      ‘As do you,’ he assured gruffly.

      ‘Really? Let me see!’ She moved quickly up the bed to lick her own juices from his parted lips. ‘Mmm.’ She nodded, her smile sensuous as she moved back down the bed to kneel between his thighs, before once again taking him in hand and holding him up as she parted her lips and took him into her mouth, her lips tight just beneath the tip and stretched tautly about his thickness.

      Darian groaned, hips bucking, the second he was engulfed by the heat of Mariah’s mouth, totally unable to stop himself from thrusting up rhythmically into that wet heat. His hands clenched into the bedclothes at his sides as he fought to hold off, to prolong the moment of his release.

      An almost impossible task as he watched Mariah’s head bob up and then down. Up and then down. Each time taking him deeper and then deeper still, her tongue swirling, dipping, as she rose up, before plunging him deeper on the downward stroke. Little by tortuous little, until he finally hit the back of her throat and she began to suck in earnest.

      Finally, when Darian thought he might go insane from the pleasure, she released him on the next upward stroke, eyes dark as she looked up at him at the same time as she moved one of her hands lower, caressing him tenderly. ‘Come for me now, Darian,’ she invited as her gaze held his at the same time as she parted her lips and slowly took him to the back of her throat.

      Darian felt the tingling at the base of his spine, the painful tightening through his groin, and knew his climax was imminent. ‘You must release me now, Mariah—’

      Her own second and throaty ‘Now!’ vibrated down the length of him, sending Darian spiralling over the edge, totally unable to stop from coming as he became lost in the fiercest, most prolonged orgasm he had ever experienced in his life.

      Mariah continued to suck on him greedily, cheeks hollowed, and she refused to release him until she had swallowed down all of Darian’s salty-sweet release. Even then she could not resist licking the last few drops from the tip before sitting back on her heels to look up at him.

      His dark hair was dishevelled, the dark curls lying damply tousled on his brow. Eyes glittered the colour of emeralds between sleepy half-closed lids, his cheeks were flushed, his lips parted. His body was completely relaxed and exposed to her as his erection lay half-hard still against the tautness of his stomach.

      He was beautiful.

      Completely satiated, wickedly decadent and utterly beautiful.

      And she had done this. She, Mariah Elizabeth Beecham, Countess of Carlisle, had given Darian Hunter, the severe and oh-so-proper Duke of Wolfingham, that look of satiation.

      A thrill of satisfaction rose up beneath Mariah’s breasts, filling her chest to bursting, in the knowledge that she had succeeded in giving Darian the same pleasure he had given her.

      ‘Come up here and lie beside me, Mariah, and let us both catch our breath,’ he invited gruffly now as he opened his arms to her.

      Mariah moved up the bed gladly before lying down at his side, her head resting on one broad shoulder, one of her arms draped across the muscled hardness of his stomach as he stroked the long tendrils of her hair. She had never felt so relaxed, never known such peace as this existed, as she glowed in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

      This, this closeness, was what it should be like between a man and a woman. What she had been denied for so many years.

      What she had denied herself for so many years, too afraid to risk this vulnerability with any man. A vulnerability that Mariah now knew applied to both the man and the woman; a man could not be any more vulnerable than when he allowed a woman to take that precious part of himself into her mouth and pleasure him. As she had been just as vulnerable when she’d allowed Darian to pleasure her in the same way.

      Such intimacies required complete trust, from both the man and the woman.

      As Mariah had learnt to trust Darian.

      Not just with her body, but with the secrets of her past, as well as her work for the Crown. She had not told him all of her secrets, of course. Had not, for instance, confided that Martin had been a traitor to his country. Or revealed that that awful time with Martin had been her only physical experience with any man before today. But she had trusted Darian with so much more than that.

      Had told him what had happened to her the night of Christina’s conception.

      Trusted him with the knowledge Aubrey Maystone had imparted, of the work she had carried out secretly for the Crown these past seven years.

      Mariah believed she could trust Darian never to reveal those secrets to another living soul.

      As she now trusted him with her life.

      With her love?

      Mariah tensed, barely breathing, as she considered what her feelings were for the man beside her. For Darian Hunter, the severe and sober Duke of Wolfingham.

      She did trust him, yes. She also admired him. Truly believed he was a man she could trust with her life.

      But with her love?

      No!

      Mariah dared not allow herself to fall in love with any man. It was too much of a vulnerability. Too much power—

      ‘Mariah?’ Darian could feel her sudden tension as she lay so still beside him. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he prompted gently.

      She made no answer for several long seconds before replying huskily, ‘Do you think the person listening to us behind the wall might have been the assassin?’

      ‘In all probability, yes,’ he bit out grimly. ‘Damn it, I shall have to send a note to Winterton Manor informing Aubrey Maystone of these most recent events.’

      They both knew that the reason he had not already done so was because they had been too engrossed