Florence wrapped her hand around his shaft and angled it toward her mouth. “Yeah, that’s it,” he encouraged. He thought she might ease into it, tease him a little. Work up the nerve to really get going.

He should have known better.

She opened wide and took him deep on the first pass. Wet, tight heat enveloped him and he threw his head back. “Oh, fuck.” His legs locked to keep from thrusting into that slick heaven, pleasure coursing through him like sparks. “Christ Jesus, woman.”

His reaction must have satisfied her because her eyes were dancing when he regained the ability to focus. She set to her task, sucking and licking him from root to tip, her painted lips working his flesh to perfection. The sight of her bobbing over him, the ridiculous orange wig so out of place, her cheeks hollowing as she moved, was damn erotic. He didn’t hurry her, not even when he felt his orgasm gathering steam.

Except, he didn’t wish to finish this way.

He levered up and reached for her. In one smooth motion he lifted her on top of him so that her knees straddled his hips. “There’s plenty of time later for that. Right now I want inside you.”

Moving her skirts out of the way, he found the part in her drawers. She was drenched and hot, ready for him. He inserted a finger into her channel to stretch her. “Show me your breasts,” he rasped.

She unfastened the tight, ruffled bodice. When it fell away, she was left in a corset and her shift. He pushed in another finger and she gasped, her hands coming up to cover the mounds of her breasts.

“Keep going, Florence.”

She popped open the corset to reveal more skin to his hungry gaze. I need her now. He licked the thumb on his free hand and worked it under her skirts until he found her clitoris. The bud was swollen and ripe, and he stroked and circled until she rocked on his fingers, seeking.

“Lift up.” He shoved fabric out of the way, positioned her over his cock. Tossing the corset to the ground, she gathered her skirts in her fists and began lowering herself down. He couldn’t look away from the sight of her body swallowing the head of his shaft. Gripping him. Squeezing him.

It was torture, the pace at which she took him. He gritted his teeth and dug deep for patience. Her sheath was every bit as snug as he remembered, those slippery walls clamping down on him like a vise. When their hips met, they both moaned, their chests heaving. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this vulnerable and powerful with a woman at the same time.

“Oh, God,” she wheezed. “It’s too much.”

He froze. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head. “No, I think I’m on the verge of . . .”