Wicked Deeds on a Winter Night

by Stacy Reid

“Yes, my sweet?”

  She leaned over to kiss his lips softly. “I do not want to wait until our wedding night.”

  Chapter 3

  The muted sound of the howling wind outside echoed through the room. The fireplace danced, and the room dipped in more shadows as the last of the winter sun disappeared behind the clouds. The room felt more intimate, golden lights from the hearth danced over the blue patterned wallpapers, the thick silver drapes stirred, the winds sweeping through the cracks of the windows curling through the room.

  She put her hand atop his chest, covering his fiercely beating heart. “We’ve already waited a year,” she tempted on a soft whisper. “Let’s not wait any longer.”

  Her senses were filled with the warm, masculine scent of him. How she wanted this man. So many nights spent longing just for this intimacy, aching for the feel of his body covering her, his arms holding her, just as he was now. And she knew it was more than that, but she could not bring herself to voice her doubts. They felt too raw, too frightening. He'd never proved himself to be inconsistent, and she knew he loved her. But their entire courtship had been done in secret, and they had no idea of the strident objections they would face.

  But if he should change his mind tomorrow at his family’s disapproval, she would have experienced passion and love with him, even just once. She would have memories that would last her a lifetime, and she would have them with a man she loved with her whole heart.

  “Primrose,” her name escaped his lips like a plea.

  “I’ve read the book,” she whispered, staring into his eyes. “Several times.”

  Hunger flashed in his eyes, and a flush worked its way over his cheekbones.

  His finger skimmed the neckline of her gown, tracing the flesh of her breasts. “Did you, truly?” he murmured.

  She felt so sensual and adventurous—no longer an uncertain girl but a woman who was not afraid to satisfy the cravings which had long lingered within her heart for this man. “Yes. Twice.”

  His gaze was so intent, his face a picture of sensuality, his eyes firing lust and approval. “And you do not wish to wait?”

  “I daresay you are catching on, my darling. Debauch me. Let me be wicked with you.”

  Gabriel gave her a long, unfathomable glance. Holding her gaze, he dipped his hands under her nightdress. Her mouth dried. With painstaking sensuality, she dragged her dress up until he bunched it at her waist. Then he slid his hands over the smoothness of her thighs.

  His expression became one of aroused contemplation. “I’ve long doubted a respectable wife would be willing to indulge my brand of lovemaking.”

  “I received your book…and I read it and observed all those erotic drawings without fainting.” Never would she admit how close she had come to collapsing when she'd seen the indecent images of a woman on her knees with a man’s private part in her mouth, or when she’d seen the reverse, the man licking along the woman’s slit. “Can I not be respectable and all that you need?”

  His lips quirked ever so slightly. “I think you are the best of women, Primrose. I have a visceral need," he murmured. "And you are so sweet and ladylike in your manners, I've hesitated touching, speaking to you as for how I would wish. How torturous it had been not to take you, and it was my weakness to be myself with you that had me buying that book from a shop in France and sending it to you.”

  Primrose trembled. “And how do you wish to speak to me?”

  His eyes were dark, intent, watching her closely. “In ways that would ruin your sensibilities, my sweet.”

  Remembering all those pictures, something hot and wanton stirred inside her. “And what way is that?”

  There was a breathless pause, then he said, “Filthy.”

  That single whispered word sounded like a curse, a benediction, something depraved but also freeing. There it was again, that dark flash of need in his eyes, something untapped and maybe a part of him she would never be able to sate now that she became aware of it. Her curiosity stirred, and something unknown tumbled over inside her. But she did not bury it. Instead, she leaned in, and licked across the seam of his lips, leaving them wet and glistening. “Then talk filthy to me.”

  Heat engulfed her, and he chuckled.

  “Ah my sweet, I haven’t even begun to shock your sensibilities.”

  Still holding her gaze, he tapped her lips with one of his fingers. She parted them, and he slipped the digit in her mouth. And she instinctively sucked. He pulled it from her mouth, and his hands lowered to her splayed legs and the open slit of her drawers. She was afraid to move her eyes from his. Instead, she gripped the edge of the bed, bunching the sheets between her fingers.

  His fingertips brushed—lightly, gently—along her exposed sex. Her awareness narrowed to that sweet, pulsing pleasure between her thighs. “I like the forbidden nature of speaking…filthy things to you.”

  Oh, sweet heaven above.

  He traced the folds of her cleft, and she trembled as he used a single finger to part swollen flesh. Heat flooded her cheeks as her gaze flew back to his face.

  His lips curved in a cruel, sensual slant. "Look down."

  Primrose trembled and lowered her eyes. He split her legs even wider and pushed her night rail up even more. And then with slow provocativeness, he pushed his middle finger deep inside her. A gasping moan escaped her, yet she could not look away. He pulled out his finger, and her flesh sucked at the digit, not wanting to let go of that instrument of wicked pleasure. His finger glistened, and he shoved it back in, slow and deep. Her breasts were lifting and falling with every breath.

  “What am I touching, Primrose?”

  Her eyes flew to his, and the hunger and approval she saw in their depths stole her breath. She knew what he wanted…the words she’d read from his book, the words she sometimes overheard from men in the village as they reflected on randy escapades. The words she hadn’t realized could send her heart pounding and assailing her senses of propriety with the duality of shame and excitement.

  “My…” Licking her lips and acting on wanton instincts, she opened her legs impossibly wider, feeling a unique sense of vulnerability and empowerment. She thought of all the naughty words she’d seen in the book and called for the one that had made her feel guilty, aroused, and even mortified though she’d not understood the why of it. Seeing the tender need in his eyes now called to something wild in her, and a sweet ache flamed through her. “My cunt.”

  A hiss escaped him, and he trailed his finger up to her nub, rubbing and petting as if in approval. She clenched her fist tighter on the sheets, as tension knotted and quaked in her belly. Sharp whimpers fell from her lips as sensations she’d never dreamed of wreaked havoc through her body. He worked her clitoris, rubbing, pinching, over and over until she was a trembling mess. Firelight lit the planes of his beautiful face, the glow of lust in his eyes, the curve of carnality about his lips she was desperate to taste.

  A weak cry tore from her as the riotous sensations peaked. She hadn’t expected anything like this when they came together. The arousal was so intense her parted legs trembled, her heart hammered, and the heat burning through her entire body had sweat trickling down her breasts.

  He drew a deep, shuddering breath. It was a moment before he spoke again. “What if I told you when I have you on my cock moaning and screaming, I would call you my sweet wanton hussy?”

  Shock ceased her breath, and then arousal—painful and destructive—surged, devastating her. “Gabriel…”

  “Would you run from me or revel in the sheer sensuality of the moment? What would you do, my love?”

  Primrose moaned weakly, staring at him in helpless thrall as he wove that picture of lust and depravity.

  “I want to lay you on this bed, spread your thighs wide, baring your lush wet, pink cunt to my eyes, then I'll split open this pretty tight cunt with my cock.”

  She gasped, a rush of wetness leaving her at his explicit words to coat his fingers. Then she understood. Filthy. The notion
of being so wicked and improper had a strange heat beating in her blood. The fact they could be so free…so wickedly licentious and dirty with each other.

  “I would be everything you dream of,” she whispered achingly. “Let me be your sweet harlot.”

  He groaned at her wicked, wicked words, hunger flushing over his cheekbones with savage intensity.

  “Primrose,” he gasped.

  She smiled, feminine power and lust twisting through her. “I would hold my legs apart so you can see all that you want. And when you…” she cleared her throat delicately, admitting to herself it would take time to speak so freely without dissolving into blushes. His gaze was on her face, reading her expression. “And when you split my pussy with your cock…,” she said calling for another naughty word which had filled her with sexual curiosity. “I will enjoy every second of it.” And Primrose knew it with every breath in her body, because she soaked his fingers from scandalous words. The deed itself would destroy her.

  He moaned, dropping his forehead to hers. "I'm not a small man,” he said, kissing the bridge of her nose. “And I’ll need to stretch your cunt so that you’ll love every second of me owning it…fucking it.”

  His explicit words were soul destroying as she got wetter and wetter at each promise of how he would take her. His fingers worked her, one, then two, then three, and he praised her even as he stretched her, preparing her for his ravishment. All her senses were centered between her thighs. The feel of his fingers inside, stroking over the sensitive tissue, stretching her snug channel.

  “I promise you there’ll be days I’ll only want to love you sweetly. To worship your body with the gentleness of touches, the softest kisses, and the slowest strokes.”

  Though his words were soft, the fingers thrusting in and out of her wet aching center was anything but. His touch was rough, dominating, not making allowance for her innocence or her sensibilities, and she was unable to do anything but submit to the raw lust tearing through her.

  “There will be days I will ride your cunt for so long and hard, you’ll feel the sweet hurt days later. I’ll spank the soft mound of your pussy, and I promise you’ll love every filthy second, my sweet.”

  She convulsed at his raw words, scorching delight rippling through her core and bowing her back. The stark sensation went on and on, consuming and destroying her with hunger. The muscles of her quim…no, cunt, burned, tension throbbed in her loins, and delightful sensations began to spiral. Her body was no longer her own, it was still familiar, but not under her control.

  The entire scene, every word, each touch was scandalous in the extreme. If she were smart, she’d continue to deny him what they both wanted. No…needed. Instead, she reached for her love, threaded her fingers through the thick strands of his hair, and melded her mouth to his, kissing him with wild passion and sensual greed. They kissed passionately, endlessly. Her arms twined around his neck, holding him close, her nails biting into his scalp as sanity slipped further and further away.

  He cupped her cheek with his other hand, peppering soft kisses over her lips, then down to her collar. She arched her neck, shivering at the hot sensation spiraling through her. With sensual deliberateness, he unfastened the strings of her nightgown and pushed it from her shoulder, then tugged down her chemise, baring her breast to his gaze. The cold night air kissed her skin, but it did little to calm the fire that burned inside her.

  "What lovely breasts you have. Small and pert and tight nipples.”

  His voice was awed as though it were she giving him a precious gift.

  Trailing his hands down he cupped her breasts, which felt so heavy and swollen with desire. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, pinching and then soothing them with tender caresses of his moistened thumbs. The wind howled, rattling the panes of the windows. The ring nestled between her breasts felt like a searing brand and the sweetest of comfort.

  “Do not move from this position,” he commanded tenderly, brushing a kiss over her forehead.

  Then he stood and stripped off his shirt, trousers, boots, and drawers until he was gloriously naked. She gasped audibly at the power delineated in every inch of his beautiful body. He was fully aroused, and his penis jutted out, thick and long.

  He made his way to her, and she lifted her face to the hands cupping her cheek with exquisite gentleness. Gabriel dragged his thumb softly over her lips. “I want your mouth sucking my cock in tight, wet pulls,” he said, his voice low, vibrating with need. “I can already feel your tongue, I can see how swollen and pink these sweet lips will be when I’m done fucking them.”

  The explicit words flamed in her mind. His need for her was so palpable, so intense, she quaked, and his name was a sigh of longing that she couldn’t control. With a smile, he stepped closer, and she reached out and clasped his manhood in her hands. How smooth yet so hard and inflexible and thicker than all the drawings she’d seen in the book. Her thumb and forefinger struggled to meet where she encircled him. An odd sort of excitement and trepidation darted through Primrose.

  Gripping her chin with one hand, and his cock with the other, Gabriel guided her to what he craved. Her lips parted as the smooth head of his cock nudged against them. She opened and allowed him to take her mouth in a shallow, provocative stroke. His hands tightened in her hair, his body tensing as a ragged groan filled her ears.

  “Suck my cock with your pretty mouth,” he groaned.

  His hands tangled in her hair now, holding her close, sliding his cock deep down her throat. The sharp tug on her scalp sent a thrill racing down to her toes.

  “By God, you’re lovely,” he praised. “Fuck me with that pretty little mouth, my sweet wanton minx.”

  The filthy words felt like a striking force of pleasure directly against her clitoris. A piercing agony of need flamed through her, spilling through her belly and down to that throbbing place between her legs.

  “I wish you could see how beautiful you look,” he whispered.

  She licked him tentatively, then with more confidence as the walls of his stomach rippled with pleasure, and groans of pleasure and filthy praises spilled guttural from his throat. One of his hands gripped his cock, the other twisted in her hair, but gently. Primrose moaned around the pulsating length sliding over her tongue, reveling in the tenderness, the utter warmth of his touch.

  Releasing her hair, he cupped her face, stroking his thumb over her lips. Looking up at him slowly, her breath caught at the stark male hunger in his gaze. With a ragged, impatient groan, he pulled his length from her lips. He went to his knees, hands gripping her thighs and pulling her hips to the edge of the bed. His expression was tight, the flesh drawn over his cheekbones, his eyes narrowed, his lips heavy with sensuality.

  “I want you to hook your ankles around my neck and hold my mouth to your pussy,” he whispered staring at her exposed flesh. “Lick you, taste you, drive you mindless with need and want, my tongue driving you to orgasm. My wicked, delightful harlot.”

  “Please.” She was almost crying with need. Wanting everything he said and more. Eager to let him feel the same destructive pleasure whipping through her body, she purred against his lips, “Lick my cunt…unravel me with your wicked, naughty tongue. Make me sob your name and scream my pleasure.”

  Ecstasy transformed his face. And she realized he hungered to be just as filthy with her urgings and praises. He spread her thighs wide as he lowered his mouth to the swollen, wet curves of her aching quim. The first touch of his tongue to her clitoris destroyed her. He licked at her drenched sex, piercing her flesh with mind-shattering pleasure whenever his tongue curled and rasped over the sensitive nub.

  He licked her folds, parting them, and then he covered her nub with his lips, sucking it delicately. Then he came up, his lips glistening. “You’re so damned wet I could drown in you.”

  “I can’t help it,” she cried, her entire body blushing red.

  “You taste like heaven, ” he murmured. “Lick my lips. I want you to know the sweetness
I taste.”

  She darted her tongue across the seam of his lips—sweet, musky, sultry. His growl of approval ghosted over her mouth, and right down to the empty aching place between her legs. He lowered himself back to her splayed legs and engulfed that bundle of pleasure into his mouth. Then he began to lick and suck it with firm destructive strokes. She writhed beneath him, twisting, bucking against his mouth as he worked her clitoris. Her nub was a swollen knot of burning need, and he kept her on a wicked edge of pleasure, never tipping her over.

  She did everything he wanted, simply because she could not help the hunger crawling through her body. Her heels pressed into his shoulders as she arched her wet sex against his diabolical tongue. Primrose screamed, she moaned, and she begged for relief. Then he took her clitoris between his teeth and nipped. She trembled as pleasure swept through her, blistering and forceful.

  He rose above her, his eyes dark with hunger. A firm, heavy pressure lodged against her wet opening. His gaze swept over her body once more, taking in her lascivious sprawl, and a pleased groan escaped his throat. Her eyes dropped to her splayed thighs, to where they connected, gasping weakly as the broad flared head of his cock parted the wet folds of her quim. He kissed her, centering her to the taste of his lips, as he began to work his cock inside her in shallow thrusts that opened her, stretched her to accept his steady penetration.

  “Gabriel…,” She sobbed his name against his lips. “Make me yours.”

  He leaned over her, his expression so gentle, so filled with approval that her heart clenched. “It’s going to hurt, my Primrose.” His voice was dark, excited. “You’re going to scream for me, and you’re going to love it.”

  Then he shoved his cock up inside her dripping opening in one, smooth movement. The sudden penetration had her arching at the pleasure-pain of his abrupt impalement. Her body was so very wet, soft, and yielding, but even so, her muscles resisted his invasion, and her core quivered to accommodate his thickness.

  She lost her breath; she lost any control of her body. “Gabriel!” she gasped raggedly at the unbearable pressure filling her sheath.