by Sharon Page
The man tipped a vial over the woman’s rump and a stream of golden fluid slowly flowed out. It was viscous and lazy, like oil. It struck the top of her derriere and slid between the cheeks.
The brown-haired man inched forward, then stroked the tip of his enormous appendage in the golden oil. He massaged the girl’s bottom with his penis. Then he began to slide his erection inside her arse.
Vivienne caught her breath. She had heard of … this. Of a man going inside a woman’s bottom. She had never done it. The woman, trapped between two men, moaned loudly. Given she was already riding one man, how could another one fit, even in her bottom?
Another inch went inside the woman. The second man lifted both his hands and used the rocking of his hips to direct his cock inside her. A little more. And more. And more.
The woman cried out as he gave one last thrust. His groin pressed tight against her plump bottom. “Ooh, that feels so wonderfully full,” she cried.
The man with the chocolate waves laughed. “We’ve only just begun.” He bent forward and lifted an ivory rod from the surface of the bed. Such wands were intended for a woman to insert inside herself—for her own pleasure, or to stimulate a man who wished to watch.
It glistened in the light. Obviously it had been oiled already.
The man withdrew a few inches, so his engorged shaft could be seen until it disappeared between ivory cheeks. Vivienne could barely breathe. It looked so erotic.
The man pressed the tip of the wand to her stretched opening, beside his aroused cock.
“Ooh, my lord,” the woman cried. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you what full really means, my dear.”
Like an obedient servant, the girl nodded. But she screamed as he eased it in. Her hands became claws on the chest of the first man, who had coal-black hair. He smiled up at her. “Too much?”
Her face was scarlet. “No. No, not too much. I want this.”
The second man’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. As Vivienne watched with wide eyes, the wand slid into the girl, past its thickest circumference.
The girl gasped. “Oh, I did feel the pop.”
“So did I,” he murmured.
“Dear heaven,” she whimpered. “I am crammed. You are both enormous to begin with.”
“But you aren’t completely stuffed, are you, love?” He thrust forward.
The girl shook her head.
Vivienne gasped. His flat abdomen collided with the end of the wand. His cock and the slim rod of ivory slid up the girl’s rump. Withdrew. Slid again.
Vivienne knew her hands were in fists, like the girl’s. Her head buzzed with heat. Her cunny throbbed. Even her derriere tingled at the thought of being so filled….
The first man laughingly called, “Come out, Bedowin. We need a cock for her mouth. And bring the clamps for her nipples.”
It all happened so swiftly. A third man—a blond—strode out from behind a curtain. He was aroused, a silvery stream of fluid already leaking from the engorged, purplish head of his cock. He carried small clasps attached to leather straps. Swiftly he fixed those to the girl’s thick brown nipples and handed the straps to the other two men. Then he straddled the head of the man on the bottom and thrust his erection into the girl’s eager mouth.
The three men thrust wildly, but the girl writhed and thrust and pounded as though possessed by demons. Her cries were muffled by the blond man’s erection. But the girl suddenly arched her back and clutched the arse of the blond. She clung to him, his thick cock still buried in her mouth as she jerked helplessly between the other two men.
Those men laughed with delight and thrust hard, ruthlessly fucking her. The girl came again and again, and Vivienne’s chest was tight with the building tension filling the room.
She realized what the men were doing: desperately hanging on. No one wanted to be the man who came first. The one with the least stamina.
Finally the one with the dark brown hair shouted, “Hades, I can hang on no longer.” He shoved his hips forward, slamming everything he had into the climaxing girl’s bottom, and he roared, “Oh God,” at the top of his lungs. Vivienne was taken aback. Men usually grunted. Or panted. Orgasm often proved to be the one time they were silent.
Not this man. His head jerked forward and back as he came. He growled, roared, smacked his groin hard against the redheaded girl’s rump. The other two men surrendered to pleasure rapidly, but neither were as thrilling to watch in climax. They grunted a bit, tensed, and relaxed.
“Ah, Molly, but you are the most spectacular lass in England,” groaned the brown-haired man. Gently, he withdrew the wand, then himself.
He clapped his hands. A footman hastened forward, holding a basin of water and with cloths draped over his arm—warmed ones of rich, white linen. Steam rose from the basin and the linen.
The man cleaned himself swiftly with a towel. He selected another, dipped it in water, and gently cleaned Molly. The other men withdrew from her, then left the bed without a word. They vanished behind the curtain.
Vivienne’s heart beat erratically as she watched a man she did not know clean his lover so tenderly. It was thoroughly astonishing. And Molly giggled throughout.
This certainly was not what she had expected.
“Did you find it arousing?” Heath closed his hands on her shoulders.
Vivienne jumped. He had not touched her—not at all—as they watched. He had stood in the shadows behind her and made no sound. And now, with his hands on her, she was almost ready to purr beneath his touch—
No, she wasn’t. She was ready to spin around, claw his clothes off, and attack him sexually like a tigress.
“There’s more.” He smiled wickedly. “Your night is only beginning.”
She sputtered. “If you want to arouse me, your job is done. But I was willing to bed you yesterday, without all—all this.”
“You were willing to sacrifice yourself by bedding me to satisfy the crone in the apothecary’s shop.”
She whirled on him. “What is all this for? Did she arrange for you to do this?”
“I don’t take orders, love. Not even from men who would happily stake my heart if I didn’t.”
To discover if Miss Dare was actually a succubus, Heath knew he had to ignite her. He had to give her enough carnal temptation to have her climbing the walls.
“Come, Miss Dare. Your night of sensual education is only beginning.”
Darkness. It was so dark around her.
Vivienne opened her eyes wide. But she was plunged in blackness and she couldn’t see. She wasn’t in the brothel anymore. She had seen scandalous things. Mad, arousing things where groups of people made love, with men sticking their erections in every orifice imaginable—
Suddenly, her heart screamed in her chest. She sucked in deep breaths. She started to panic, but she couldn’t slow down her breathing. Pain pounded in her head, wrapped around her heart, lanced her sides. She was cold, like she had fallen into the Thames on a winter’s night.
She tumbled out of the bed. She was breathing so fast. Too fast. And even though she was gasping for air, she couldn’t take any in. What was wrong? Why wouldn’t it stop? She must be—
Strong arms lifted her and she was swept off her feet and pressed tightly against a warm, naked male chest.
Heath.
She struggled to look up at him. But she was seeing him through a crimson haze. A blurry veil the color of blood …
“What’s wrong, love?”
She fought to speak. Her chest was getting tighter and tighter, like an iron band was being cinched around it. “I—”
His hand suddenly cupped below her left breast. He must be able to feel her heart gallop through her nightdress.
“I—can’t breathe.” She flinched as another jolt of pain sliced through her head. “You—you’ve turned red.” Shivers wracked her. Vivienne no longer felt the heat of his body, even though his massive arms were wrapped around her, pinning her to the powerful mus
cles of his warm chest. But she was getting so cold she could no longer move.
“Sarah,” she croaked through numb, frosty lips. Was she going to die and leave Sarah alone?
“Christ,” Heath growled. “What have I done?”
And next thing she knew, her bed canopy was above her, she was flat on her back, and Heath had shoved up her nightdress. His hands parted her freezing legs. His breath flowed over her bared abdomen. So hot. She needed more—needed to fight the cold. She tried to grasp his shoulders and hold him close, but her arms wouldn’t move.
Then he bent his head and his tongue, hot and wet, slicked over her cunny.
5
His plan had been damn idiocy.
Heath pressed his mouth to the soft curls between Vivienne’s legs. She lay limply upon her enormous bed, and his heart, his long-dead heart, lurched at the sight. Whimpers of pain escaped from her trembling lips. Shivers wracked her ashen-white, voluptuous form. She looked so vulnerable. So weak and hollow and terrified.
He knew what death looked like. And she was on the brink of it.
It was his damn fault.
For being arrogant again. For thinking he was right.
He’d thought denying her would make her desire explosive. He’d never expected she would be in pain. That she would grow so cold. It was like her life force was flowing out of her. He could almost see it in the gloom of the ill-lit bedchamber, hovering like golden faery dust around her.
He had to stop it. Had to save her.
He slicked his tongue over her quivering cunny. Her taste—salty, rich, earthy, ripe—exploded on his tongue. Her nether lips felt like silk coated with cream. But even here, in her most intimate place, she was turning cold.
He didn’t have time for finesse. Or for a long, slow session where he took his time devouring her and made her scream.
He gently licked her clitoris. Her shocked, thrilled cry echoed in the room, and her little nub plumped and hardened in his mouth. But she was afraid, too. He could sense that with her every heartbeat. She had no idea what was happening to her.
He flicked his tongue hard and fast across her, and she arched up on the bed. A wash of her juices flowed from her, drenching his mouth.
God, she tasted so sweet. He ran his tongue over his lower lip to savor the essence of her. For just a fraction of a second, before sweeping his tongue over her blushing, erect clit once more. Her taste could addict him.
He knew it, knew he had no choice but to risk the temptation. Risk craving something he could never have again.
Placing his lips around her clit, he suckled. Her hips launched off the bed. Color flooded her skin as she grew warmer. Her flesh was losing the terrifying whitish-blue cast.
His mouth tingled, heated, and he backed away as his fangs exploded forward.
He had to control himself. He couldn’t bite her.
He had to pleasure her.
It had never been like this.
Vivienne clutched the crumpled bedsheet beside her. Once, when she’d been very young, she’d tried to fly by jumping out of the window of the flashhouse she lived in. She’d soared for mere seconds, then had fallen like a stone—fortunately into a cart of rags.
She was soaring now. Whirling through pleasure and delight. Heat flooded her cold body. Her skin felt alive, aware, aroused. Where the hem of her nightgown brushed against her belly. Where the lace around her bodice tickled. And especially when she stroked her fingers over her breasts.
Then a bolt of pain lanced her, and her hands froze on top of her bosom.
Heath suddenly gripped her hips. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, so her quim landed upon his mouth. She squeaked with shock. “What are you doing? I shall squash you being on top of you like this.”
His tongue slid over her clit again, lavishly, thoroughly, and she had to shut her eyes.
“Love, you don’t need to worry about me. Now quiet, my dear, and let me make you come. Let me begin my onslaught.”
The words made her quiver.
Another playful lick of his tongue made her moan. She swiftly understood what he meant by “onslaught.” He splayed his hands on her bare derriere and lifted her. Lifted her to open her nether lips to him so he could suckle her clit. Each gentle pull and tug flooded her mind with pleasure and pushed away every other thought.
Heavens, he stroked between the cheeks of her bottom. He touched her tight entrance, and sensation, dazzling sensation, rushed through her. She gasped. In shock. In astonishment at the pleasure. He didn’t try to penetrate, he just stroked her.
She’d never let anyone touch her like that. It felt so amazingly good.
And pain vanished.
He slid two fingers into her cunny, while his tongue made mind-numbing spirals over her clit. Her passage clutched and squeezed as though begging for his cock. She’d never been so wet. She’d never felt so empty inside.
She needed him. Ached for him.
She was wantonly grinding her face on him. She stopped. She must be hurting him.
But his hand tightened across the cheeks of her rump, pulling her tighter to his face. He must like her being rough. He clamped her so her cunny was pressed tight to his mouth. His fingers slid out of her quim, but his index finger still played merry havoc with her tense, aroused anus.
It was so good. She’d forgotten pain. And warmth blossomed inside her. Warmth fired by the intense heat in her quim, the heat of Heath’s hands on her bared bottom, the heat of his breath blowing across her most intimate place, and the slick fire of his tongue licking her.
His every caress felt intense, as though she’d never been touched before. Certainly no one had ever licked her quim while dallying with her bottom. Then, to her shock, he slid his finger slightly inside her rear. Withdrew. Did it again.
Her body resisted. But she liked it, and that resistance made it all the more thrilling.
Then he did everything to her at once. He flicked her clit with his tongue, slid two fingers inside her hot quim, and pushed two fingers inside her welcoming bottom. A scandalous two in a place she’d never allowed a man to touch her. Never had she guessed it would feel so good. His fingers in her quim made her rump feel so tight, and his fingers filling her derriere made her cunny so wonderfully full.
It was too much. So much pleasure, racing from everywhere at once.
Her body went off as though he’d touched a trigger. She came. Exploded. Her cries rang up to the ceiling, and she rocked madly on him. He held her while she went wild upon him. Moans filled the room—her moans, as her orgasm kept exploding inside her. It seemed it was never going to stop.
He kept licking her. Taking her beyond what she’d ever known before. It was delicious. Unbearably thrilling. Rather … frightening.
She’d never come without it being at her touch. She alone knew how to pleasure herself to make herself climax, and even with a protector, she would cleverly touch herself to find her pleasure.
Heath had stripped her control away. And coming that way, with it being entirely at his touch and his command had been … exhilarating.
The pleasure was fading. And she was still on top of him. She stretched her hands, her toes, stretched languorously and squirmed and moaned in delight.
He lifted her and set her back across his shoulders. “How do you feel, love?”
She gazed down at him. His lips and cheeks glistened slightly in the lamplight. Heavens, her juices coated his mouth and chin. He licked his lower lip, smiling cheekily, tasting her.
“Good,” she managed to whisper.
“No pain?”
“Heavens no.” And she realized. “No. I’m not cold—” An agonizing pain spiked through her heart. She clutched her chest. Collapsed on him.
Through the roaring in her ears, she dimly heard his voice.
“Damn, it wasn’t enough. But I can’t do it, Vivienne. I can’t put my cock inside you.” His voice was hoarse and she whimpered. The pain had doubled. She had curled into a ball on
top of him.
“I can do everything else,” he whispered. “Anything else we can imagine.”
She felt the thud of his heart. How she could feel it so acutely, she didn’t know. She was half draped over his hips, her belly pressed to his long, hard erection. Some instinct drove her to rise on him. To slide her hands over the powerful muscles of his chest. Then go lower, over the hard plane that was his stomach, and take hold of his thick, rigid shaft through his trousers.
“Please,” she whispered.
Do this and live. Take him and live. She didn’t know where the words came from. They seemed to well up from her soul. She had to make love to him. She had to make him fill her with his scalding hot cum and stop the cold from freezing her to death.
She tore wildly at the fastening of his trousers.
It wasn’t enough.
Heath knew it. He had ignited the demon inside Miss Dare. And the demon craved a man’s pleasure. Her orgasm wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She needed his climax or she would likely die.
What man wouldn’t love it: a woman who would do anything to make him come? But it broke Heath’s heart.
“No, love.” He grasped her hands and drew them away from his throbbing erection. His oversized, vampiric penis was straining and pulsing in his trousers, seeking her heat—her hot mouth, her hand, her scorching, sweet cunny. But he couldn’t make love to her.
Wrong. He couldn’t make love to her twice.
She gently gyrated her hips on top of him. The simple movement almost blew the top of his head off. Her nightgown was still fastened, but the swell of her breasts rose up from the neckline in two flushed mounds. Her cheeks were pink. And she was still panting from the orgasm he’d given her.
There was nothing as erotic, as arousing as a woman still gasping from an explosive climax.
Damnation.
This was all his blasted fault.
She tried to wrench her wrists free of his grasp. “I want you. I need you. Please—I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you now.”