One Wicked Night

by Noelle Mack

  He stroked her sensitive bud next, still using just his finger­tip and she drew in her breath with a gasp. He had gone right to it, not fumbled or poked as so many men did, and her cunny throbbed in response.

  "Sweet lady," he said softly. "Spread your hidden lips open for me. I want to have my fingers inside you and watch your face at the same time. How many fingers do you like? Two? Three?"

  "Two," she whispered, sliding a hand over her cunny and doing as he asked. "Your hands are quite large."

  He slid in two fingers with care and Fiona clutched her dress, swaying a little on her feet. She was tight but slick and the slow penetration felt wonderful.

  "What a tempting picture you painted for me, Fiona. Pretty maids all in a row with their dresses up . . . and their most pri­vate parts fully exposed. A handsome manservant kneels to give each what she craves ... that was a nice touch. He licks and licks . . . and they moan . .. just as you are doing now."

  She had not realized that she was moaning. Edward was thrusting his fingers in and out, still keeping it slow.

  His single-minded concentration upon her arousal was hav­ing the desired effect. She wanted to simply push her hot pussy into his face but even sitting down he was too tall for that. He looked at her intently and stopped thrusting, leaving his fingers inside her, using the pad of his thumb to stimulate the throb­bing bud above.

  With a little cry, Fiona got a better grip on her bunched-up skirts and parted the front of her drawers so quickly that she ripped the seam.

  The slight sound made him look down. He slid his hand out of her cunt and pushed the muslin back with the other hand, fully revealing her cunny. He stroked her hips and sides. "So you are ready to tear your clothes off—good. I like seeing you standing so demurely in front of me—with your dress up and your drawers ripped ... wanting sexual attention that you are not quite bold enough to ask for."

  "But—" she began to protest. She had not meant to tear her drawers, which were still fastened at the waist anyway, and she certainly considered herself bold—oh.

  Edward kneeled before her and applied his tongue to her private parts, giving her a gentle and thorough licking, treating her most sensitive flesh almost worshipfully. But he avoided her clitoris, wriggle as she might to put it in the way of his ten­der tongue. She clasped his head to her body and stroked his hair, abandoning herself to this exquisite intimacy.

  He pulled back and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, smiling up at her. "What a feast. You are delicious, Fiona."

  "Ohh ... must you stop?" The erotic sensations began to ebb—but she wanted them never to end. "Please," she whis­pered. "Satisfy me."

  "I think," he said softly, clasping her torn drawers at the waist, "it is time these came off." With a forceful tug, he split the cen­ter seam all the way through to the waistband and yanked her drawers down to her ankles, leaving her bare below the waist save for her white stockings and shirred garters trimmed with satin rosebuds.

  "Oh!"

  "Keep your dress up, Fiona. Let me look at you this way." His voice lowered to a growl. "Half-naked ... a little embar­rassed . . . and very excited. Turn around."

  "I cannot—not with my damned drawers around my an­kles—and my shoes have come off!"

  Edward smoothed a hand over her hip and began to tease her cunny with the other. "Well, you don't need to turn around. I can see your beautiful behind in the mirror from here. Two perfect globes . . . and so white."

  She looked over her shoulder. Indeed, he had positioned himself—and her—just right. With her dress up and her draw­ers in a tangle that she couldn't escape, her bare legs and bottom were bathed in the moonlight that filled the room and reflected off the mirror. Edward's hands slid over her hips and gripped her firmly. "Bend over. Rest on my shoulder. I want to know if I can see your cunt that way."

  Swept away by excitement and the heat of the moment, she did as he asked, supported well enough by his strong shoulder and steadied by the hands that cupped her bottom. The pres­sure of their bodies kept her bunched dress up around her waist the way he wanted it but the lowcut bodice let her breasts pop out. She tried to pull it up again but could not quite grasp the cloth. "I am falling out of my damned dress!"

  He gave her arse a friendly spank and kept her where she was. "Your clothes are falling apart. How convenient. You can play with your lovely breasts while I play with you."

  "How do you know they are pretty?" she retorted. "You cannot see them if I am thrown over your shoulder."

  He gave her another spank, a little harder than the first. "There are many advantages to being tall. I have been looking down your bodice most of the evening."

  Fiona squirmed and he clasped her tightly around the thighs with powerful arms. She knew he was watching her in the mirror.

  "Ah ... do that again, Fiona. Your sweet pussy shows when you wriggle in that wanton way. I like it."

  Keeping an inescapable grip with one arm, he fondled her there, then gave her several spanks that smarted, distributing them equally between her right and left buttocks. She rose up and twisted free—or tried to, not wanting to admit that submit­ting to his will excited her.

  "When I am ready to let you go, I will. But first, kiss me, Fiona." He slid her down over his chest, letting her nipples brush over his shirt, and covered her mouth with his, sliding his tongue over hers, and luxuriating in the ardor of her response.

  He grabbed her bottom and pulled her right against him, kissing her deeply and grinding his cock, still compressed under the supple leather of his breeches but achingly hard, into her belly.

  Fiona shuddered with the pleasure of it, on fire from his nearness, his strength, and most of all from his desire. But she struggled free.

  He let her go with reluctance. "So the rules of the game change again. Why?"

  Fiona let her dress fall and smoothed its crumpled folds. She did not know quite how to answer his question. In truth, she was unnerved by the strength of her unguarded response to him. "I like to take my time."

  "Oho. Is that why you sat on my lap and kissed me so ar­dently and told me a wonderfully filthy story? Two can play at teasing, Fiona."

  "What do you mean?" she asked breathlessly, feeling foolish now that they were apart. She scarcely knew what to do next now that her clothes were in such disarray and her breasts still half out of her gown. She yanked the bodice up over them.

  Edward pushed a drifting lock of her hair back into place with a fingertip. "You have been trying to get me into your bed from the day we met. I knew it from the way you talked to me even then."

  Fiona stepped out of her tangled drawers somehow and kicked them away. "You were unfailingly polite, I must say. Not at all what I expected from a rogue like you."

  "Who told you I was a rogue?"

  "Everyone knows it."

  "Then what did you want from me, Fiona?"

  She stopped herself from telling him the truth. What you just did. And more. "Never mind," she said at last.

  He grinned and tipped up her chin with a finger. "I did not say your methods were ineffective. There we sat, discussing politics and the weather and the health of his Royal Majesty, et cetera, and whether I wanted sugar in my tea. It was all I could do not to take you in my arms and ravish you upon the tea cart. But I did want to know you a little better." He planted a relatively chaste kiss on her lips, just as if nothing had happened between them besides polite conversation.

  She fought the impulse to slap him. "Well... now that you have had your tongue and fingers in me, I suppose there is little else to discover."

  He shook his head. "I look forward to continuing our ac­quaintance."

  Frustrated by his bland reply—not to mention the fact that he had not brought her to climax—and feeling somewhat dazed, Fiona said nothing but looked about for her shoes, which had come off with the tangled drawers she'd kicked aside. She bent over and patted the heap of muslin, taking out one shoe and then the other, and pulling up her dress to put them on. T
he drawers were a dead loss and she left them on the floor.

  "I find I am most interested in what goes on inside your head, Fiona."

  "Is that why you are looking at my legs? Surely white stock­ings do not excite you."

  He smiled, placing his hands on his hips. Fiona noticed that he was still hugely erect. "Your legs are lovely."

  She slid her feet into the shoes and stamped a little to get the toes to fit, still seething with frustration and the sexual heat he had awakened. "Poxy shoes. I think a heel is broken." Taking that one off, she flung it at the wall. Its mate soon followed.

  Edward closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. He held her—just held her—for a long moment and made her ache with longing for him. "Ah, Fiona. You manage to look elegant, even when you are cursing and throwing shoes. Always a lady, eh?"

  Hardly. At least not at the moment. She was getting no­where, no matter what she did, and feeling more confused by the minute. Perhaps she ought to have worn stockings in who-rish black and not ladylike white—oh, damn. There was no sorting out her confused feelings. Her perplexed scowl made him smile again.

  "Well, here we are, my dear—halfway to heaven. But we seem to be having our first spat."

  "Shut up."

  He grinned and let her go. "We might begin again. Yes, I think that would be best."

  "Oh, do you?" She paced a few steps away and turned her back to him, standing in front of the window. She could not re­member Thomas ever making her so angry—and she certainly could not remember wanting him as much as she wanted Lord Delamar.

  From behind she heard him walk closer to her. "The moon­light shines through your gown, Fiona. I can see that you are naked underneath."

  "That is not news." Her tone softened nonetheless.

  "Naked . . . and irresistible."

  He stood behind her and caressed her shoulders, dropping a kiss upon one and moving upward to her neck. He nibbled on her earlobe and ran his tongue around the rest of it, reminding her of the very great pleasure he had given her south of her tin­gling ear. Damn him. The sensation weakened her resolve.

  "Perhaps our game got out of hand. But I did think you were enjoying yourself."

  "I was," she admitted in a small voice.

  "Then you will enjoy what is to come even more. But allow me to propose a few rules, Fiona."

  She turned within the circle of his arms and let her hands rest on his shirt front, unfastening his neck cloth but leaving it draped around his neck and beginning on his buttons. She folded the white linen back, admiring his smooth, strong neck and the fine dark hair upon his chest. "Very well."

  He gave her a hug. Fiona rubbed herself against him like a cat, unable to resist his sensual warmth. Edward caressed her bare flesh under the light dress appreciatively. "Rule one. I may ask you to lift your dress as you just did, at any time I wish."

  "All right. I have done it once, I might as well do it again."

  He nodded. "Rule two. You must allow me to lick your cunny again. I enjoyed it and so did you."

  "Indeed." She felt an unwilling smile curve her lips. How could she argue?

  "Do you agree to rule two?"

  "Yes."

  He held her closer to him. "Rule three. If I desire to see you bare your breasts and play with your nipples, or if I want you to bend over and spread your cheeks and give me the best pos­sible view of your cunny and arsehole, or if I ask anything at all, you must say yes."

  "Anything at all? You will not hurt me, my lord?"

  He kissed her on the nose. "Of course not. I just like look­ing at you. Every inch of you. And I intend to satisfy your every desire as well."

  Fiona pondered his words. "That sounds reasonable." She slid her hands down his body and stopped just short of his breeches.

  "Now touch me." His voice was low. He pulled his shirt out and let the loose linen billow out, holding the front of it up to allow her to do just that.

  She slipped her hand inside the waistband, pulling it away from his taut, hard belly and peeked inside his breeches. There, less than an inch away, his cock stood proudly, a pearly drop upon its tip. She touched a fingertip to the tiny hole to take up the drop and bring it to her mouth. He watched her tongue tip come out and lick that one precious drop. The ridged muscles of his midsection tightened under skin that was hot to the touch, and his long, stiff cock seemed about to burst out of his breeches.

  "Delicious," she said softly.

  He drew in a long breath. "There will be more of that for you to taste, if that is what you like in your mouth. Much more." She slid a hand into his breeches again but he grabbed her wrist and prevented her from touching him. "You shall come first, my lady. But there is nothing soft for you to lie on in this room. Can we enter the butler's bedchamber from here?"

  "Yes," she said. "This way." He let go of her wrist and inter­twined his fingers with hers. Fiona took him through an empty closet with a false back that proved to be another door, slipping her feet back into her shoes along the way.

  "Very clever. You must give me the name of Bertie's carpen­ter."

  Fiona sniffed. "The last thing he fashioned for my husband was a coffin. We all wondered if it had a secret exit, you may be sure." She swung the door open into the room Lord Delamar had glimpsed through the lens in the wall and brought him in.

  She glanced around. "The bed seems bigger once you are in­side the room, doesn't it?"

  "Big enough for Mr. Tresham and his happy harem," Edward said with a smirk. He sat down in an armchair to pull off his boots, which he thunked into a corner.

  Fiona wasted no time in testing the mattress, which had been made up with a sheet and flat-stitched comforter, but no drapes hung from the canopy. She kicked off her shoes again before the last of her was on the bed but Edward made a sound of protest. "Oh no. Leave those on." He picked the shoes up from the carpet and pushed her down onto her back without further ado. "Raise your legs."

  Laughing, she did, letting her dress fall around her hips, bar­ing herself below the waist as before. She parted her legs sud­denly, giving him a mischievous look as she flashed her cunny, then brought her legs together and held them straight up, toes pointed.

  He clasped her ankles in one big hand, slipping on the dainty shoes one at a time and running his other hand over her smooth stockings, toying with the garters that held them up just above the knees. Then, in one swift move, he pulled off his loosened neck cloth and used it to tie her ankles together and to the canopy rod above.

  "There. Ready to be licked?"

  She bent her knees a bit to test her bonds, amused by the speed of his action. "Ahh. Yes. Oh, yes." From the second his tongue had touched the heated flesh between her legs, she had wanted more, wanted to come with his mouth all over her cunny, holding his head and surrendering to his sensual exper­tise. The thought of abandoning herself utterly to erotic plea­sure with only a silken restraint to remind her of who was now master of the game, excited her deeply.

  Edward knelt by the side of the bed, pulling her hips toward him until Fiona's arse was off the bed, her back still solidly upon it, and her arms stretched out. Dragged in this way, her dress rose higher still and the bodice forced her breasts out. He rose and fastened his mouth tightly upon one nipple, sucking it deep pink and hard. He kept the sucked nipple between his fin­ger and thumb, rolling it as he sucked the other one.

  She arched her back, thrusting her breasts at him, stroking his hair as he nursed her blissfully for a minute or more. Then he stopped with a sigh, pulled his shirt over his head, and treated her to the sight of his beautifully muscular chest, traced with fine dark hair that tapered into his breeches.

  Fiona reached out a hand to the cock that bulged inside, strapped back by the tightness of the leather but responding to her touch.

  "May I. .. ?"

  He ignored her question and went back to his position on the floor, kissing her naked thighs and bottom all over, wher­ever he could reach, then stroked h
er backside. Then he put his mouth upon her cunny, getting his tongue in with darting licks.

  With her legs together and trussed up, she was much tighter. His tongue had to thrust hard to gain entrance and he used his fingers to stretch her more open, following fingers with tongue, fingers with tongue, in a deeply erotic rhythm that made her thrash as much as the silk tie would allow, bucking her arse.

  "Mmmra." He stopped licking, held her steady, and began to suck her bud. Fiona moaned with pleasure. The sensation was intense—and he made it stronger when he sat back on his haunches, fondling her swollen nether lips between fingers and thumb, pressing them together, looking at her now and then and murmuring gentle encouragement.

  "Come for me. Come."

  She felt an incandescent desire for release, wanting him to witness her first orgasm with him and wanting to experience it with shameless abandon. Deep within her body waves of plea­sure rose and rose, never cresting but only taking her higher.

  Then she felt him touch her arsehole, stimulating it gently but not penetrating her there. Fiona rested, needing a moment of tender distraction from the climax that was seconds away. She knew very well that such play would make the ultimate sensation much more powerful—and she trusted him, vulnera­ble though she was with her arse in midair and her ankles tied.

  He must love to see me like this, she thought. He was breath­ing hard when he kissed and tongued her cunny again, keeping his fingertip circling upon her arsehole, slick with the juices that had dripped down.

  "I shall not put my finger in, my lady. But I think you enjoy gentle arse play," he whispered when he lifted his handsome head. He began to stroke her buttocks, moving his fingertips over the backs of her thighs, brushing them so softly that she began to tremble. Her need for release was almost overwhelming.

  But Fiona wanted him to give it to her. Her hands were free, yet she would not use them. "I beg of you . . ." she moaned, "Now ... I am ready . . . now."

  He stood up, untying her ankles and let her legs down, rub­bing them and ridding them of stiffness. The deep, massaging strokes were soothing and stimulating. He cradled each of her thighs in a strong arm as he rubbed it down, moving to her calves and feet more swiftly, intently aware of the swollen pink cunt that was spread open in front of him, awaiting his plea­sure, whatever it would be.