I did as he said, resting my palms against the white down comforter. “Like this?” I asked, a seductive smile curling my lips as I peered at him over my shoulder.
“Exactly.” His palms were caressing the contour of my behind. “You’re exquisite.” Marcus bent over me and kissed my spine at the space above the curve of my ass. He continued down, over the garter belt and down across the back of my left thigh. I gasped as his tongue darted out and licked at the lacy edge of my stocking on my inner thigh, wanting his tongue to venture just a bit higher into my hot slit. Withdrawing the touch of his tongue, he made a trail of hard warm kisses down the stocking seam on the back of my legs. His mouth moved over my calves and down to my heels, light moans and sighs escaping him as he went.
I whimpered when his kisses returned to my lower back and began over again. His hot breaths tingled against my skin and I arched my back, begging him.
“You want me to taste your sweet pussy?” Marcus chuckled as he reached beneath me and ran his index finger along the red lace over my engorged clit.
“Yes, please,” I said, my voice edged with yearning.
Marcus knelt behind me and grasped the sensitive nub of flesh between his thumb and index finger, pulling the skin back and forth. He stroked along the length of it, up and down, tugging gently. The thumb of his other hand looped beneath the fabric of my panties, pulling them aside. “You’re so wet, honey.” With the tip of his tongue he parted my pussy lips and then he was in me, tasting. His tongue swirled, pulled back, and probed my depths again and again.
I cried his name as the pulses of my orgasm began to rocket through my body. The quick flicks of his tongue drew the waves of sensation out until they ebbed away. "You are so good to me,” I murmured. Marcus gently tugged the crotch of my panties back into their proper place.
I stood up and turned around, hugging his face and leaning down to kiss him on the forehead.
“I’m not done with you.” Marcus kissed my stomach, dipping his tongue into my navel. He rose to his feet and I could see shiny pearls of pre-cum clinging to the head of his cock. He kissed me on the mouth. “Sit down and lay back,” he gave me a sly smile as he gestured toward the bed.
I sat gingerly—my thighs still shaking and my knees wobbly from orgasm. The comforter was cool under my bare skin. Marcus leaned over me and he slipped his hand beneath the bend of my knee, raising my leg up. With a set of quick snaps, he released the catches that held my stocking in place. He fingered delicately around the lace, looping his thumb beneath it as he began tugging the nylon down my leg. The maddeningly slow touch of lace skimming along my inner thigh made me squirm—want rising inside of me. When the stocking was off, he laid it atop my skirt on the vanity chair.
He teased me with the left stocking, the same as he had done before. Snap, snap, and nylon and lace moved slowly along my skin. My heartbeat quickened and heat flushed my body, from head to toe—I was burning with the need for him inside of me.
Marcus drew closer, his mouth caressing the soft space of my belly between my hipbones. I felt his erection pinned to the side of my right thigh. “Please, take me!” I begged.
He dropped his kisses lower, over my mound, his breath cooling my hot skin. "I will, my love, but first,” his words trailed off and his hands went to the garter belt, pushing it up toward my waist before I felt his fingers loop into the waistband of my panties and begin to slide them down.
I lifted my hips and once he’d removed them, Marcus let them fall to the floor at his feet. He was on his knees again, the flat of his palm on my lower belly, pressing me gently to the bed. With his other hand he pressed my thighs far enough apart so that he could kneel between my knees. He brought his mouth down to my waiting folds. He kissed my pussy lips—the tip of his tongue stroking the edges of my slit. He suckled gently on one lip and then the other. My gasp melted into a moan of pleasure.
Marcus parted my labia, drawing a line over my clit and down to my entrance. Slowly, with a heavenly pressure, he inserted his index finger and began to stroke my inner walls. I felt the intensity building as he stroked my g-spot and a low guttural purr played in my chest.
He pressed another finger inside and stroked harder. My hips began moving in the same rhythm with his fingers. He teased harder and I pulsed, gushing with sweet ecstasy, dampening the covers beneath me.
Marcus loomed above me, droplets of my sweet juices clung to his fingers and he sucked at them, his tongue darting between, drinking me up. He leaned over me and kissed me. I tasted myself, sweet on his mouth. He sat on the bed and pulled me against his chest. Between us, his cock throbbed. He kissed my neck and shoulders, winding his fingers down into the garter belt that was still around my waist. With an expert tug and flick, he removed it and tossed it aside.
“I love you, baby.” He stroked my hair and kissed me. Our mouths tangled together, tongues caressing each other. Marcus moaned into my mouth, the sound filling my head. He broke the kiss long enough to move so he was hovering above me. I smiled and stroked the side of his face and drew a line around his lips with my index finger. With his knee, he parted my thighs and positioned himself between them.
Marcus lifted my hips, his broad hands cupping my rear end and pressed the head of his cock into the entrance of my slit. He groaned, his head tilting back, as he steadied himself on his knees before pressing deeper, spreading me with his thick length. He eased inside of me, holding me still, looking at the sight of my tight pussy wrapped around his hard cock.
His hands slid further up my back and he lifted me up and pulled me closer to his chest. My legs wrapped around his hips and my arms around his neck, holding him. He kissed my mouth, one of his hands tangling in my hair, the other pressing into the small of my back.
Marcus moved his hands to my hips and began thrusting rhythmically. He pulled most of the way out and then slammed back in, each stroke stretching me again and again. The delightful friction tilted me over the edge again and I pulsed around him, crying out his name. I felt his body tense, his grip pressing me tighter against him as he released, filling me with his load. He trembled for a second or two and then exhaled. He crushed his lips against mine and laid me gently on the bed.
We lay tangled together, his arms holding me against his broad chest. “I’m so glad I married you,” I said, my fingers stroking gently on his forearm.
He kissed my forehead, “Happy Anniversary, my darling.”
Saving Grace
The Crimson Viper, 1755
Grace screamed viciously as the cold spray of seawater slapped against her cheek. Her body pitched sideways as a hard, dark shoulder knocked the breath from her lungs, hoisted her off her feet, and hauled her back from the ship’s railing.
She sucked in air that tasted of salt and stank of unwashed men. “How dare you throw my wedding dress overboard,” Grace raged, balling her hands into fists and slamming them into the muscular back of the black sailor, aptly called Strong Jonny. “I will have you hanged for this, you damnable pirate.”
Labor-roughened fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to look up from the captain’s black knee high leather boots with their gold buckles and the tight-fitting crotch of his dark brown breeches, into his face. Payne was no eye-sore, auburn locks tied at the nape of his neck, devilish black eyes fringed with long dark lashes, broad nose, and full sensual lips. Several days’ worth of coppery beard growth covered his square jaw. He wore a dress shirt with the sleeves ripped away and the muscles of his bare arms rippled beneath salt and sun-darkened skin. “Privateer, m’lady, and the gold this cargo’ll bring, I can buy you a hundred new dresses.” He smiled wickedly. Grace’s mouth went dry and heat nestled in her belly. “My father did not hire you for this,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“He didn’t hire me not to either.” Payne’s hot fingers released their grip on her face. “Lock her in my cabin, Jonny.”
“Abigail! Frederick!” Grace yelled her servants’ names at the top of her lungs, her fists once
again pounding uselessly on the large sailor’s back.
“Don’t think dey gonna help you none, Miss Grace,” Jonny said as he carried her across the deck and down the three wooden steps to the captain’s cabin. Lifting her from his shoulder, the large man deposited her in a heap on the floor and left, locking the door with a brass key from the heavy ring he kept at his belt.
Grace slumped on the wooden floor, the cold skirt of her drenched dress clinging to her stockinged legs. “Payne,” she screamed as she removed one shoe and hurled it at the closed door. “You’ll suffer for this.” The other shoe banged against the wood. She stood, unbuttoning the pearls that held her white stomacher to her ruined blue satin gown and then peeled them both off. Loosening her stays, she flung them among the heap of salt-stained silk on the floor. Her wet petticoat was followed closely by her white stockings and garters.
She rummaged through the chest at the end of the captain’s bed looking for something clean to cover her nakedness. Her fingers closed around the folds of a white cotton shirt and she slipped it around her, fastening the ivory buttons. The cloth swallowed her petite frame and the hem brushed just above her knees. She rolled the cuffs of the too long sleeves up over her forearms.
The oblong mirror mounted to the wall caught Grace’s eye. Her towheaded reflection looked a disaster. Half of her hair had come lose from the silver comb she used to pin it away from her face. She tried to tame her damp, knotted locks with her fingers, but it was no use. Grace growled, removing the comb and tossing it among the heap of her clothes.
She gazed at the ruined pile of silk. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she swiped at them with her fingertips. The horror of watching her wedding dress sink beneath the dark ocean twisted in her gut. Enraged anew, Grace grabbed the captain’s spyglass from its place on the shelf and threw it at the mirror. She missed and it ricocheted off of the wall and rolled beneath the bed.
“Two can play at this game.” She pounded her fist on the closed door and screamed at anyone who might be listening.
The cabin porthole groaned against the pressure of her hand as she propped it open. Grace seized a few of the captain’s shirts and a pair of breeches from the open chest and tossed them out. The sea breeze caught the clothes and they billowed before floating down into the water below. She let fly anything she could find, a pair of boots, a hat, and a black waistcoat with mother of pearl buttons, books, and papers from the captain’s desk. She opened a cabinet, seeking more things to throw from the porthole, when her eyes fell on something unexpected. Grace’s breath hitched in her throat.
On the shelf, in a silver frame, stood a painted portrait of her when she was fifteen years old. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked the cold metal with her fingertips. A lifetime had passed since the last time she’d seen the painting and the face of the sweet boy she’d given it to as a token of her affection.
The cabin door banged open and slammed shut, startling her. Payne’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the chaos. “Where did you get this?” She sounded calmer than she felt at the moment.
“What did you do?” the pirate bellowed, striding toward Grace.
“Where did you get the portrait?” Her voice rose in pitch and she grabbed the object nearest at hand to defend herself against Payne’s black gaze.
“If you’re going to threaten me, use something sharper than a letter opener,” he hissed, snatching it easily from her hand and flinging it to the floor. He towered over her.
“Where did you get the painting, you filthy cur,” Grace stumbled over the insult, her face flushed with anger.
“You are so very beautiful when you’re vexed, m’lady.” Payne’s lips sank against hers with crushing desire, his hands grasping her slight shoulders.
For a moment, Grace forgot her rage, pressing her lips back against his, melting delightfully into the touch, need pooling in her belly. When her good sense came back, she pushed him away and struck him across the jaw with her open palm. “Scoundrel,” she shook the tingle of contact from her fingers. “Where the devil did you get that painting of me?”
Payne stepped back, rubbing the side of his face. “You gave it to me,” he murmured.
Grace stood flabbergasted, her mouth slack with surprise. “Jacob?” Her voice cracked and she brought her fingers to her lips, touching where he’d so bruisingly kissed her. The Jacob Pratt that Grace remembered was a slender boy of sixteen with a head of copper curls and a heart-melting smile, not this man standing so close she could feel the heat of the sun still on his bronzed skin.
Payne nodded his head and his lips turned up in that boyish smirk she so fondly recalled. “Jacob,” his name a strained whisper, a prayer, through her warm fingers. “I thought you were dead.” Grace wrapped her arms around his neck and his arms wound around her waist, pulling her close into his hard chest. She tilted her head back, peering up at him through her lashes and his lips once again found hers.
Their tongues ravished each other with soft darting caresses and Jacob’s hands curved over Grace’s bottom. He swung their bodies around, her back against the closed cabin door, and ground his hips into her; his bold need urgent and hard against her soft belly.
Grace’s palm caressed his cheek and her fingertips curled into his soft beard as she hummed into the delicious pressure of his lips. His hungry kisses dropped lower, devouring her jawline and the elegant curve of her throat. Lips and teeth grazed along the top of her shoulder and Grace tilted her head to the side, offering him easier access to her sensitive flesh.
His mouth was on her breast, teeth raking against her nipple through the fabric of the shirt. Moist warmth coupled with the friction of cloth against the delicate peak elicited a low growl from her open lips. She panted, her womanhood clenching with lust and damp warmth gathering inside her.
Jacob’s rough fingertips whispered across her hips, tracing a sloping line to the inside of her bare thighs. Shivers sped along her spine and she gasped as his fingers curled into the soft down between her legs. His index finger slipped between her dewy folds and pressed against her clit. He expertly drew forth more of her sweet juices.
Grace leaned her head against the door, the fingers of one hand winding in his auburn locks as the others reached down, finding his stiff length and caressing it through the cloth of his breeches with her warm palm. He groaned; his tongue lavishing upon her nipple beneath the shirt.
His fingers continued to work in and out of her, the pad of his thumb twirling around her sweetest spot. She flushed as Jacob’s free hand cupped the heavy curve of her other breast, his thumb mirroring the other, swirling around the aching peak of her nipple, rousing her still higher.
Her fingers twisted in the hair on his head, losing the chord at the nape of his neck and his long locks spilled like burnished copper along his shoulders before both her hands were at the first button on his breeches. Grace tugged furiously, releasing the buttons that held back his girth. He sprang free and she took his velvety length in both her hands.
“God, Grace,” Jacob sighed, burying his face into her blond hair that fell over her shoulder. He planted one hand on the door above her head and the one that had so merrily been working her moved to grip her thigh. She cried out with pleasure as his cock sank deep into her.
Grace’s fingers dug into the taught muscles of his shoulders, his chest flush against hers, his body pinning her to the door. She flicked her tongue on his ear, pulling the golden stud in his lobe between her teeth, tugging upon it gently. His moans keened higher as his thrust faster, surging fuller into her slick depths. He ground into her, the sweet friction pushing her over the precipice of release.
Waves of orgasm surged over her and Grace cried his name. Her ebb and flow was his undoing and Jacob’s body tensed, arching against her as he emptied a lusty fire into her slit. His lips crushed against hers and they leaned against the door, panting and satisfied.
He slid out of her and released his hold on her leg. “I’ve wanted do
that with you since the moment I saw you walking up the gangplank,” Jacob brushed a tendril of her light hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. He turned, sat on the bed, and began unbuckling his boots.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Grace’s lower lip snagged between her teeth, her face flush with afterglow.
“You didn’t recognize me,” he stood back up, pulling his shirt off over his head and then shimming out of his breeches. “I was hurt,” he smirked, but she knew he was being sincere.
“You’ve changed a lot,” she looked down at the shirt she still wore and began tugging the buttons open. “You’ve filled out.” Her thighs and fingers trembled in tandem.
She watched Jacob still smirking at her, his black eyes burning with renewed lust as the white fabric fell away from the porcelain skin of her breasts and belly. “I could say the same of you,” his tongue darted out, moistening his bottom lip.
Grace stepped toward him and working the last button free, letting the shirt fall to the floor. She stood between his spread knees and he grasped her behind, nuzzling into the damp blond triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. He kissed her sex and pulled her down into the bed with him.
Her hair spread across the pillow. “Some things haven’t changed,” her blue eyes searched his face.
Jacob rolled onto his side and propped his head in his hand. With the other he traced the soft curve of her narrow waist and full hips. “It’s still rather easy to get under your petticoat, my love.”
“I wasn’t wearing one,” Grace hit him with a pillow. She narrowed her eyes and her nostrils flared angrily, “and you’re still aggravating.”
His smile broadened and he pulled her closer to him, “so lovely when vexed.” Their lips touched, tongues weaving together. Jacob’s hot hands roved along her body, fingers skirting the delicate skin along her spine and up her neck, fisting her hair. She arched closer to him, sighing when he loosened his hold.
Drinker with a Writing Problem Page 4