Nobody had ever requested such a thing of him. The women he usually entertained knew only that they wanted affection. Their requests were simple, a kiss, a touch, a smile, the deep prick of his cock followed by a shattering climax. Easy, for the most part.
He’d known Sophia would be different. Damn! He smiled as the image of her delightful bottom raised in greeting subsumed his thoughts again.
Perhaps they ought to wade into conventional waters first.
Another kiss… He drew his fingers through the rich mahogany strands that framed her face, pressed her back into the eiderdown. Just the touch of her lips had his cock bucking for release, but this wasn’t about him. He had to remember that. Her arms wrapped around him, hands slid beneath his frock coat and his waistcoat. He sat up again and let her undo the row of buttons. Paris shrugged off the restrictive outer layers while Sophia unravelled the cravat from around his throat. He leaned forward to kiss her again, but she pushed him back so that he was forced onto his knees on the floor again.
Never breaking eye contact, she bunched the fabric of her skirts, raising them slowly to reveal stockings, garters and then the pale skin of her thighs. “Kiss me,” she begged, her legs splayed to show the ruby-red flesh of her slit.
Paris pressed his lips to her inner thigh, climbed higher slowly. Curious to be with a woman who knew what she wanted, not that he delivered the prize immediately, but rather skirted the issue, delivering light brushing caresses, until she was writhing and sighing and then seeking out his head. Her fingers curled around the locks of his hair, nails dug into his scalp as she guided him.
Paris touched her nub with his tongue, and her breath hissed through her teeth in response.
“Is this the sort of kiss you want? Does your cunny crave all the attention?” He licked and then brought his fingers into play, sliding two into her cunt while he settled his other hand over the lower part of her belly, pressing a little as he teased her nub.
Oh, yes, she liked that, did his Sophia.
“Good,” she squealed. Her whole body rocked to the motion of his lips.
Lord, she tasted so sweet, dewy and fresh, and her sheath clenched at his fingers as though she intended to draw him inside. Just as soon as he’d given her the peak she so craved, he was going to sink so deep inside her they might never find a way of parting. Her grip on his hair tightened a little further.
“Just there, just there.”
“Here?” As if he didn’t know. Women were all different, but some things never really altered, it was just a matter of precision, and of knowing the strokes. He dabbed his tongue against her nub and wriggled a third finger into her cunt alongside the other two.
The welcoming groan told him he’d got it right.
Maybe he didn’t want to wait this one out, just because it was his normal routine didn’t mean he had to play that way with Sophie. Her hot cunt would certainly welcome his prick. Hell, he needed at least a touch, a hand on his cock, preferably her hand, but even his own would do.
Paris ripped open the placket fastening of his breeches and yanked his shirttails out of the way. Hmm, felt really good to have even the air touching his erection. Yes, Sophia. He was with Sophia. Finally, after all these damn weeks of mooning and hopeless yearning. One push and she would finally be his.
Enough. He wormed his way up her body, weaving a path of kisses over her stomach and breasts, to her neck and chin. He settled his hips neatly over hers. They were a perfect fit. So perfect, his cock was bucking for entry before he’d even looked down into her eyes to ask permission.
“Kiss me.”
If she’d imagined his first kisses teasing and coy, then this surely compensated. There was no getting enough of her. Her eye-tooth nicked his lips as they kissed, and her tongue swirled against his, possessing and possessive, while her fingernails raked continually against his back, before diving lower to squeeze hard the muscles of his arse.
It took a moment or two to realise the squeak of floorboards he was hearing wasn’t caused by their rumpus on the bed. Paris tentatively turned his head. Shit and sorrow! Lovich stood with his back to the inside of the chamber door. Paris returned his gaze to Sophia. Had she noticed? “Your husband…”
“I know.”
Not an iota of worry clouded the bliss written on her face.
“Is it a problem, him being here?”
“Not if you don’t think it is.”
“It’s not.”
The fact Lovich hadn’t rushed at them and dragged them apart—hadn’t done anything at all in fact—seemed to signify his approval of their little tryst. Strange man. If Sophia had been his, Paris would have killed any other man he’d found with her.
Her hand cupped the side of his face, and Paris nuzzled against the caress.
“You don’t mind Alexander joining us, do you, Paris? I’m afraid I invited him. He always knew. We don’t keep secrets from one another.”
That’s what she’d whispered when she’d leaned over to Lovich at the card table, not goodnight, not an entreaty to come to bed, but that she intended to take another upstairs.
Mind? Well, if he minded it was only because he was inches from sliding inside her sweet juicy cunt, and Lovich’s ill-timed arrival was slowing things down considerably. He wanted to fuck. Lord, how he wanted to fuck this woman.
Paris stroked a hand down her long white neck, until it came to rest over the top of her breast. There remained something delightfully enchanting about the fragility and strength she combined. So petite he thought he might snap her with one overzealous push, and yet there was an air of strength about her too, inbred no doubt as part of her impeccable pedigree, although, he wasn’t at all au fait with her people, other than to know she was a Penrose by birth, and that her mother’s side had ties to their current host Lord Egremont.
Sophia dug her fingers back into the flesh of his flanks, causing his breath to hitch. He burned with the ache of wanting her. His balls pulled up tight, and his cock reared as he pressed the tip towards her slit. He stopped short of entering her though, too conscious of Lovich, who had moved to the bedside. Lovich’s shadow slid over the top of Sophia’s prone form, causing tension to tighten the muscles in Paris’s back and shoulders. Irritation nipped at his nerve-endings, but neither the irritation nor Alexander’s presence curbed his enthusiasm for the woman beneath him. God-damn it, this might not be the scenario he’d wished for, but he’d take whatever morsel she offered, and if that meant tolerating her husband’s looming presence, then so be it.
Lovich chose that precise moment to move forward into the light cast by the glowing coals. He stood mere inches to the front and side of them now, his hip level with Paris’s head. While Paris would have preferred not to acknowledge Lovich, it seemed prudent to be certain of his continued safety. He’d been invited to bedchambers before now that he’d then had to fly pursued by a cuckolded husband.
Lovich’s stance spoke more of sexual tension than anger. The frontfall of his breeches hung open, and his fist was formed, but not in a manner as to present a threat. Rather, his fingers were curled around the ruddy length of his cock. Dear Lord, the man actually intended to seek release while watching them fuck.
“Why are you waiting, Ashcroft?” Lovich asked.
The heat of embarrassment prickled across Paris’s cheekbones and into the tips of his ears. His lips drew back so that he knew he scowled. He did so hate being provoked, and yet… Hell, if he hadn’t waited weeks for this. He’d wanted to possess Sophia Lovich from the moment they’d met, and he was damn well going to do it. Lovich could watch all he damn well liked.
Paris surged forwards in a rush, provoking a gasp of shock from Sophia as his cock slid into her cunt, filling her, completing the bond between them. He held himself still a moment, watching Lovich’s expression. Not a hint of jealousy flickered across his noble face. Not a single blessed hint.
Sophia claimed his lips again. Her sheath squeezed hot and tight around him. She fit him like
a supple kid glove, muscles fluttering around his shaft, goading him to lift and withdraw, to drive into her again. “Yes,” he hissed as he surged forwards, and again her puss seemed to kiss the entirety of his shaft.
“Is this what you wanted, my wicked lady, a big fine prick to fill up your purse?”
“Paris,” she gasped, and reached out to him. She mussed his hair and stroked the curve of his jaw before pushing her fingers into his mouth to suck.
Paris bunched her skirts a little higher. Dammit, he wanted to kiss her, to lie naked with her, and smear every inch of her lily-white skin with teasing love bites. He wanted to raise her to climax with the flick of his tongue. Fill her as surely no other man could.
As it was, the very real reminder of who provided her pleasure on an all too regular basis stood right beside them.
“How do you like her cunt?” Lovich asked.
Paris shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the question. She was simply astonishing. Sophia Lovich had the skills of a courtesan, and not just the typical everyday sort who preyed upon the lonely, but rather one genuinely trained in the arts of pleasure. Who had taught her to clasp a man’s cock like that, to tug on his shaft so as to give maximum pleasure? Brain addled, and balls growing primed and tight, he gave her his full attention for several glorious strokes. Had Lovich taught her that? He made the mistake of meeting the man’s gaze again—a gaze so filled with intent, he found himself captured by it.
Paris trembled as the heat rose off his skin. Desire—pure, hot, sexual intent burned in the inky depths of Lovich’s pupils. He stood with his breeches pushed down around his thighs, stroking his cock so that his thumb flicked back and forth over its plum-hued tip.
“You need to fuck her hard,” Lovich insisted, his words a low husky purr. “She likes it hard and fast. To be held down and ridden.”
Paris had slowed their swiving almost to a stop, his attention still locked upon the motion of Lovich’s wrist. Why it seemed almost as if that touch were a caress upon his own cock, and the joy of the act raced across his body causing dizzy excitement.
“Do, please.” Sophia’s voice dragged him back. Flashes of crimson gave colour to her pretty oval face. Her head was tilted back so that her petulant little chin pointed straight up. Her hips lifted off the bed on each upward thrust so that their bodies met with a percussive slap. He didn’t need to hear an affirmation from her. The truth of Lovich’s statement was already manifold in her expression, and in the way her palms circled over his skin. She dug her nails deep into his flanks and pulled him down onto her, whereupon her breath scorched his ear. “You should let yourself come. The second time will be all the sweeter. You’re too tense and uptight about Alexander. Let yourself relax, and I can rouse you to attention again with my lips.”
Again—she intended to make this a full night of pleasure. Lovich’s arrival had raised his expectations of things being cut short, but maybe not.
Sophia’s hand continued to work over his flanks, kneading, scratching and goading him to firmer more decisive strokes. One finger tickled the swirl of his anus and set off fireworks all down his back. No woman had ever touched him there, but then even the most willing of romps had never been remotely like Sophia.
He realised she’d wet her finger when she slipped him a fraction of her fingertip. His muscles clamped tight around her. “What are you about?” he hissed at her, still only too aware of her husband watching them.
“Giving you a treat.” She laughed and wriggled the finger a fraction deeper. “No one has touched you here before have they, Paris? It’s a most pleasurable spot for both a man and a woman. I hope a little later you’ll use your tongue and kiss me there.” Shocked, he stiffened, and she withdrew, only for her nails to then bite into his back. What was she saying? That the talk earlier hadn’t been forgotten? That she still wanted to pursue that course, even with her husband present?
Jesus! He had to pull back and out of her just to stop himself coming from the notion.
Still, he couldn’t stand being apart from her for more than the moment it took to give his balls a deft tug. Not when he was already riding this close the edge.
He grabbed her wrists and pinned them either side of her head before surging into her again.
“Yes,” she hissed. “More. Paris. More.”
It was going to be quick. Dear God was it going to be quick, but he could no more stop his hips from working than he could stop the sun rising. Harder—he couldn’t hold on. Faster—pleasure raced along his shaft, and tightened like a cordon around his balls. Harder and faster—Sophia meeting him stroke for stroke, and fighting a little against the strength of his grip around her wrists.
She was beautiful and she was perfect. “Mmm, come on,” he coaxed her, wanting her body to react to the pleasure at the same time as his. But his hips were already moving of their own volition. He came with a great shuddering release, crying out as her quim continued to milk him long after his world fractured and slowly began to reassemble.
“I’m sorry.” He gulped. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.”
Sophia laughed, and worked free one of her wrists so that she could muss his hair. “I told you that you needed to come. You’re far more relaxed now. The second will be all the better for it. Perhaps the best one yet.”
With her he could actually believe that. Normally, the second was a god-awful chore.
Paris reached down and circled her clit with his thumb. It was taut and ripe as a berry, peeping out from its protective hood eager for some attention She whimpered at the touch, looked up at him and then at her husband.
“Let me suck you, dearest.” Sophia twisted beneath Paris, so that although their bodies remained locked, she lay first upon her side and then upon her stomach. She led Paris up the bed a little way until she knelt perfectly aligned with Lovich’s loins, whereupon she raised her head and took her husband’s cock full into her delicate mouth.
Damn him to hell for it, but watching her pink lips stretch around Lovich’s cock tore a strangled gasp of appreciation from Paris’s throat. When he’d accepted her invitation, he’d never for a moment anticipated this was where it would lead. Yes, he’d wanted her, but he’d imagined her largely unskilled and ill content, her apparently blissful marriage surely nothing more than the sham so many others were. But seeing her now, this was one marriage that was surely built upon mutual contentment, which made it doubly odd that he should be here at all.
“Paris,” she moaned, taking a moment to catch a breath. “Where are you, my lover? Come, stroke me. Join us.”
Since his loins were already pressed as close to hers as it was possible to get, it took no leap of intelligence to add it all up. She wasn’t inviting his touch but rather entreating him to join her in pleasuring her husband. The talk of sodomy—huh, well, it all made sense now, sort of. Actually the concept wound knots inside his guts. Of course, he could revolt, flee the chamber and risk future ridicule and maybe damage to his purse, or he could be realistic about who and what he was and exactly how much he really wanted to stay here with Sophia.
It wasn’t as if he found Lovich repulsive by any means. He’d been drawn to his company in other ways in the past. The man exuded easy confidence and had a keen political mind. He also possessed a solid muscular frame that spoke of natural strength. Lovich was no weakling squire come to town to prance about in the latest silks but a man naturally accustomed to hard toil and leading by example. One surely prepared to strip and wield a scythe if the need arose to get the crops in fast.
Yes, there was definitely something majestic about Alexander Lovich, from the diamond of hair upon his chest, to the wiry bush around the base of his cock. The cock his wife was so contentedly sucking… and yet Paris balked at turning that admiration into something more appreciative.
He didn’t want Lovich like he wanted the man’s wife.
“Sophia, we mustn’t forget our guest.”
Abruptly, she relinquished her husband and tu
rned again to Paris, dipping her head down towards his groin.
He had grown soft in the minutes following his release, but the moment her lips hovered over his staff a familiar sense of arousal tugged once again at his loins. Her touch there was only fleeting, before she reached up to stroke his cheek. Paris held her hand to his face, wanting her, despite a head full of reservations. “What did you really entice me here for?”
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered, evidently reading the fear that pervaded his thoughts. “We invited you here only for companionship. How far things progress is entirely up to you.”
“Progress?”
Sophia’s gaze flicked rapidly over to Alexander and back. “My love and I, we want… Well, we desire someone to share.”
“Let us not be too coy about it, Sophie,” Alexander interjected. He climbed up onto the bed beside them. “I’m sure Paris understands well enough what we want. The question here is really only whether he is game.”
“Why me?”
“Sophia finds you charming and not unattractive, and I confess to sharing a similar disposition. I’m sure you can appreciate it was also imperative that we embarked upon this adventure with someone capable of great discretion. I know what you are, Sir. What you do.”
“Then you know too that I have no interest in men.”
“Interest is irrelevant. It’s the overall balance of things that’s important. You don’t object, I think, to Sophie’s caress.
“No, indeed.”
Alexander took a moment to divest himself of breeches, stockings and boots. “This arrangement cannot be about money, you understand. I will not pay you to swive my wife. In thirty-five years I’ve never paid for sex, and nor do I intend to change that tonight. You must do this merely because you are willing, and desirous of our touch.”
For Sophia, he would do anything. Recompense hadn’t crossed his thoughts.
Menage After Midnight (Romps & Rakehells) Page 2