She made a little noise at the back of her throat.
"You like it," she whispered.
"I'll like it more when my penis is there." God, who would have guessed she was such an easy piece and ripe for the taking. He had wasted three hours before he came back for her. Three hours and he could have had her primed, and on her knees, and he could have been embedded in her, making her beg for him.
Shit. But he loved her squirming ass against the cradle of his hips, and her innocent fingers squeezing his penis head. That was worth having, too. She wanted it, and she wanted it bad; but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction-not yet-and he wasn't going to succumb to her virginal blandishments either.
Not till he could fully and completely ram himself home.
Except for the temptation of that nipple. God, he wanted that nipple. He could arouse her to a fever pitch before he even walked in the door because of that luscious nipple.
"When?" she breathed against his mouth.
"When what?"
"… fuck me…"
"You can't wait for it, can you, fancy-piece?"
"If it feels like your fingers inside me…"
"But it's much longer and thicker and harder. How do you think it will feel?"
She shimmied against his fingers. "Big, thick, hard."
"That's just how it will fill you."
"Yes…," she whispered. "Now."
"Soon."
"Don't move your fingers…" as he began to inch them out.
"Have to.
"Don't… nipple…"
"… never-"
She was so ripe down there, so ready. A moment's distress-if that-and he would possess her fully.
It was a moment to savor. And a moment that gave him pause. He was at the sticking point where, up until now, this had been but a pleasure game willingly played by both participants.
But now… now… something more was at stake: not only her virginity, but her father's trust in him.
Once he went past that point, he could lose everything, and worst of all, he could never get it back.
She knew enough now, his fancy-piece, he had taught her too damned well. They didn't need to do anything more than they were doing to play the pleasure game. As it was, it was almost too much.
"Jeremy…" Her voice was mute, pleading, made him think of a half dozen other ways to carry on.
Shit. Too late for scruples. Or to recover his fifty guineas.
She was too hot, too wet, too irresistible. He caught her up again in a deep dark possessive kiss, shifting her body slightly so that her legs were spread farther apart and he could angle his hard shaft against her nakedness.
Ah…! She felt his penis head then, as he slid it all along her moist cleft, back and forth, and then a little deeper, and a little deeper, deliciously prodding, probing, pushing, pushing, pushing, penetrating inch by slow, hard inch, fingering her hot nipple, mirroring her uncontrollable excitement as he slowly embedded his throbbing penis head in her wet, tight sheath.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…
Just there. Just crowning her entry, just the head of him. She felt it so intensely, she wrenched her mouth from his because she had to see the rock rigid shaft of him buried between her legs.
He let her feel it, feel his power, his heat, his possession. She wriggled tentatively, as if she were trying to get away, and he pushed deeper.
Let her wriggle and writhe, he thought, the more she shimmied, the deeper she took him into her. She was so slick, so tight, so hot, he was that near to ejaculating. And the feeling of her undulating ass against his hips, and the vision of his male head rooted in her, didn't help his effort to maintain control.
He couldn't move; she didn't move. He still held her nipple between his fingers. He tilted her head to feed on her lips. The tension was hot between them, explosive.
She lost herself in that kiss. This was what it meant to be possessed by a man. He had not lied. It meant this deep, dark invasion of the secret places of her body. It meant his having full carnal knowledge of every inch of her. It meant surrendering her whole body, her feminine mystery, her soul. And it meant power. The power that only sex could confer, and that mistresses had known since time began.
Her instinct had been right; she wasn't going to let him hold back. She couldn't. His magic fingers on her nipple made her wild with excitement. The feeling of him between her legs was unspeakably voluptuous; when was he going to ram himself home? She wanted it, more than ever, every thick, rigid inch of him rooted right where he belonged.
She pulled away from the heat of his mouth to whisper, "You feel so good. I want all of your penis inside me."
His body jolted upward, and he felt himself spurting.
"Who would have thought it would feel so good," she breathed, loving that her words had propelled him to erupt. "I can't get enough of it." He thrust again, feeling himself spinning out of control. "More-harder… more-"
And he was gone, his whole body involuntarily jacking upward and exploding his hot spuming cream into her untried virgin body.
It was a wondrous thing, a man's body, that even words could excite it beyond endurance; and his penis, as he withdrew it, still in a high state of arousal. It excited her to see it still rigid and slick with the essence of her.
"Oh, we're not done yet, fancy-piece," he murmured. "I have enough left for you." He levered himself out of the chair, holding her around the waist so that she was not an inch away from him, and tumbled her onto the bed. "Spread your legs, mistress. You begged for this."
She was soaking now, from his semen, from her quivering arousal, and he thrust his penis head hard into her, as deep as he could go without tearing her. She eased onto her elbows to look, to see him deeply embedded in her, joined to her in the most erotic way.
"You want my penis inside you. This"-he thrust at her and she flinched-"is my penis inside you." He drew back meaningfully, thrust just the ridged tip into her, pulled it out, thrust again, pulled it out, thrust again, pulled it out, and this time, with no niceties, no further play, he rammed himself home.
A pinch, a tear-what… oh God, he's inside me to the hilt… oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… it's so naked, it's so hard... it's so THERE...
"You wanted it," he whispered. "Never fuck with a man in heat."
She had to rally; there was no time to examine what was happening, or how she felt, she wanted to get out from under him immediately, and she wanted to stay, and all she could do was react in a way that mirrored this hard-hearted possession that she hadn't quite expected. "You're hard as a bone," she whispered, "so how long do I have to wait for you to fuck me to a faretheewell."
Hell. Bitch. How much money had he thrown at her?
"It would serve you right if I just got up and walked out forever," he growled. "Some mistresses are appreciative of anything they get." It was a game, after all. But he was damned if she was going to call the shots. Virgins were hell after they discovered pleasure. Why hadn't he taken that into consideration? "And the fact this is your first fuck-you should be grateful as hell it's not some stranger! On second thought, I am leaving…" Deliberately, he wrenched himself out of her body, so she could see the rock-hard jut of his throbbing sex. "I'll get it somewhere else."
Oh, God, no no no. Never did she think she would feel this empty, this bereft. And the worst was over. He could never hurt her again that way. And the pleasure was too much to give up out of hand. A mistake to bludgeon him with his own words like that; if she wanted to follow through on her own expressed intentions, which she did, she would have to swallow her mistake and beg.
"Don't."
"Don't. Too late for don'ts, my would-be mistress. Remember? You agreed to my terms. My needs. My wants. My pleasure. When I want it. How I want it. If I want it. That's what I paid you for. Your nipples. Your ass. Your cunt. Not when you want it. When I want it."
"Come get it, then," she said softly. "I'm ready for you." And she was. She felt the loss of
him keenly, and the power, on every level. Once the initial deed was done, the rest wasn't hard at all. She wanted him, that was clear and true. And everything that implied.
He kneeled back on the bed between her legs. "That's the only thing that's keeping me here-that you're naked and I can take you this minute."
"Good," she breathed. Oh, good. She watched through knowing, hooded eyes as he inserted himself up to the rim of his penis head. She loved that, the barest tip of him rimming the folds of her sheath with the promise of all the heat and force behind it. He wanted her to feel it, his power, his strength, his virility. He had more than enough for her five times over, let alone two. He was as hard as a poker, and he wanted her to feel every thick hot inch of him as he slowly slowly slowly pushed himself into her wet tight core.
So slowly. He was so long, so strong as his hips flexed and he thrust himself inside her. And when she thought she had wholly encompassed all of his massive length, he pushed yet another inch tighter inside.
"This is what a mistress does, fancy-piece. This is how her lover likes to see her, flat on her back and dominated by his lust."
God almighty-it was too damned late to shock her. What the hell did he think he was doing? Nothing fazed her, not even his insensitive taking of her virginity. A man had to be made of iron to resist her.
"That's what I want," she whispered-and she meant it.
And that was nearly the end-of him. She loved it, every stroke, every thrust, every minute; she moved with it, she begged for it, whispering hot words in his ear, grasping his buttocks, raking his back. She felt him, every juicy inch of him, and she worked him as though she was born to be on her back and at his mercy.
And he gave her none. His control shattered, and all he wanted to do was pound them both to oblivion.
She was insatiable. There never was such pleasure, such feelings, such fullness in her. Her body had been aching for this unspeakable forbidden possession by the most devastat-ingly potent part of a man.
How could anyone live without it after experiencing that secret pleasure? She couldn't stop taking him. His mouth bruised hers, his body rammed into her savagely, pulling her with him, pummeling her until she was swamped by waves and waves of purling, rolling sensations. Never stop never stop never stop never stop… something stopped… something broke, and nothing could stop the storm of feeling and emotion that crashed over her, into her, around her, hot boiling pleasure pouring through her body and between her legs. His pleasure, his cream, hot and blasting out of him like a cannon, and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop it, he couldn't, couldn't couldn't couldn't-
And then one last mighty thrust-and he pitched mindlessly over and into her arms.
Desire was an insidious thing. It crept up on a man at the least likely times. He thought he was dead exhausted, and a half hour after his forceful possession of her, he was still inside her, stiff as a board, and hot to fuck her again. She didn't have to do a thing. All he needed was a vessel, and she was still soaked, thick with his cream, an image that aroused him ferociously.
He eased himself more against her, burying himself so powerfully and so deep, he could feel her pubic hair scraping against his own. He felt himself contract, and then he spurted, not the full blow, but damn and hell, all he had to do was embed himself in her and he went off half-cocked. Shit. He couldn't control anything, not her, not sex, not his unruly penis.
He rocked against her, pushing, pushing, pushing. Her body was so pliant, taking him deeper and deeper as he ground his hips into hers. He wanted to root between her legs forever.
He had been at her so long, the candle was guttering, burned to the nub and suddenly gone, throwing the room in total darkness.
There was something about the dark. Forbidden things happened in the dark. Things that two people did to each other that did not have to be acknowledged in daylight. Things he wanted to do to her right now while she was naked and still coated with his semen.
He nudged her legs together and straddled them so that she enveloped him even more tightly. She stirred, and her sleepy, futile movements stoked him to the blasting point. He covered that one breast to feel her nipple shaping beneath the flat of his hand. He covered her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep within, concurrent with the sharp, thrusting movement of his penis.
She came languidly awake as she accepted his tongue. Her body arched under him as he fingered her nipple the way only he could, and he followed the movement with a hard thrust of his hips.
This was all he needed: his possession of her turgid nipple, the soft, hot accommodation of her supple body, the hot press of his penis deep inside her, her avid mouth voraciously feeding on his lips and tongue.
He didn't want to move. Couldn't move. If he moved… he spasmed, he spurted, and he ruthlessly got himself under control. He wanted this full bore possession to go on for hours, for days, for months, with no beginning and no end.
And all he had to do was wholly embed himself in her and not move.
He had to move. Had to move. His tongue, his hips, his fingers. Just to let her know he was there. Inevitably, indomitably there.
And that nipple. That hard, pliable nipple… it drove him crazy the way he could play with it, rub it, caress it, the way her hips shimmied and ground into him every time he manipulated it, the way her body got hot, stoked, languid with every erotic touch.
Don't move. Let her move. Let her squirm and twist and try to get away from me. This is my nipple. She will never get away from me.
Something else almost got away from him. The more he tried to contain her, the more she writhed and made hot little pleasure sounds in the back of her throat, and the more aroused he became. A man wasn't meant to feel this explosive, as if every part of him would blow apart if he gave in.
He was desperate to give in. His penis was bone-stiff with his lust to possess her. He thrust into her, short, sharp movements, because any more commitment and he would blast. And he wanted to prolong it, he did. He had all best intentions, just short jabbing thrusts, one two three. Feeding on her lips, one two three; feeling the caress of her tongue against his, one two three; a man had to be made of stone, one two three; well, part of him was, one two three-one last drive home and he burst like a dam, carried away by the gushing geyser of his release. One two three.
Light filtering through the curtains. Movement beyond the door, the maids scurrying to begin the morning. Morning. Damn and hell. Morning.
And here he was wrapped around her naked body and hot and hard and primed to go. Had they slept? He thought so. She had only been half awake at the most during the night.
And now she was this enticing bundle in his arms, her naked body his to do with whatever he wanted. And he wanted. He wanted. He would have to get used to his penis at full staff around her. She would have to get used to it.
He pulled her against him, spoon-fashion, and inserted three fingers of one hand between her legs and cupped her breast with the other.
She was still slick with his semen, still hot, still willing. Her bottom undulated against his hips, she parted her thighs to invite his fingers, and her hand grasped his wrist and pressed them deeper into her cleft.
He was coming closer, closer, closer to something, some pleasure point nestling just within her. There-oh!-there... her body stiffened. She pressed down hard against his fingers-oh now... He had her other nipple… Oh no oh no- too much, too much-
A knock at the door and she swallowed her dismay on a tide of wanton need.
"Good morning, my dear," Reginald called. "Come join me for early breakfast."
"Tell him you're exhausted, you're sleeping in this morning," Jeremy whispered.
She couldn't talk. How could she talk with his fingers doing what they were doing to her. "I-I'm still rather tired," she called back, her voice ragged. "I'm going to sleep in this morning."
"As you wish, my dear. We'll talk later."
Blast, blast, blast…
"I'm still here," Jeremy whispere
d.
"I feel so illicit."
"You're my mistress," he reminded her bluntly. "After last night, nothing"-he drove his quiescent fingers into her cleft- "nothing interferes with this
She felt herself quickening. He stoked her and stroked her, twisting his fingers deep inside her; she bore down on him, seeking that elusive thing that she didn't know what it was, and succumbing to the ribbons of sensation that skeined from the tip of her nipple to the pleasure point between her legs.
There it was, there, nestling just within her, that secret place waiting for a touch, a caress, a certain pressure that would send her spiraling out of control. She felt it coming. She felt her body reaching for it, yearning for it, closing on it- there, just there-there! Her body seized up, tightened, and then catapulted into a convulsion of unspeakable sensation that just didn't end.
She didn't want it to end. How could she bear it if it ended? And if Jeremy left, as he must certainly do before the morning ended.
Don't think about that. Think about how rock-hard he is and that he's in a fever for your body. That's all there is. And if you want to keep him in your bed, that's all there ever can be…
All, all, all, all, all, all-alllllllllllllllll-
A clock struck somewhere in the distance, and she forced herself to move. She didn't want to move. The morning was perfect, with Jeremy lying beside her naked and asleep, and the wonder of him was that when he slept, that rebellious other part of him didn't.
And what an amazing part it was, all muscle and heat and a life of its own. She touched him, sliding her hand down the long, hard shaft and into the thick thatch of hair at the base.
Soon, soon, he must leave her. And then what? She didn't expect this complication about being-pretending to be?-a mistress. She hadn't expected any of the realities, least of all the kind of bone-sapping pleasure of which she was capable.
No wonder coupling like this was forbidden, secret, immoral. It was so powerful, in so many ways, and so hurtful in others. If she even thought she had feelings for Jeremy, for instance, she might be devastated the moment he walked out the door.
Fascinated Page 23