by Stacy Reid
She could feel her muscles stretching, protesting, then there was a burst of relief as the tight muscles of her pussy seemed to cave and surrender to the thick cock invading it.
"That's it, my little minx," he purred at her ear, increasing his pace as he wound a thick strand of her hair around his fist. "Your tight cunt is going to take every fuck I give it tonight…even when it hurts."
He kissed her hard and deep, and she responded with shameless eagerness and blistering lust. “I'll make it sweet as well, but days after tonight, you'll push your hands beneath the blanket, spread your legs wide, and play with your sore but well-pleased pussy and remember every stroke of my cock," he whispered roughly, pressing short biting kisses on her lips, in perfect tandem to the short, almost brutal shunts deep inside her core.
The wicked whisper of each illicit word awakened something she was not certain she could ever put back to sleep. It flared from a hidden recess of her being she'd never known existed. The spark flickered, and burned brighter with each roll of his hips, with each filthy word he used to praise her until he burned away any sense of modesty she'd ever possessed and left a pure carnal woman behind.
Sensuality hazed through her mind. Something wicked…dark…electrifying arrowed through her and the roll of her hips became more enticing, instead of accepting. Her hips swiveled, they rose, undulating beneath Gabriel, urging him to ravage her with decadent greed.
Still kissing her endlessly, he withdrew and thrust deep, stinging her pussy with sweet erotic pain. One of his hands lowered to her hips and held tight, while the other hugged her across her shoulders, caging them in erotic intimacy. Then he ravaged her cunt as he’d promise, with sharp, deep thrusts that filled her with ecstasy. His head buried at her neck as he stroked inside her powerfully.
He drew out and then plunged deep. Again. And again. And again. Each slow plunge ignited a burst of fire deep down in her stomach until sweet, mind-shattering ecstasy blew through her. Pleasure unlike anything she could have conceived blossomed in her and tore her apart. She couldn't move as shudder after shudder of release rippled through her, and with a loud shout, he hugged her to him and emptied his seed inside her.
They stayed hugged together for a very long time. Finally, when their hearts had calmed, Gabriel withdrew from her gently and pressed a kiss to her brow. Then he climbed off the bed, the flickering fire cast dancing shadows over his naked form.
He cleaned her gently, before coming down on the bed and hugging her from behind. She closed her eyes, and her breath released in a long sigh as she snuggled closer into his incredible heat.
“With everything I have. With all I am, I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her nape.
She turned in the cage of his arms, staring into his eyes. “I love you too,” she said smiling. “So very much.”
Primrose burrowed into the warmth and comfort of his embrace, slipping her hands around his waist and resting her head on his chest. The wind raged outside, the windowpane rattled, and when the air grew chilled, he did not leave her, only drew the coverlet over their entwined frame.
She had been wicked and wanton…and he had been so beautiful and honest with his desires. A soft smile played on her lips. She had not thought carnal surrender would bring this overwhelming sense of intimacy and shared secrets between them. The room was silent, the darkness comforting. And she drifted to sleep replete in his arms, with happiness in her heart.
Chapter 4
With the household still abed, Gabriel strolled along the eastern path of the estate, his boots sinking into the snow. Sancrest Manor was a majestic three-story building set in perfectly landscaped grounds which had always given him pleasure whenever he strolled. But now snow fell in a steady dribble, dotting the land with its frosted beauty. Quite perfect, for his mother had made all the preparations for a spot of skating on the northern section of the lake which had iced over. A cold morning mist crept over the land, and he inhaled the brisk, clean air into his lungs. This air was pleasant, much different than the smoke-filled and acrid scent of death and despair he’d inhaled during the war.
A feeling of hope and joy blanketed the air, and he felt a sense of peace which had been missing during the long months away. He was home, and it was a place where he intended to remain. He had plans to publish a series of books about a hero who’d seen the horrors and triumph of the war. A well-respected publisher had already responded to his letter of query with interest, drawing a parallel between Gabriel’s vibrant imagery, prose, and the social injustices imbued in his words to that of Charles Dickens. Gabriel only had to finish the first draft and deliver it to London. He chuckled, thinking of how flustered his family would be by that news. They were long used to him changing his profession as a lady changes her costume during the day.
He had studied law at Cambridge, and while he’d excelled there had been no passion in his heart for it. He’d then tried to manage a lesser estate of his father’s in Hampshire and had almost died of boredom. He followed his brother to town for a season, had attended several balls and routs and even had a lover or two, but had found no happiness in the frivolities of the season. He’d felt unmoored, like a ship without sails and had been unsure of his path in his life. He was the second son, a spare in the event, God forbid it, his brother died before producing a male heir. Gabriel did not want the responsibility of the earldom. No, George had been groomed for that since birth, and currently held the courtesy title, Viscount Weatherton.
Instead, Gabriel wanted something of his own, something he’d worked for and not solely dependent on his family’s connections. He’d tried to explain his desire to George who’d thought him ridiculous, but that feeling had still pushed Gabriel to secure a commission in her majesty’s army. He’d been eager to leave his idyllic life of privilege, and so he went to serve his country. His family hadn’t understood, his mother had been beside herself, as he’d tried to explain the sense of purpose that had filled his heart and pushed him to act. His father had been more supportive, proud even, and George too had been accepting. Primrose was more apprehensive, and he suspected she held back her full objections. But despite that he had committed, searching for a sense of self and purpose. And he had to find his to be fully worthy of her. He’d started the war as a 2nd lieutenant and had ended as a captain.
His injury had seen him retiring from the army, with a plan to pursue his passion for writing. Fickle and inconstant his brother would no doubt tease. But to Gabriel's mind, it was more important to find and hold onto the things he had a true passion for, which he discovered to be the art of writing during the war. The horrors of the war had indeed reinforced how fleeting life could be. It had been brutal and ugly, at times the stench of death and the hopeless cries of his comrades were a memory he could not escape. His sole solace became the quill and ink, recording his and others’ tales. He’d identified how much he wanted to live a full, abundant life where he was truly happy.
The only thing Gabriel had ever been sure of in his entire life was how he felt about Miss Primrose Markham. With a mere thought, his heart started to race, and happiness like he'd never know burst inside his chest. Bloody hell. It felt like the purest of sunshine on this frigid day, and he couldn't stop the grin that curved his lips.
He hadn’t planned to take her last night. Swirls of want and needs long denied had rushed through him, and he had given in to all the lustful cravings in his heart. And she had responded without shame or hysterics. His Primrose had been so adventurous she had damn near killed him. He had ridden her long and hard, rocking her soaking wet, yet impossibly tight pussy over his aching cock for the entire night. Three times he’d made love with her, and damn his soul he should have been gentler. The sensual creature he’d always sensed within her had stretched and purred such wonderful filthy things in his ears.
My pussy aches from your possession, but I do not want you to stop.
Lick my cunt…yes…just like that.
My cunt is yours, my love,
make me your sweet harlot, my darling.
Each time she’d moaned, a drawn-out sound of shocked pleasure as if she couldn't believe the words spilling from her lips. How he’d reveled in the sensuality of it all.
A piercing whistle sounded, and he glanced around. His brother, George, waved in the distance. Gabriel went to meet him, and soon he was engulfed in a fierce hug. They were of a similar height and lankly built, but their similarities ended there, George taking his blond fairness and green eyes from their father, while Gabriel favored their mother with his black hair and dark blue eyes.
“I only arrived from town early this morning when the household was still abed. Verity told me you were here,” George said gruffly, releasing him. “I am happy you made it home.”
Gabriel grinned. “I’m happy to be home too. I presume Father went straight to bed?”
George nodded. He and their father hadn’t been home yesterday when Gabriel had arrived at Sancrest Manor. “I take it whatever business you had in London was successful?”
His brother laughed. “The business of gift hunting for Mother, Annabelle, and Verity. Father was quite determined to procure a necklace set from London’s finest jeweler at the last minute for Mother. Somehow, I got the notion to follow him and select something for Verity as well. I might add the whole business had us almost stranded in town.”
The sun peeked through the clouds, splashing a warm golden glow onto the pristine whiteness of the lawn. Most of the household still slept, but the servants had already been stirred awake by Mrs. Lumsden, the housekeeper, to prepare for the Christmas celebration.
“Mother would not have forgiven that for years to come,” said Gabriel with a smile. The Christmas feast had always been a lively and extravagant affair for their family.
"You've accomplished much, and your bravery has not gone unnoticed," his brother murmured. “For weeks society spoke about Captain Northcote and your bravery at Balaclava. You carried twelve men to safety on your shoulders at the risk of your own life. If not for that bullet you would not have stopped. It was a fine thing you did, Gabriel.”
“I was just doing my duty,” he replied, hating to remember the chaos that had rained as British and French soldiers had worked together to halt the ruthless march of the Russian General Liprandi.
George clapped him on the shoulders. “It was more than that, do not underscore your bravery. Lady Beatrice will be quite pleased with your accomplishments.”
A figure emerged from the western gardens, and he faltered, recognizing Primrose. A fierce rush of pleasure filled him. She'd always been an early riser, and it was her appreciation of nature as the flowers and insects woke with the dawn which had inspired his enjoyment of early morning walks. He’d slipped from her bed in the wee hours of the morning and had not roused her while leaving. Gabriel was mildly surprised she’d been able to wake still, given their excesses.
“You’ve nothing to say of Lady Beatrice’s expectations? As mother tells it, she and her mother are due to arrive by noon today, and they are quite eager to greet your return.”
Gabriel was unable to tear his gaze from the willowy figure strolling ahead, clasping her dark green fur hat as the wind tried to rip it from her head. He almost wished the wind would take it and tumble her dark auburn hair to her back. Her tresses were a glorious curl of waves, and she had the most incredibly lovely smoky gray eyes. How they had lit with relief and joy at seeing him yesterday. How they had burned with wickedness through the night. How he had missed her with every emotion in his heart. “I’ve no wish to court Lady Beatrice,” he finally answered, aware of his brother’s expectant silence.
"Say it isn't so! I am happily married, but only a fool would not see what a charming beauty Lady Beatrice is. Her dowry is also fifty thousand pounds.”
Gabriel grunted softly. “I cannot recall her beauty, and it is insignificant to me. I plan to marry another lady.”
“Another lady?”
“Yes. One whom I love and admire with every part of me.”
George faltered and shot him a surprised glance. “Who? You’ve been on and off to this dratted war for the last two years, when did you find time to meet a lady?”
No, it had been only when he returned home from furlough, even though Miss Markham had captivated his regard and admiration before he’d bought his commission. “It’s Miss Markman,” he said into the waiting silence.
“Annabelle’s governess?” George couldn’t have sounded more incredulous if a snake had darted from the mound of snow and attacked. “Have you gone daft? She is lovely to be certain, I would even dare say beautiful, but she has no connections or fortune to align with this family. Mother and father will not stand for it.”
“I do not need their approval.” And there it was, that heavy press of doubt in the pit of his gut. While he did not need it, for he was certain of the tendre he’d formed with Miss Markham, he would like his family’s support. They’d always been a loving family, quite open in their affections and support of each other’s dreams and desires. It would sever something inside of him to not be a part of that love, watching from the outside if their disapproval of the union would see them cutting him from their lives. He dearly wished it would never come to that. “But I would appreciate it. I am quite determined to marry Miss Markham.”
“By God, I do not believe you. Father will cut you off for this. Do you have the means to live without his support? I bloody well think not!”
They stared at each other, a sinking sensation forming in the pit of Gabriel’s stomach. “I’m not without my own money.”
“From selling your commission?”
“I’m also on half pay as a retired captain.”
“Come, man, that would not even allow you to live for a month in any style."
“I do not need style, just Primrose,” Gabriel said softly.
George raked his fingers through his hair. “You are entirely serious. And when that money runs out?”
“You forget I will come into Grandmother’s legacy in a few years’ time?” On his thirtieth birthday, a sum of thirty thousand pounds would be bequeathed to him, as per his grandmother's will.
“Good God man, that is three years from now!” George said, shaking his head in disapproval.
It seemed at one point in their father's young life, he'd been somewhat of a wastrel, until he'd met his wife. Still, he'd been reckless with his legacy and had been forced to marry an heiress. The earl had merely been lucky it had turned into a love match. His grandmother had been very careful in the inheritance she left her grandchildren, thinking with maturity they would be more responsible. George had already received his, but Gabriel and Annabelle had years to wait. Until they were both of thirty years, their inheritance would sit in a trust. “I am quite aware of how long before I claim the monies Grandmother left. I believe I am ambitious and inventive enough that I can provide for my wife ably until that time.”
"If father desires it, he can find a way to ruin that," George snapped. “He is the Earl of Fairclough, and his influence is far-reaching. Our father can be ruthless when he is of a mind to be, and I do not think he would care for you marrying Miss Markham even though she is a pleasant girl. Use your head. Take her as your mistress, do not make the mistake of arguing for her to be your wife!”
Anger snapped through Gabriel. “You insult Miss Markham, and I will not stand for it,” he warned low and hard. "She does not deserve to be anyone’s soiled dove, and you dishonor her for even suggesting it."
George exhaled on a harsh breath. “She is a nice girl, but she is not fit for your wife. I’ll not apologize for thinking it.”
Gabriel glanced toward the figure in the distance. “I spoke to you before making an announcement, because your support is important to me, George.”
He wrinkled his nose, but his eyes were sympathetic. “Do not ask me to back you in this.”
"You are my brother, of course I shall ask it of you. When you offered for Verity, you asked for
my support, and I gladly gave it."
“She’s the daughter of a viscount! It is hardly the same.”
“Yes, but you were expected to marry her older cousin who is the daughter of an earl. You were being forced to marry against your heart. I supported your decision to elope with Verity. I daresay I expected a similar loyalty, George.”
His brother made no reply, simply turned, and walked away to the Manor. Trudging through the snow, Gabriel made his way over to Primrose. Her cheeks and the tip of her elegant nose were red from the biting cold, but her lovely eyes sparkled with joy and a bit of shyness.
“Good morning, Miss Markham,” he greeted.
“Good morning, Gabriel,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes searching his. Vulnerability glimmered deep in those exquisite eyes of hers.
The quick flash of hesitation, of doubt, had him stepping scandalously close to her. “I slipped away before the household woke. I did not want to explain what I was about in your room before marriage.”
Her sharp cheekbones lifted as her face lit with the radiance of her smile. “I understand. Though I wish you’d woke me. I…I had a present for you.”
“I shall gladly receive it tonight. How are you feeling, Primrose?” he asked her, tenderness, and love, welling inside him so deep, so strong it nearly strangled him.
A becoming flush crept up her slender neck, pinkening her fair cheeks. “It is frightfully cold out,” she said with a gasping laugh. “But I feel glorious.”
He reached out and tugged the muffed hat firmer over her ears. He did not like that her coat and gloves seemed so worn. How little she had, no family to call her own, no wealth, and worked very hard for the little she had, yet she possessed such good cheer.
“I’m glad there are no discomforts from my enthusiasm last night…and early this morning.” He could still smell the heady and decadent fragrance of her passion on the air, taste the tart sweetness of her sex, and hear her lovely cries of fulfillment.
