A Midsummer's Sin

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She drew her brows together in an expression of exaggerated sympathy and shook her head slowly. “Too good to take what he wants…even if his quarry wants to be taken?”

  He jerked his stare back to her eyes, his brows drawn tightly together. “You want that? To be taken here in the wood, like a harlot?”

  She flinched. The word stung. Yes, however unwilling, she’d been a whore. Yet to hear that ugly word on his lips, directed at her—

  Leave. Just leave and pretend none of this ever happened.

  His gaze trailed down over her body.

  Wait.

  His lips parted slightly and his features sharpened into an expression of pure hunger.

  No. He hadn’t meant it. It was bluster. He was defensive, deflecting blame. He was close to giving in. Power surged through her once more. She purposely relaxed her face and curved her lips into a smile. “Oh no, never a harlot. I am a creature of the wood. A nymph.”

  She laughed, turning away to resume her dance.

  He locked an iron arm around her waist and he pulled her backwards. Roughly. Anticipation tingled through her like a thousand stinging bees. She opened her mouth to cry out but her back made contact with his body. A body as rock hard as she’d ever imagined.

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

  He pressed his pelvis into her buttocks, and, even through the fabric of his breeches, his erection felt hot and huge.

  It felt divine.

  Unable to stop herself, she wriggled against him, revelling in the evidence of his arousal.

  He growled low, the sound vibrating over her neck. Gooseflesh prickled down her spine. His large hand splayed over her belly. “So the quarry wants to be taken?”

  Through the thin fabric, he brushed his fingertips over her stomach in a circular pattern. Not clumsy or rough, but gentle, sensitive teasing. A beguilement.

  She moaned, still helplessly writhing against his straining heat. She had dreamt of this too many times, yet it was nothing like she’d dreamt. He was nothing like she had dreamt. She trembled and closed her eyes, surrendering.

  He stopped and put her from him. Firmly. Decisively.

  She swayed on her feet. What had happened? Shaking with the shock of loss, she spun to see him walking towards the path in the wood that led back to his property.

  God, he was leaving.

  Leaving.

  Chapter Two

  “Thomas—”

  Rosalind’s voice carried to Thomas. He’d never heard his given name spoken by her. It made him stop. It made him long to turn.

  He resisted.

  He must not yield to this sin. Just a fortnight and he would be removed from it. Movement caught his eye. Her shadow, lengthened and distorted, wavered on the ground. She was pulling her shift up, inch by inch, swaying her hips as she did so.

  God. No power on earth could have stopped him from turning. Not even his will. Maybe a lightning bolt could save him.

  No bolts came.

  He turned. Her ivory thighs were bare. She pulled the shift higher. He sucked in his breath and held it as she revealed the bright red triangle of hair between her legs. A renewed surge of heat boiled through his blood.

  Moonlight shone on the soft swell of her stomach and her broad hips, threw a shadow that accentuated the sharp, nipped-in tuck of her long waist. Her breasts were large, full yet youthfully high and firm.

  He should not keep looking at her. He should leave now. He should—

  She pulled the shift over her head and cast it aside.

  He couldn’t have torn his eyes away to save his soul.

  She tossed her head of lush red curls then smiled and held out her arms. “Thomas, come, come.”

  She backed away, disappearing into the thick shade of the maple. He followed her. The warm darkness swallowed them.

  “Thomas…”

  She reached up to touch his face as he approached. Her fingertips seemed to singe him. He grasped her by the waist and jerked her body to his.

  She tilted her face up, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open. Moonlight filtering through the branches made a lattice pattern on her face and neck. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

  He bent his head and put his mouth to hers. The touch of her softness sent a spark through his blood. Hunger. Greed. They pressed on him without mercy. He tightened his hold on her waist and slanted his lips over hers, sucking from her all he could take.

  She made a sound, deep in her throat, and pushed against his chest.

  He lifted his head and took a deep breath, pausing for control.

  She stared back with a touch of fear.

  He took another deep breath, willing his passions to ebb to a manageable level. He released her waist, then cupped her face and let his thumbs slide over her skin.

  God, she was soft, supple, succulent. He longed to taste her but would she allow it? It had been years since he had kissed anyone with an open mouth. Patience had not liked it. He hadn’t thought the loss of that particular pleasure had mattered much but suddenly he craved the sensation. He leant forward, then traced his tongue along the seam of those luscious lips.

  She trembled.

  Was she afraid?

  Don’t run, my love. Not now.

  He tightened his hand on her jaw and put all his coaxing skill into the kiss.

  Her trembling increased yet she opened.

  He swept inside. Her tongue met his. Caressed him. And her kiss was maple sweet. Bold. Experienced. Willing.

  Each frantic, desperate beat of his heart pulsed in his erection. Engorging it. Making it throb and twitch. He leaked and leaked.

  Now. He had to have her now.

  He lifted his head. Shot a hand down, bending slightly, then travelled slowly up her satiny thigh.

  He knew how to make love. Knew women very well. He should not go so quickly. But he couldn’t help himself. Rosalind wasn’t just any woman. She had tormented his idle waking thoughts and dreams.

  Only Satan could have created such a sensual, earthy temptress.

  This was sin. He knew it was. They weren’t pledged. Not even courting. But he couldn’t stop now. God help him.

  Hot blood roared in his ears, closing out the ability to think. He took a laboured breath. Moved his hand higher. She parted wide for him, arching closer. Using his thumb, he caressed the crease at the apex where her inner thigh met the soft plumpness of her outer lips. She released her breath, a forceful hiss. With his fingertips, he reached honey thick liquid overflowing from her sex.

  She tensed.

  He delved into her folds and her breathing came quicker, hitching as he went deeper.

  Wetness. He’d forgotten fucking could be so wet. From the lusciousness of her open, eager mouth to the way his fingers slid on her warm, silken folds. He groaned and slid his tongue languorously against hers, savouring the velvety moisture. She tasted of maple and rum and something far sweeter.

  He tore his mouth from hers, dropped to one knee and stared at the plump lips of her cunt. She clamped her legs together. He traced a fingertip over the heart-shaped outline of crimson hair then trailed the seam of her tightly closed legs.

  “Thomas…” Her voice quavered.

  “You’re beautiful, love.” He leant forward and put his lips to her, inhaling the heady fragrance of her arousal. He blew softly, steadily.

  She gasped and relaxed, allowing her legs to open. He let his tongue wander out and delve into her moistness. Her taste sparked over his senses like cinnamon and fire.

  A jolt of raw lust slammed into his groin, making him stiffer and harder than he’d surely been in years. Painfully so. A harsh groan forced its way up his throat. She gave a soft cry. His gaze flew to hers. Her eyes were wide yet glowing with desire. She flicked her tongue over her lips.

  He reached for the fastenings on his breeches and wrenched them undone. She edged away along the tree.

  She was going to run. He knew it.

  “Rose?” He spoke carefully, as if to
a skittish kitten.

  She bit her lip, looked down then backed all the way into the nearest tree, a large maple. A perfect picture of submission.

  Sin be damned. He only wanted—no, he needed—two things. To feel all that young, ivory-hued flesh against his. And to plunge into her depths. With hands that had begun to tremble ever harder, he jerked the ties of his shirt undone and pulled it over his head, then he shed his boots, stockings and breeches.

  She leaned against the tree, waiting demurely as he approached. His body touched hers, pressing into her softness. She laughed, a low, musical sound that carried above the slight breeze rustling the tree branches above their heads.

  She didn’t raise her eyes.

  So she was a little hesitant. But she remained there, seemingly pleased to surrender to his will. Perhaps she’d never fucked standing and didn’t know how to go about it. In his Oxford days, he’d backed more than one lusty wench to a wall. A tree trunk would suffice as well. He pulled her away from the tree and cupped her arse, her sweet, firm arse, then he bent his head into the curve of her neck. “I have wanted this—dear God, how I have wanted you.” He nipped at her neck, lightly. “You. Only you.”

  She tensed.

  He held his breath, not daring to say more.

  “You have wanted me?” Her voice was soft, husky, a little choked.

  “Yes… God, yes.”

  Her curves relaxed against him. “Then have me.”

  Her words landed like kindling on the fire in his blood. He hoisted her. “Put your legs about my waist.”

  She wrapped her long limbs about him. Quickly. Eagerly. Tightly. Eliminating any lingering doubt about her willingness.

  He positioned himself at her entrance and her fluids gushed forth, coating the crown of his cock. He groaned. God, it had been years since he’d known a woman to get wet like that.

  Wet for him.

  He breached her slightly. Her walls clenched around him. She tightened her legs and moaned, the sound resonating pure feminine hunger. He could not wait. He propelled into her on one quick thrust. She sucked in her breath, her body stiffened.

  His crown rammed against her womb. She shuddered, convulsively, and tightened her limbs.

  Oh damn. Her cunt hugged him like a leather glove that had been wetted then allowed to dry. It must have been a long time since she’d had a man.

  “Sweetheart, oh, sweetheart,” he whispered by way of apology. Yet he couldn’t be wholly sorry.

  Warmth centred in his chest. Fierce gladness.

  She must have been chaste. Maybe the entire time in New Balcombe.

  He ground his lips to her cheek, closing his eyes and trembling with the effort to hold back. She was his. Finally his.

  Rosalind leaned her head against Thomas’ broad, well-muscled chest. The fine hair was damp with fresh sweat, the musky, male scent intoxicating. Her body still reeled from the pleasure-pain of his abrupt entry. How sweet such a savage sensation could be! She’d forgotten what it was like to be invaded, to be consumed by a man. An utterly desirable man. Of their own will, her hips rocked against his and she gripped his strong shoulders. “Please, please haste to it.”

  His answering, deep groan reverberated through his body to hers, deliciously male. Her inner walls squeezed his hard thickness with greedy hunger.

  He began moving in her slowly. Shards of fire sparked within her. She moaned and rocked her hips and she clenched about him again and again. His breathing grew harsher, quicker, and so did his thrusts. Her tension increased, building… Oh, a few more strokes and, oh God, she would—

  He groaned and jerked himself from her, a sucking sensation followed by a hollow emptiness. Her sex quivered with the unbearable expectation of his return. He pressed his hot, hard erection to her stomach and pumped, the velvety flesh caressing her. She moaned in protest, thinking he was teasing her. A shudder convulsed his body, followed by another and another. Wet warmth jetted against her. He put his face against her neck and groaned.

  The violent expulsion of his seed quaked through the shaft of his cock as he pressed against her belly, still pumping. He was coming and coming and still coming. Her heart still thundered in her chest, her blood still sang in her ears. It was the most exciting thing she’d ever experienced.

  Finally, he stilled and fell against her, panting.

  Oh God, he was done.

  Finished.

  Over.

  No, he couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be done. After being celibate for so long, after wanting him so long, she’d go mad.

  He pulled away from her. His seed rolled down her belly onto her thighs, thick as warmed syrup, the scent filling the air like earth and grass after a rain.

  Oh God. He was done.

  A low, keening wail echoed. Inhuman, feline, wild. She realised that it came from her yet she couldn’t hold it back. She reached behind her and grazed her hands over the rough tree bark, as if the pain could distract from the overwhelming hunger burning in her loins, aching in her womb.

  He walked into the clearing where his clothes lay scattered. The moonlight shimmered on the angles and planes of his hard muscled body. A body she suddenly had a whole new appreciation for. She couldn’t bear to watch him cover that masculine beauty.

  Trembling with need, she closed her eyes and bit her lip.

  “Rose.”

  His urgent tone brought her eyes open. He was sitting on the grass in the full light then he lay back. His cock was still hard, straight up as a mighty oak. A wave of coveting weakened her knees. Her inner walls clenched in hunger. She couldn’t take her eyes off his glorious erection. He motioned for her to come hither. “Rose, come here.”

  She stared at him, transfixed.

  “Good God, girl, stop staring and come straddle me.”

  Those words burned a vivid, shocking mental picture into her mind. Her legs went so weak they threatened to collapse beneath her.

  “Have pity, Rose.”

  He was serious. But he couldn’t mean that! It wouldn’t be natural to mount a man—would it? No man had ever asked her before. She wouldn’t even know how. Lust throbbed in her core, her empty, empty core. His rod twitched, seemed to grow harder, longer, thicker as if in sympathy.

  “Rose.”

  The plea in his voice brought her attention to his face. His features held such tender welcome, openly mirroring her need. She could never have ever resisted that. A cry tore up from her belly and out her throat. She ran to him, falling to her knees, straddling his calves and scooting up along his haired, sweat-dampened thighs.

  With both hands, he grasped her hips, work-roughened calluses grating on her flesh as he pulled her pelvis down closer to his. “Guide me,” he said breathily.

  She grasped his erection, and moved to position it. His wet, leaking crown grazed her swollen, overheated, soaked flesh. Dire waves of desire tore through her at the slick velvet-over-steel sensation. She whimpered loudly, her legs shaking so badly she almost fell atop him.

  “Easy now,” he tightened his hold on her hips.

  She gripped his sides with her thighs to maintain her balance then positioned his sex at her entrance.

  She hesitated. She’d never imagined she would take the aggressive part and fuck a man. How was it done?

  “Like this, Rose. Mount me.” He pulled her down firmly.

  Her cunt was so wet that his thick, hard length came all the way inside in one sweet, sliding move. His girth seemed to stretch her to her limits. The delicious fullness sent waves of delight through her so strong that she gasped. He flexed his hips up and she gasped again. Sweet, it was oh so sweet and she wanted more. She had to have more. Tentatively, she rocked.

  “God, Rose, God.” His voice was harsh. He slapped her buttock, a sharp smack that sent a surprising surge of heat through her. She melted for him. Her inner walls rippled over him. She worked her hips again, quickly finding just the right angle. Her fluids poured out of her, making sloshing sounds,
filling the air with their sensual scent. Thrusting again and again and again, she became possessed with a single-minded, desperate determination to take all he had to give.

  Her sex contracted on his hardness, fierce spasms so prolonged it seemed they might never end. She wailed like any wild thing there in the wood.

  Spent, she fell against him. Her lungs hurt for breath and she panted open-mouthed. The odour of his sweat, masculine musk overlaid with something spicy and woodsy, surrounded her. It was all right. It was safe here. She belonged against him. She could spend forever like this.

  He strengthened his grasp on her hips and rocked against her. She didn’t want it. Why wouldn’t he be still? Why wouldn’t he let her be? She wanted only to lie against him and float away on the bliss he had allowed her to experience.

  His hand brushed over her folds. Sparks ignited in her nub. She drew a quivering little breath and gripped his broad shoulders. With his fingertips, he sought that little erect piece of her, rubbing it with light intensity. Her sex began to pull tight. Oh Lord, it wasn’t possible—it just wasn’t possible, not again. But it was happening. Her pleading moans echoed in her own ears. She held him more tightly.

  “That’s it, sweetheart, give yourself over to it.” His breath tickled her ear.

  Her cunt spasmed, contracting on his flesh again, harder than before. Her body convulsed. Pleasure coursed through her, so fiery and fierce that she screamed with it.

  She came back to herself slowly. His strong arms were cradling her. He stroked her back in long, leisurely motions. His breathing sounded heavy. His cock throbbed within her, still erect.

  He murmured something then withdrew, his thick length sliding from her.

  She whimpered at the loss of fullness. At the loss of him.

  He rolled her onto her back. The scent of earth rose. The grass was soft and cool, contrasting with his hard, warm body as he lowered himself on her. He bent and took one of her taut nipples into his mouth, laving it, his tongue like wet fire. She clutched his head. He suckled on her tight peak. Shafts of delight stabbed down through her belly to her core. She arched her hips and all the while uttered pleading moans.