“I do, Magnus. I love you.” She shifted slightly and her soft, plump bottom accidentally brushed his cramped, swollen cock.
He almost leapt out of his skin. “Ah, God, Melissa, you mustn’t, you’re—”
She did it again, and then again; Magnus realized she was doing it on purpose. Before he could absorb the meaning of that, her hands, warm and soft, slid across his chest. She’d somehow managed to get his waistcoat open without him noticing. It was as if she’d sprouted a second set of hands.
“You are beautiful, Magnus.” She kissed her way down his throat, lingering on his collar bone, her bottom now moving almost . . . rhythmically. “And what we are doing is beautiful.”
Her words pierced the heavy fog of arousal and he blinked his eyes, using his hands—which had been lying limply at his sides—to gently take hold of her, pushing her back until he could see her face. Which might have been a mistake because she was flushed and her lips were swollen and darker red, her eyelids were so low only narrow green crescents were visible: she was gorgeous.
Magnus wanted her so badly he ached with it, but . . .
He shook his head. “Melissa, darling, I can’t do this with you. It isn’t right to—” She tried to lean closer, but he held her firm.
“Please, Magnus, I want to tell you something.”
He hesitated. If he let her near, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the strength to resist her again.
“Please?”
He released her and she pressed herself against him in a way designed to torment.
“Magnus?”
He exhaled shakily as he felt her breasts pressing against his chest. “Yes?”
“I’m not a virgin, Magnus.”
They both went still. Magnus, because he was not expecting her words and Melissa—he supposed—because she feared his reaction.
What was his reaction? He didn’t really know. It wasn’t just one reaction; it was like his old nurse’s knitting basket, dozens of strands of tangled yarn. There was profound disappointment that they wouldn’t be each other’s first, resignation, acceptance, and a hope that whoever had taken her maidenhood had done so with love and tenderness.
“Do I revolt you?” she whispered, her words hot on his ear.
He thrust her away, his hands tight on her upper arms. “How could you ask me a thing like that?”
∞∞∞
Melissa was shocked by the anger and pain in his face. “I didn’t mean—” She stopped. How could she say what she meant? How?
His expression softened. “I should not have become so angry at your question. Perhaps it’s because a part of me is angry that this is not something we’ll experience for the first time together.” He shook his head. “But I’m not angry; we’ll have a lifetime to explore our love for one another.”
It struck her like a mallet between the eyes—she must have been stupid to have missed it. He was talking about sharing their virginity: he was a virgin.
He brought her forward again and kissed her forehead. “I know it’s a sin to make love to you out of wedlock, Melissa—but I’m human and weak. If we’re to be married, it does not feel like it is so wrong.” He kissed her again, laughing softly ruefully against her skin. “What a terrible thing for a man of God to say. I’m just greedy and selfish and—well, I want you.”
Mel shuddered at the raw longing in his voice. A tiny part of her mind told her that to make love to him with no intention of marrying him was worse than lying.
But she just didn’t care.
She was still straddling his lap. “Touch me, Magnus. Please.” Her gown had ridden up to her knees and she moved them apart, took his hand and slid it beneath her skirts, leading him up her thigh.
His body shuddered and he took control of the exploration, his fingers questing and stroking her skin ever higher, his touch gentle, but not tentative.
Melissa groaned softly when the tips of his fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her upper thighs.
His breathing was ragged on her temple as his hand came to rest on the damp curls covering her sex. “I’ve imagined touching you like this dozens, if not hundreds of times, Melissa. In my imagination it is daylight and I can see you—all of you.” She felt him swallow, his finger stroking the seam of her swollen lips. She opened herself wider, sliding lower. He groaned, the next caress grazing her peak. It was all she could do to keep from thrusting against his hand like a crazed animal.
“Do you like that?” he asked, pausing his stroking. “You must tell me what you like, sweetheart. Everything.”
“Harder,” she murmured, stunned when her face heated at the single word: sweetheart. She, a woman who’d done and said unspeakable things yet had never been anyone’s sweetheart.
His finger probed her slick heat. “Ah, Melissa.” He sounded reverent, his hand not shy about learning the feel and shape of her. “You are so wet—that is your arousal . . . for me.” He tone was wonderous, and his words were the most sensual thing a man had ever said to her.
His finger again touched her peak and she jolted. She felt his lips curve against the thin skin of her temple. “This is your clitoris, the source of female pleasure.” He circled her bud and again she jolted. He chuckled. “I’ve done some research—although only with books.” He kissed her temple. “I never imagined it would be so pleasurable as this.”
He had done his research and Melissa relaxed into his touch as he fell into a rhythmic motion, his thumb stroking the base of her pearl, his other fingers teasing the entrance to her body.
The familiar tightness began to build in her, her body tensing and flexing in anticipation.
“Yes,” she whispered, her single syllable of encouragement earning a low rumble from him. “Yes, please, Magnus” She began to shudder, the sensation overwhelming all thoughts. When the explosion came, her body stiffened and then shook as the waves pounded her. He cupped her mound and held her as her inner muscles convulsed.
“Oh, Melissa.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I can feel your pleasure.”
She rode out the most glorious climax she could remember, held tightly by him, like a precious possession.
God, she loved him so much it hurt. She wanted—no, needed—to feel him inside her body just once before she had to let him go.
Mel shook the sensual fog away and pushed up onto her knees. “I want you inside me.”
It was his turn to freeze. For a moment, she thought he’d resurrect the same tired argument from before. But it seemed she’d worn him down, and both their clumsy hands fumbled with his fall. Once he’d opened the catches and buttons, he stood, effortlessly lifting her and then tenderly laying her out on the settee.
Melissa lay sprawled and shameless like the wanton she was, her knees cocked, her dress rucked up to her hips, and her thighs spread to expose her sex.
He sucked in a harsh breath; his huge pupils riveted on her sex.
She lifted her hips in encouragement. “Touch me again, Magnus.”
Their eyes met as his hand slid up her leg, not stopping until he reached her mound.
She groaned, her eyelids fluttering.
“You’re magnificent.” He shook his head in wonder, his face twisted in an expression of near pain. “You’re so beautiful—and already so dear—it hurts to look at you, Melissa.”
His finger parted her lips and he entered her. Her back curved into a tight arch, her jaw clenching as he withdrew, and then entered her again and again, pumping her with slow, steady strokes.
“Does this feel good?”
Melissa opened her eyes to find him watching her, his attention only for her. She’d performed sexual acts in broad daylight, in front of a room full of men, naked, clothed, dressed in all manner of costume—but never had she felt this exposed.
She couldn’t bear his loving, curious scrutiny a moment longer. “I want to see you, too, Magnus,” she said, when it seemed he would finger her to orgasm yet again.
He removed his hand from her bo
dy with obvious reluctance before toeing off his boots and then shoving his clothing down in one push, the way he’d done that day by the water.
“Your coats and shirt, too,” she said when he would have knelt with his torso still covered.
He flashed her a grin. “Bossy.” He freed himself from his garments as quickly as he’d done with his breeches, drawers, and stockings.
And then he stood before her in all his godlike glory.
Mel wanted to make him stand there—to pose for her—but he was already lowering himself between her thighs, his shaft long, hard, and thick and his tiny slit weeping freely. For her.
He kept one knee on the settee, the other foot firmly planted on the floor. She could see between his muscular thighs, which had an odd hairless pattern on the front and inner thighs which she knew was from the friction of his riding leathers. His sac was fuzzy with dark blond hair and snug to his body, his cock rigid and wanting, the thick blue vein pulsing so insistently she could see it. He was primed and ready and he looked as if he might explode when she touched him. It made her own body throb when she thought about how he’d denied himself while seeing to her pleasure.
She would make that up to him ten-fold before the night was through.
∞∞∞
Her body created a ferocious yearning in his chest that Magnus couldn’t recall feeling since he’d been a young boy going to the sweetshop with his nurse. He was allowed to pick only one thing—just one. How could he choose what part of her to touch first?
“Magnus?”
“Hmm?” He was finding it difficult to pull his gaze away from her pink slickness. He’d seen illustrations—both scientific and artistic—but none of them did justice to the real thing. Over the years he’d read more than a few books; books that went into great detail about pleasuring a woman with his mouth. All those times he’d sat with some coveted, wicked tome open, his breeding organ hard and weeping, he’d told himself he was doing his duty and studying for the day in the distant future when he’d have a wife of his own—a woman he’d need to tutor in the erotic arts. It had never occurred to him that a woman might come to him with knowledge and experience of her own.
Magnus was grateful he’d known enough to make her shudder and come apart with his fingers; he knew he could do the same with his tongue—if she’d allow it. His cock hurt at the memory of her climax. It had been . . . exquisite. And he wanted to make her do it again. And again.
“I want to see you.”
Her low, insistent words shook him from his selfish reverie. He knelt high, letting her see his body and inspect it, even though he had a suspicion she’d done as much the day she watched him on the beach.
“Stroke yourself.”
He could not have heard her correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want to see your hand wrapped around your erection. Show me what you’ve been doing while thinking of me in your little curate’s cottage.”
Magnus was surprised that his eyeballs didn’t roll from their sockets. It occurred to him that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who’d been reading books and doing research. He looked at her slack lips and heavy eyelids and slid a hand around his shaft.
Her lips curved into an unspeakably sensual smile and he almost spent all over himself. He stopped his stroking and she shot him a haughty glare.
“I’m afraid that if I continue to do that I will . . .” He searched for the least vulgar term.
She held out her arms. “Come into me, Magnus. Please, I want you.” She opened her thighs wider in invitation.
His body knew what to do; his muscles and sinews moved with a confidence that was as natural as breathing and as ancient as humankind. She lifted her hips and Magnus placed himself at her entrance and hesitated.
“Please.”
He pushed inside but stopped with only his crown breeching her, savoring the exquisite sensation. “Oh, Melissa.”
“More.” Her inner muscles contracted and he shuddered and pushed deeper.
Her hips rose to meet him and she grasped his buttocks and pulled him with remarkable strength, grunting in animal satisfaction when he was hilted.
He was inside her—as deep as he could be. He wanted to stop, to take time and marvel at the wonder of their bodies so intimately joined—but she tightened around him and his hips bucked. He pulled out with torturous slowness, and then plunged into her, making them both moan.
He knew what she wanted—what they both wanted—and began to stroke into her with deep, powerful thrusts. He could feel himself losing control before he’d hardly even started. It would all be over before it had even begun if he didn’t—
“Take your pleasure, Magnus.” She wrapped her legs around him and they fell into a rhythm, Melissa tightening when he entered, and relaxing when he slid out. Their bodies already knew each other and he was awed by the perfection of their fit. It was exquisite; it was unlike anything he’d ever imagined.
Magnus looked to where they were joined—to where his length, red and slick, plunged into her auburn curls, stretching her delicate pink lips.
The erotic sight catalyzed him and he began to buck and thrust, unable to stop the climax that seized control and barreled through his body. White explosions went off behind his eyelids as he clutched her hips in a cruel grip and slammed into her one last time, holding her body still as he poured himself deep inside her.
***
He’d fallen asleep while still inside her.
Melissa wanted to stay this way forever. He fit her so perfectly it filled her with wonder. And fear. And a wrenching pain that twisted her insides into a tight knot.
You can’t have him. Ever.
She pushed away the horrid thought and concentrated on the moment. Right now she was lying beneath her lover—the man she so foolishly allowed herself to love—and he was buried inside her.
Although he’d ejaculated, he hadn’t gone completely soft. It was as if his body was ready to make up for lost time.
Oh, and what a body. He was heavy on her—crushing her—but it was delicious. She would let him sleep for a while and then she would wake him slowly.
For a while, she drifted in a shallow, sensual doze with him. But the mantle clock’s ticking was a grim reminder that this night was passing. She didn’t want to waste even a moment of it in sleep.
Instead, she stroked him lightly, her touches making him shift and mutter in his sleep, his body settling more heavily and covering her.
Tomorrow was Sunday, and he would soon wake up and remember that. And the moment he did, he would begin to pull away. In his mind, it would be a temporary separation—just until they were man and wife. He might have slipped tonight and given in to his body’s demands, but this would be the first and last time for such weakness. Only when they were joined in matrimony could they be joined in body again. Melissa knew that as well as she knew the sun would rise.
He’d capitulated tonight, his physical needs overwhelming his conscience. She also suspected that one of the reasons he’d given in to his lust was murkier than the thoughts he was accustomed to dealing with: if he lay with her, it would bind her to him.
She’d recognized the thought as it flickered across his open, honest face and she’d latched onto it tightly and used it to get what she wanted: his body inside hers.
Mel closed her eyes. She couldn’t let him go away—not yet. The best way to keep him when he woke was to overwhelm his senses with pleasure and that was something she was an expert at doing.
So, she began to move her hips in minute, undulating motions while controlling her inner muscles as she’d been taught to do so many years ago. She knew from experience that the subtle movement was enough to harden even the least responsive of male organs—which Magnus’s was most certainly not.
She wanted to arouse his body, but not awaken it. Not yet.
She allowed herself a smug smile as his cock twitched inside her. Ahh, there it was.
All too soon he came to full hardne
ss, the thick vein in his shaft pulsing against the sensitive skin of her inner passage. Perhaps she could make him climax in his sleep?
But one look at his beautiful face and flickering eyelids told her that was not to be.
Melissa watched hungrily as he made his slow, languorous journey to the surface of consciousness. His eyes moved rapidly behind his lids, the way they had on the beach. A moment later, his heavy lids lifted and surprise flashed in his eyes. But instead of shock, this time the corners crinkled and his lips curved into a lazy, lusty smile. “I am so grateful I didn’t sleep through this—you are wicked to begin without me.”
She offered her mouth and he took her in a deep, languorous kiss that went on and on while his hips began to move. They locked eyes, their bodies working like one mechanism, thrusting and flexing and thrusting and flexing.
Melissa had never climaxed with a lover inside her.
The man who’d bought and trained her all those years ago had not wasted any time on the needs of her body: why would a man care if his whore attained satisfaction?
Their lovemaking, if you could call it that, had been simple: she’d made him hard—not an easy task—and then rode him to his pleasure. He then fell asleep and she left him until he wanted her again.
Later, when she’d been older and free to pick and choose lovers for herself, she’d achieved orgasm, of course, but never during the act itself.
But as they worked in tandem to please one another, sensation gathered and built from her very toes. Her own feelings were heightened by watching his transformation. His skin took on a telling sexual flush, his breathing quickened, and his body—already hard and muscular—became even harder as his blood pumped faster and faster, his velvety skin sweat-slicked and taut beneath her hands.
Mel catalogued his responses to store and enjoy in the dry years ahead—greedily memorizing each breath, shudder, and thrust. She wanted it to go on forever, but she felt his control slipping away. For the first—and probably last—time ever with a lover, she released the strangle hold she kept over her emotions. She gave herself up to him completely, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Melissa and The Vicar (The Seducers Book 1) Page 14
