What She Craves

by Lacy Danes

  There was no way he could say otherwise. He had cried out, and she had caused his delight.

  His chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

  She sat back on her feet and stared at his penis as the flesh shriveled. Her hand trailed up the inside of his thigh and traced the base of the rod with her fingers. The hairs created a black nest for his manhood to lie against. Could she arouse him again? She glanced at his face. A small smile curved his lips but he still didn’t move. She bit her lip and stared at his flaccid sex, then wrapped her hand about the prick.

  He chuckled. “Not yet, sweet.” His hand possessed her wrist. “Come here. My turn.”

  He rose up on his elbows with lazy, passion-filled eyes, and yanked her atop him. Rolling, he pinned her beneath him. Face-to-face, chest-to-chest, and hips-to-stomach, her legs so wantonly wrapped about his. He was so large. With the tip of his finger, he traced her cheekbone.

  “Umm.” Kenny shook his head, leaned down, and licked a trail to her ear. “More beautiful,” he whispered. Twinges raced through her, and gooseflesh scattered on her skin. The situation was the same as years ago, except this time they both wished to take things to full coitus.

  “Kenny.”

  “Shh, my turn, sweet.”

  He leaned back and wedged his leg between hers. Lifting and shifting himself, he freed her skirts from his legs and laid them upon her stomach. He did not touch her, and her legs spread farther in seek of his touch. Still nothing. The muscles of her sex grasped readily at the air, trying to find any part of him to ease their desire. She leaned up to see him staring at her sex. Why was he doing that? “Touch me, Kenny, please. I’m about to burst.”

  “Shh, sweet, I know.”

  The backs of his hands feathered the inside of her legs. Her muscles jumped and clenched, hips rising in invitation for the touch that would not come. Her legs trembled. His fingers gripped the bare skin of her bum and lifted, tilting her up.

  “God, you’re beautiful. Deep crimson. With black lace.” His thumbs traced her bumhole, moving up her slick lips and spreading them. She groaned so deep the tenor vibrated though her womb. The sensation contracted her sex, and she arched her hips to him.

  “Please, Kenny…please,” she whimpered.

  Warm wet tongue traced her slit, back to front, flicking that special place.

  “Kenny!” she cried out. Her muscles spasmed with such intensity, she screamed again. Tears streamed down the sides of her face, and her breath jittered with each hard contraction from her womb.

  “Better, sweet?” He leaned forward and gazed into her eyes.

  Good God, she was a wanton. One lick and she spent for him.

  His finger traced the line of one of her tears. “Can you take more, Hannah?”

  All she could do was nod.

  “I’m going to make you scream twice as hard. It is the most beautiful sound.” His voice was a raspy choke.

  She nodded again, wanting his hard prick to fill her, to stretch her and make her release.

  He leaned back, grasped her bum in his hands, and swirled her blissful place with his tongue. Her whole body trembled, and the muscles in her womb tightened. Good Lord. Each stroke of his tongue probed and laved her slit, tightening her muscles lick by lick.

  She couldn’t stay still; she needed to touch him. Her hands wandered to his hair and let the mass of tangled strands run though her fingers. A deep groan came from between her legs, vibrating her sex. The bliss built higher.

  He braced his shoulders against her knees, spreading her wider. Touches ran down the curve of her bum and into her slit, parting her flesh so his tongue could explore. His tongue worshipped the lips, the blissful place, and the space before her bumhole.

  Her hips arched and wiggled as she tried to get him to enter her. With the next lick, his tongue pressed in.

  “Oh God, Kenny!” Her body arched off the grass, and she screamed, locking him to her as he probed in and out through each contraction. She collapsed in exhausted bliss as he lowered her bum back to the earth.

  Kenneth shifted, spreading her creamy white thighs. So full of life. So full of passion. He couldn’t wait to sink into her and make her scream again. As her eyes fluttered open, he grinned. “Sweet Hannah.” He had dreamed of this, and so far the act surpassed his maddest dream. His cock strained and he placed the tip at her slick wet cunt.

  “Well, well, what have we here?”

  Hannah screeched and tried to roll onto her side, away from the intruder’s voice.

  “Go away, Rupert,” Kenney growled, and pinned Hannah to him.

  “Tsk, tsk, I thought we all shared.”

  “To the devil,” Kenneth said, and Hannah buried her face tight into the pit of his arm. He glanced down at her trembling in his arms. He would not give up her identity. He shook his head. Cursed again.

  “Well, if you aren’t willing to share, our company has started to arrive, and I know they won’t mind.”

  “Leave, Rupert,” he said through clenched teeth. Damn him and his blasted curiosity.

  Rupert laughed. “Sure will, chap. Sure will.”

  The sound of crunching leaves and grass signaled his retreat.

  Hannah pushed hard against Kenny’s chest. He sat back so that she could sit as well.

  “Is he gone?”

  Kenny realized she was not about to let this continue, not now. Fuck Rupert. He couldn’t blame her. He stared at the clearing where Rupert walked into the trees.

  “He’s gone.” His cock throbbed, longing for the slickness of her heat. He shifted and cringed. He would be sore after this. Bloody hell. Rupert would pay. He hadn’t held in a spend in years.

  “Hannah.” He reached out and cupped her face, trailing his thumb along the swollen lips of her mouth. “God, Hannah. This is too much like last time.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “I’m sorry, Kenny. I have to go. I have been away much too long.” She scrambled to her feet, her dark blue dress falling in a swoosh around her pale white legs.

  Grrr. Legs he had almost wrapped around his waist in blissful fucking.

  His cock throbbed again at the memory of her mouth sucking the very essence from him.

  “Kenny.” Her expression pained as she stared at his rampant erection. “I—”

  He clasped her waist and crushed her to him. His face buried in her breast, he inhaled the smell of her again.

  “I know, sweet. Go. I’ll be fine.”

  She pulled from his arms, turned, lifted her skirts, and ran off in the opposite direction from Rupert. He watched her go as she darted into the trees.

  Hannah. He knew she was married. His muscles clenched. She was no virgin, and Lady Hannah would never have given that up without a vow. But who was she married to?

  Bloody hell, she was on her way home to a man who would have every right to fuck her as she walked in the door. A growl ripped from his throat. The thought of another man sinking his cock into her after…Shit. Shit! His fists clenched.

  He couldn’t let her go now that he found her, husband or no. He would bed her. And what would bring her to him? The masque. The party Rupert and he worked so hard to pull together. Rupert would know who she was; he knew every woman in the vicinity. Surging to his feet, he picked up his coats, tucked his cock in, and headed to the manor. He would send her an invite, and sweet Hannah would be too curious not to come.

  3

  Anticipation

  Mr. Rupert Roland and Friends Invite

  Mrs. Hannah Rosworth to Attend a Masked Evening of Beauty and Sexual Intrigue This Thursday at Nine in the Evening. Costumes are required but please leave all proper clothing and morals at the door.

  Mr. Rupert Roland

  No respectable lady would consider attending this event. Hannah’s hands shook, clutching the invite as she ascended the stairs to the great manor. She didn’t care. Society didn’t see her as proper. She was an outcast. It didn’t matter that her father raised her to be a proper wife. A lady by all stan
dards. They saw her through suspicious eyes. Eyes that condemned her the moment Simon died and no one but her was there to blame. This was her chance to mingle with those in society who had somehow gained the ton’s scorn.

  The event appeared a normal masque. No naked men stood on the stoop. No strange erotic decorations. But she didn’t know what she had expected.

  The guests arrived wearing heavy cloaks and masks. The footmen all dressed in the Brummelton livery of red and black. Not a hint of human flesh anywhere. She frowned with disappointment. Inside would be different.

  A line of guests at the top of the steps brought her to a halt. How odd. Only one guest or couple entered the manor at a time; then the door would close, reopening after a few moments, allowing the next guest to enter.

  Her heart pounded. What lay behind those doors was not a normal masquerade but a sexual one. She gulped. She would enter next into the world of the erotic unknown. Her stomach fluttered and she smiled. Tonight she would learn more than she ever thought possible, with a man she’d thought she’d never see again in her life.

  The door opened. She hesitated. Go on, you ninny. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped into a small entry hall, and the doors closed behind her. A single candle lit the small space. Blast, she could barely see.

  “Good evening.” A man with dingy hair came out of the shadows. She jumped and gooseflesh pricked her skin.

  His cheeks were sunken, and he held out a crooked hand. “Your cloak.”

  Goodness, he looked dead. His gnarled knuckles clutched the air as he waited for her to turn. He is not about to hurt you. Give him your cloak. Relax. He is just the butler.

  She glanced around the enclosed entrance. No one else resided in the room. Shadows played across the floor, and her knees trembled. Think about Kenny. You will be with him soon.

  With shaking hands, she untied the ribbons that held her cloak together. The butler’s bony fingers dug into her shoulders as he lifted the warmth from her body. Ouch. Kenny’s brown eyes…Kenny’s beautiful behind…yes, that’s it, relax.

  Maybe this was not the kind of party she thought. No. Just foolishness. Nothing bad could happen to her here. Moreover, she did just see others enter the house. She would not be alone with this strange man for more than a few ticks of the clock.

  Shivers went through her body as she stood in a short robe that just skimmed the tops of her stockings. She had searched for hours for an acceptable costume and decided to shorten her Grecian robe and wear a white feather mask. She stood here as Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt.

  Though Artemis was not particularly pretty, she was strong, and Hannah needed that boldness. Especially now, as she stood alone with the Brummeltons’ eerie butler. Dressed as such a powerful woman made it easier to play the role, to be the huntress, and learn all she could from this event. She hoped Kenny liked the costume. Her hands ran down her curves.

  “Your invite?” the man said, and her heart pounded.

  Blast it, Hannah, there is nothing to be afraid of. Kenny and Mr. Roland were decent, though a bit wicked.

  Wickedness.

  She came to learn to be wicked, to pleasure a man. Kenny’s groan as he spilled his seed into her mouth filtered through her mind and she grinned. Without a doubt she would do that again.

  She held out the invite, and his bony hands grasped the paper. Smiling, he revealed a mouth with two teeth. Hannah grimaced. Who would hire such a butler? She quelled the urge to flee. Just a few more moments and she would be out of his presence and in Kenny’s arms.

  “This way.” He turned and walked to the door that led to the rest of the house. Hannah held her breath, eager to see what lay behind those doors. In her mind, a line of naked men and women waited to pick a partner for the night, and as she entered the hall, Kenny would claim her, wrapping his strong arms about her as she squeezed him tight. Her muscles trembled.

  The door opened and deep blackness stood beyond. Not one single candle. How odd. Her shoulders tensed. This wasn’t right. She peeked through the door. At the end of the corridor, golden light streamed into the darkness like a ray of sun illuminating the tiles.

  “Where is everyone?” She frowned. There were no naked men. There was no Kenny. Her heart sank to the soles of her feet.

  “In the parlor, miss,” came the man’s scratchy voice.

  The parlor. Yes, that made sense.

  “And why are there no candles?”

  “His lordship is away. He prefers us not to waste ’em, and Master Rupert doesn’t mind the dark.” He stared at her from the corner of his eye, and Hannah held still.

  Why did this man unsettle her so? Things would get better when she reached the parlor. She breathed deep. The sound of a glass knocking on wood down the hall, followed by a loud laugh, made her breath come out in a rush. Thank goodness. She couldn’t wait to be with the others.

  “This way, missus.”

  As he stepped into the hall, Hannah rushed close on his heels. Paintings hung in thick gold frames all along the corridor. How she wished she could see them. Art always inspired her. As she stepped into the column of light, she stopped. Beautiful.

  A painting of a woman hung on the opposite wall. With black hair loose, she stood in a field of flowers. The wind blew her hair out behind her, eyes closed to the world, arms outstretched as she tried to catch the breeze. Breathtaking. Hannah smiled. She could actually feel the warm breeze tickle her hair, the sun warm on her face. The woman’s mouth formed the most content, happy smile. She seemed truly happy. Hannah sighed. She had never experienced that kind of contentedness in her adult life.

  The warm breeze tickled her neck again, and her brow knit. That was real. She turned her face in the direction of the air and jumped at blue eyes behind a black mask, mere inches from hers. A man. His short blond hair shone like a beacon in the dreariness of the hall. A handsome man.

  “Glad you could join us.” His calm voice slid down her spine. Her shoulders relaxed. Another person in a mask for the party. Thank goodness. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him.

  “W-who is the woman in the painting?” Her voice trembled with each word. Blast, where was her fortitude?

  “I’m not sure. She is pretty, though, like you.” His hand reached out past her to the man with no teeth. “Thank you, Guss.”

  “Master.” He bobbed his head and disappeared back toward the front of the house.

  Hannah stared after Guss, thankful not to be in his presence any longer. Yet, he called this man “master,” and he was not Rupert. “Are you related to Mr. Roland?”

  “No.”

  “Why did he call you master?”

  “Shall we?” The blond man held out his arm to her and she started. He was naked. A red feather covered his phallus and nothing else.

  How did she miss that? And how did that feather stay on?

  She tilted her head to the side, looking for an attachment. The plume stood straight up his belly in an arc and touched just below his chest. If a feather touched her there, her skin would tickle. However, this man did not flinch as the plume brushed back and forth with his movements. He cleared his throat. “Miss?”

  You ninny. You did receive an invite to a sexual intrigue. You are about to see more naked flesh.

  There…The feather was secured to his body with leather around his bum. Her fingers itched to trail that thin piece of leather, to touch his firm and dimpled ass. She couldn’t help but stare as her cheeks grew toasty warm.

  His long legs, sprinkled with blond curls, flexed as he turned. Beautiful. Glorious. A god. Biting her lip, she forced her head up to meet his gaze and smile. She would truly enjoy this evening.

  As she placed her hand on his bare arm, hot male flesh warmed her chilled skin and shook off the last of her unease. Her heart thudded hard as her hand glided up and down his forearm. Fingers lingering, her touch caught curl after curl of the dark blond hair. Umm. She never thought she would feel a man again, and in the last day she h
ad touched two. She grinned. She was wicked to find pleasure in such a situation.

  As they entered the parlor, the men in the room stood. Oh my! Her eyes widened, taking in every detail. Twenty guests sat about the room, the men all dressed in the same fashion as her escort, with black masks and red feathers covering their sexes. The women wore some type of scandalous costume and mask, each one different from the next.

  One blond woman wore nothing but a red corset and bright red mask. Emma. From the summerhouse. She stood and walked toward them, an easy smile on her face as if she recognized her. Hannah’s heart beat so hard in her chest, her whole body pulsed. Had she seen Hannah watching in the woods? Oh blast. It had been daft of her to do so.

  Hannah’s escort held out his hand and gave Emma her invite. She read the paper and glanced at her. “Umm…” Her gaze raked Hannah’s form and her lip quirked.

  God, she’d seen her.

  “Stay with this one.” Emma glanced back at Hannah.

  Feather Man nodded and guided Hannah to a seat.

  What did that woman think? She was a peep, an ogler. Oh poppiedust! Who was she trying to fool? She was, and today she discovered herself to be a tad more wicked than she thought.

  Feather Man stared down at her and smiled. “What shall we call you?”

  “Artemis,” she said with all the strength she could muster. She would not be the proper Hannah this night.

  “First time with us, Artemis?”

  She glanced up at the blond god. “Yes.”

  “Good. We need new blood to feast on.” His eye winked behind his mask and she laughed. Did he mean to eat her? She didn’t think she would mind. How scandalous.

  A naked man crawled into the room, and Hannah’s eyes gaped. A tray with a steaming kettle and a large wooden bowl perched on his back. He stopped in front of Emma. She picked up the kettle, poured the steamy clear liquid into a bowl, and stirred.

  “My guests.” She waved her hand in the air. “The time for preparing has arrived. Come now and drink my brew.”