“Is this what it takes, Sylvie? Do I have to be rough with you? Is that what you like, what you desire?” He shoved her back against the cool marble wall, spinning her around. Her hands flew up to brace herself as her front pressed into the marble. He heard her gasp, felt her struggle and his vision dimmed for a moment he was so aroused by it all—aroused by the chase, the capture, her struggles and the knowledge that she would surrender to him. He would take her here and she would not deny him again. He would mark her as his, and his mark would supersede all previous claims.
He yanked her skirts up, heedless of the ripping sound something made as he tore at them. Sylvie whimpered and Edmund pressed up against her, nothing between his cock and her soft, lush bottom but his tight breeches and her thin drawers. The contact made him shudder and Sylvie reacted as well, with a moan and a shiver—of desire, not fear. He took a moment to calm down. He was out of control, wild, more wild than he’d ever been before. What did she do to him? He became aware of his ragged breathing and rapid pulse. He felt like an animal. He was acting like one.
He forced his hands to gentle, to caress and ask rather than grasp and take. He ran them down her hips, his thumbs gliding over the tense muscles of her perfect arse. He wanted to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Christ! He needed to get more control. His hands trembled with the effort, but he made them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between cheeks and thighs. “Let me touch you, Sylvie,” he murmured into her hair. She turned her head so that his lips grazed her temple and she sighed at the contact. “Let me touch you, love you. I only want to love you, Sylvie.”
She sobbed. “Edmund,” she cried softly, “Edmund.” But he knew what she meant by it. He knew it was yes, yes to all that they desired. Here, in this little marble fortress, far away from tea and cakes and gossip, she would give them both what they wanted.
Sylvie couldn’t speak for the lust choking her. It had her by the throat and she couldn’t breathe much less talk. His hands on her, rough and arousing at first, were now gentle and oh, so much more devastating. She could feel his erection pressing against her bottom, and the contact made her tense until she was so sensitive she could feel the air move against her skin like a caress. The cool marble against her breasts soothed her while his hands, so hot, gently removed her drawers. He did it slowly, reaching around her to untie them. When they were loose, he slipped his hands inside, onto her hips, and pushed them down. His palms ran down her hips to her thighs as the garment slid down her legs.
“Step out of them, Sylvie,” he ordered, his voice soft but insistent. She obeyed, and he kicked them away.
He stepped back, keeping his hands on her hips. She felt his gaze on her naked backside like a brand. This wasn’t like the other times, not at all. He was going so slow, looking at her, touching her. She’d never had a man do this. Her husband had been thirty-six years older than she. He had come to her at night, apologized, and then taken her quickly and neatly, before thanking her and going to his bed. When she’d actually initiated sex it had been in code. She would ask him to stop by her room for a glass of port before retiring. She’d taken to wearing a wine red negligee, but Bartlebyrne hadn’t gotten the joke. There was no passion, no love between them, only a gentle friendship, and an almost paternal protectiveness on his part. With her young coachman, it had been dark, and he’d been very rough. He’d thrown her skirts up, yanked her drawers down and shoved his cock in her. After a few thrusts she’d come—it had been so long, and she was so lonely. But he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t even slowed, just kept going until he grunted and slammed painfully into her. She’d frantically tried to remove him, not wanting him to come inside her. For a week she’d been insane with worry that she might be pregnant. When her courses came she swore she wouldn’t do it again. And now here she was.
She was about to stop him when he touched her. His fingers traveled lightly over the cheek on her buttocks, and then one followed the center line there down to her wet, throbbing entrance. Her words were stolen from her.
“So wet, Sylvie,” he murmured, almost to himself. “For me. Is this for me? Have you been this wet for weeks, darling, just as I’ve been so hard? If I’d known how much you wanted it, I would have acted sooner.” His finger slowly breached her, pushing insistently inside and Sylvie cried out at the sheer bliss of his entrance, at the rough pad of his finger rubbing along her sensitive inner walls. “Yes, yes, cry for it, darling, tell me how good it feels. God, I can’t wait to fuck you, Sylvie. Can’t wait for you to swallow my cock here. And here.” At his last words, the thumb of his hand rubbed over the tight entrance on her bottom, and Sylvie moaned.
“No, Edmund,” her voice was trembling, conquered. She didn’t know that voice, had never heard it. It sounded as if she waited on the brink for something, something only he could give her, and she wanted to beg for it. That voice was made to beg. Edmund’s arm came around her waist, pushing her dress higher, and he pulled her tight against him. She could once again feel his hard cock pressed to her buttocks, as his hand covered her breast and squeezed. His finger pulled out and thrust into her, and Sylvie writhed against the wall. It was all so good, it felt so good. The empty aching loneliness inside her felt full at last, and she wanted to cry at the unfairness of it, because she had to stop him.
“No, no, Edmund,” she sobbed. “We can’t, I can’t.” He froze, his finger buried inside her, his hand on her breast, his thumb in the middle of flicking her hard nipple.
“How can you say that, Sylvie?” His voice was pained as he spoke softly in her ear. “You want me, I know you do. This doesn’t lie.” He rubbed his hand over her wet sex, his finger moving deliciously inside her. She shivered and he growled as he bit her earlobe.
“No, not fuck,” she panted, “I can’t risk it, Edmund. I can’t let you fuck me.”
“Sylvie,” he groaned, his voice a plea and an angry purr at the same time.
“Edmund, please!” She cried out even as she thrust against his hand, unable to stop herself. Sylvie had to get his promise, or this would stop, she had to stop it.
“God! Sylvie,” he groaned. She started to pull away, and he grabbed her tighter. “Yes! Damn you, yes, all right. I won’t fuck you today, Sylvie.” She breathed easier for a moment until she felt his finger pull out of her and ram back inside roughly. She gasped and pushed back against his hand, driving it in farther, her head thrown back in ecstasy. “But I will satisfy you, Sylvie. I will see you writhing beneath me, taking all I’m allowed to give you, coming for me. You will come for me, Sylvie.”
His fingers pinched her nipple and Sylvie bit her lip, enjoying the pain, the sting, the soothing way his palm rubbed over it afterward. “Yes,” she panted. “Yes, Edmund, I will come for you.”
He pulled away and turned her, his hand wet with her juices trailing over her hip as she turned. It was the most erotic thing Sylvie had ever felt. Her skirts were still up and she watched as he stared at her naked sex, at his hands on her. As soon as her back was against the wall he ran his wet hand over her stomach, and it quivered. His hand stopped for a moment and he looked up at her face. His eyes caught hers, and she couldn’t escape from the burning intensity in their depths. He held her gaze while his hand began to move again, running down into her pubic hair, his finger grazing her hard clitoris, making her shiver, before once again sliding slowly into her slick passage.
“Christ, Sylvie,” he whispered as her eyes fluttered. “You want this so badly, you need it so badly.”
“Yes, yes,” was all she could say as he fucked her with his hand.
“Shall I make you come now, darling?” he purred. “And then keep going? Keep fucking you even after you climax? I love how wet an orgasm makes a woman’s cunny, how hot and swollen you get after you come. Will you let me play in your cream, Sylvie? Will you let me taste it and rub it on my cock? Will you?” His voice didn’t match his words. He wasn’t asking. He was telling her what he wa
s going to do.
“Oh God,” Sylvie moaned, feeling the muscles in her vagina clenching on his finger as he built her pleasure to unbearable heights with just that one touch.
Edmund laughed, the sound seductive. “I can make you come with just a finger, Sylvie. Christ, you are amazing.” His other hand came up and pulled her dress down. He pulled hard enough to force it over her breasts, until it cut into her upper arms and pushed her breasts up. “But I want more. If I can’t fuck you, then I’ll do everything else.” He bent down and sucked her nipple into his mouth, voraciously pulling on the hard peak as Sylvie’s back bowed against the wall, driving her hip into his hard cock. He pulled back swearing.
“Be careful, darling. You don’t want to set me off too soon. We’ll both be sorry if I can’t come down your delectable throat.” He head swooped down and he kissed her throat just as she swallowed hard at the image he conjured with his words. He felt the movement and laughed against her neck. Then he moved his mouth back down to her breast and kissed the slope on the inner side. “Thank God you’re not wearing a corset,” he murmured. Without warning he sucked hard on the spot he’d just kissed, and Sylvie cried out, her hands coming up to fist his hair. She didn’t want to pull him off. Instead, she held his head there as he sucked so hard she fought not to cry out in pain. He pulled away with a gasp, his hips thrusting against hers. Sylvie looked down and saw a dark, angry bruise forming on her breast, and felt her sex bathed with wetness at the sight. He’d marked her. She was his.
Edmund felt the beast stir again when he saw his mark on her breast. He looked at her face, and lust slammed through him at the sight of her desire, the satisfaction and surrender in her gaze as she looked at the mark. She was his, in every way. The thought was thrilling and right and the beast roared his approval.
He thrust another finger into her and she cried out. Sylvie was not a quiet, passive lover. She moaned and cried out and writhed and twisted in her passion. He adored it. Now that he’d heard her cry out in desire, he knew he would never hear her speak again without remembering it. She was tight, too tight for a woman who’d had frequent lovers. He was calmer now, and realized that even if she’d had one or two, she’d been a widow for a very long time. She was probably almost as innocent as he’d first thought her. The idea of that innocence waiting to be plundered excited the hell out of him.
“I’ve got two fingers in you, Sylvie, and you’re so tight, so incredibly, wonderfully tight. My cock is aching at the thought of how tight you would be around it. And so wet. I’ve never known a woman to get so wet without my mouth on her, licking and sucking.” At his words she moaned and twisted against the wall, and her felt her sex strangle his fingers. Oh, she wanted it, she was desperate for it. She just wasn’t ready for it, yet. Suddenly her hands, still thrust into his hair, tightened and pulled his face down to hers.
“Kiss me, Edmund, please,” she begged so sweetly, so full of passion and surrender that kissing her became the most important thing in the world. He leaned down and the heat of her breath against his lips sent a shock through his system, lodging, as these things often did, in his cock. She smelled of tea and cookies with jam and the disparity of her scent with her hot breath and open, carnal mouth fanned the flames of Edmund’s desire. He’d meant the kiss to be as sweet as her plea, but the hunger burned out of control and he fell on her mouth, devouring her.
She tasted as sweet as she smelled, but her kiss more than lived up to the carnal invitation she presented. She took his mouth, his thrusting tongue and biting teeth, and gave them back to him, as rough and desperate as he was. He heard himself moan against her lips as she sucked his upper lip into her mouth and bit it, just shy of drawing blood. He slid his fingers deep into her as her reward and she sobbed, letting go of his lip and her inhibitions.
“Yes, Edmund, God, take me darling, deep like that,” Sylvie begged in a husky voice, not caring if she sounded wanton and desperate. She was both those things. She’d dreamed of him like this for weeks, and to finally have him touching her was heaven. She pressed down on his fingers, loving the feel of them inside her, loving her breasts bare to the open air in the folly, her nipples rubbing on the rough superfine of his jacket. She loved her skirts tossed up so he could watch his fingers moving in and out of her, loved the wet sound of each thrust of those fingers. Loved especially the enthralled look on his face as he watched her pleasure spiral out of control.
“Sylvie, come for me. I want to see you fly apart on my hand, feel your cunt clench my fingers. Do it, Sylvie. Come for me.” Edmund’s demands were spoken harshly, in a voice ragged with desire and she could do nothing but obey him. Her head fell back hard against the marble, but the pain did nothing to lessen the pleasure as she climaxed for him, loud and long. Her sobs filled the folly, his name falling from her lips again and again as he curled his fingers inside her and rubbed her roughly, deliciously so. After her peak he continued to possess her, her slit so wet she could feel his hand drenched in her juice as it rubbed between her thighs. His thumb replaced his palm against her clitoris and began circling, making Sylvie cry out at the extreme sensitivity there. It felt so good it almost hurt. She shuddered, the pleasure one long, endless thrill.
“Edmund,” she cried weakly, holding onto his shoulders, thrusting and writhing against his hand, unable to stop as the pleasure went on and on.
“God, Sylvie, God,” he rasped as she continued to shudder and ride his hand desperately. “You’re still so damn aroused, even after that climax.”
Sylvie just nodded jerkily, biting her lip, trying to control her reaction to what he was doing and failing miserably. “Oh Edmund!” she cried out, unable to think of anything else to say, unable to put into words what he was doing to her. She never wanted him to stop, never. Suddenly Edmund pulled his hand away, the desertion sudden and unbelievably desolating. “No!” Sylvie screamed, grabbing his arm and trying to shove his hand back between her legs.
Edmund laughed softly and pulled his arm away. “Is this the woman who told me no just a short while ago?” Sylvie couldn’t even make herself feel shame at his teasing. The shame would come later, she knew. Right now she just needed to be filled. Filled by Edmund, only Edmund. She reached for him again and his voice and hands were tender as he stopped her. “I just need to undo my breeches, Sylvie. I’m going to come, god damn it, I can’t wait. You are so damn desirable. Watching you, dying of pleasure on my hand, begging me for more, I’ve dreamed of it, Sylvie, but it can’t compare—nothing can compare. God!” He ripped open the last few buttons on his trousers and shoved them down enough for his cock to spring free.
It was beautiful. He was beautiful. His cock was long to her untrained eye, and strong looking, with veins running down its length, the head a dark red, plump plum. It rose from a nest of curls curiously darker than the hair on his head. Beneath she could see a large sac, heavy and full. The whole sight made her mouth water. She wanted to kiss it, to taste the drop of moisture on its tip. Before she could say anything Edmund grabbed her hand and placed it around the shaft of his cock. The feel of it was shockingly soft, like the smooth skin of a baby’s bottom over a hard, strong column of wood. She loved the feel of it, loved his groan of pleasure at her touch. “Pump your hand along it, Sylvie,” he gasped after she stood there just holding it for several seconds. “Like this,” and he wrapped his hand, still wet with her juices, over hers and showed her, moving it up and down his shaft with a firm grip that pulled that soft skin roughly, and pushed her fist into the base of his plump head. He groaned again and let go so she could explore and find her own rhythm. He placed both hands on the wall beside her and hung his head, his eyes closed while she touched and learned his cock.
He was shaking when he finally leaned in close, laying a forearm along the wall. He reached one hand down and Sylvie gasped as his fingers penetrated her again. She bit her lip and her grip on his cock unconsciously tightened.
“God, yes, Sylvie,” he groaned, burying his face in he
r disheveled hair. He took her in the same rhythm she’d been using on his cock, and she shivered as she resumed her pumping. “Harder,” he growled, “faster.” She changed her rhythm to match his pace inside her, a pace that was bringing her close to climax again.
“Edmund,” she said in a shaky voice, “I’m going to come again. I’m sorry! I…I can’t help it.” She had so wanted to please him this time, but her own orgasm was pushing at her, refusing to be brushed aside.
“Sylvie,” he groaned into her hair. “Come again, and again, and again—as many times as you can, my love. It’s the next best thing to actually fucking you.” He pulled his fingers back until they pumped into her shallowly, curved into that sensitive spot, and his thumb circled her clitoris again. It was enough to shatter her. As she came she felt Edmund shove her hand down over the end of his cock, cupping it. He cried out her name hoarsely and she felt a hot, wet spurt in her cupped hand, then another and another. He was coming, he was coming with her, and the feel of it sent her careening into another orgasm.
Chapter 3
“Fuck.” Edmund felt like a foolish schoolboy. He’d lost control. He’d wanted to do so much more to her, to draw out their pleasure, and instead he’d come like a lad with his first girl.
“Edmund?” Sylvie’s voice was sweet, and tired and worried. He’d worried her.
“It’s all right, Sylvie.” He dredged up a laugh as he leaned away from her slightly so he could see her face. She was flushed and drowsy, satiated. “I’d meant to make that last a little longer.”
“It was wonderful, Edmund.” Sylvie pressed her palm to his cheek and rose to her tiptoes to tenderly kiss his lips.
He didn’t want tender. It smacked too much of pity. He bit her lip and she tried to pull away with a startled cry. When he licked the spot he’d bitten, it turned to a moan. “There’s only one way to make sure that climax didn’t go to waste,” he whispered against her lips. When he pulled back she looked at him curiously. He answered with a wicked grin and raised her hand from his cock, covered in his cum. “Lick it off, Sylvie,” he told her roughly. “I didn’t get to come down your throat, so lick it off.”
When Love Comes Calling: Two Short Stories Page 2
