She measured the space with her gaze and grinned. “You’re afraid of Bessie.”
He looked at her, a waggish light in his eyes. “Damn right.”
“Does that mean I have to wait until dark?” she asked in a pouty little whisper. Rising to her knees, she leaned across the small distance separating them, placed her hands on his shoulders and lowered her head until their eyes met. “I don’t know if I can wait until dark,” she breathed, nibbling on his bottom lip.
“We probably should, though.” His voice was taut with restraint.
“Don’t want to,” she purred, bending closer, her breasts swinging slightly beneath her nightgown, brushing against his chest.
Through force of habit, perhaps, his hands seemed to come up of their own accord, his fingers splayed over her soft, pliant flesh and he filled his palms with the weight of her breasts.
She softly moaned, the pressure of his fingers sending little sparking tingles down to the pulsing tissue deep inside her. “Please… I want to feel you,” she implored, breathy, eager. “It’s been so long…”
He shut his eyes against the spiking lust, resisted for a millisecond more while he debated whether three hours was indeed too long. Then he muttered, “I’ll be right back,” and left the bed.
There were cardinal moments and this was one where rank was useful, he decided, moving toward the door. Striding out into the hall, he swiftly traversed the plush Uzbek carpet to the head of the stairs and without hesitating, shouted, “I do not want to be disturbed!” His voice thundered down the stairwell, past numerous Hargreave forebears staring out from their portraits to the front hall servants at their posts.
The footmen looked up in surprise. The duke never raised his voice. But then again, he was half-dressed in the middle of the day. They glanced at each other and smiled. And when they looked up again, he was gone.
Returning to the bedroom, Simon locked the door and quickly stripped off the remainder of his clothes to an appreciative audience of one.
“Is that all mine?” Caroline purred as he walked toward the bed, her gaze on his magnificent up-thrust penis.
“It’s all yours,” he murmured with a smile.
“What if I want it inside me always…”
His heated gaze turned hotter. “I’ll see what I can do. You’re not too tired, now.”
“Au contraire. I’m very much awake.” And so saying, she lifted her nightgown over her head in one fell swoop and flung it away.
He laughed. “It looks as though your nursemaids might have misdiagnosed your condition. Instead of bed rest, you have other things in mind.”
“Sex with you is rather constantly on my mind. I feel as though I should apologize,” she added in a genuinely contrite tone.
He smiled. “That won’t be necessary. I doubt I’ll find it inconvenient.”
“Oh, good,” she exclaimed, like a child allowed a special treat. “Do you think you could stay inside me for a very long time? I seem to be insatiable.”
“I’ll do my best,” the man who held all the records for continuous sex in the brothels of London replied, mildly. Climbing into bed, he lay back against the pillows.
“I absolutely adore when you come in me.” Her voice held that same note of breathlessness. “I wonder if other women feel that way, like some primordial female fertility figure waiting to be implanted with male sperm. All expectant and fruitful and yielding. Is that strange?”
He smiled, his gaze flicking to his erection. “I don’t know, but it’s making me horny as hell.”
“Oh my God…” she breathed, watching his penis surge higher. “May I lick it just a little?”
“Be my guest.” It was his turn to offer up a supplication of his own-in his case a prayer of thanks-giving.
Kneeling over him, she held his stiff erection upright with one hand, guided it to her mouth and ran her tongue over the swollen, sensitive head as she massaged and gently pulled on the soft skin of his testicles with the other hand. She tested the weight of the balls in her palm, ran her tongue up one side and down the other of his stiff length, around and around the engorged head, wetting all his turgid flesh until his penis was glistening. “Look, darling. It shines ever so nicely. Oh, dear, I missed a spot.” And bending low once again, she set to rights the small unlicked area of skin. Looking up through her tumbled curls, she smiled. “How much do you think I can get in my mouth?”
Her question added new dimension to his arousal and she uttered a soft muffled cry. “How do you do it?” she whispered, rocking gently on her knees, liquid heat pulsing between her legs. “Get so big?”
“Looking at a delectable little wanton like you,” he murmured, gently stroking her hair.
Her smile was seductive. “Watch me then.”
He watched his erection slide in and out of her mouth, its length swelling even more with each caress of her lips and tongue, his pleasure so great he didn’t know if he was going to come in her mouth or wait to fill her with sperm or whether he was capable of controlling his orgasm at all. She was luscious, pink, and curvaceous-like the earth mother, the fertility deity she’d mentioned. Her breasts were noticeably larger, full and plump, hanging like ripe fruit. And the flare of her hips was more exaggerated than before, adjunct to her new sexually ravenous mood. She was more wanton and eager, more irrepressibly tantalizing and cupping her head in one palm, he pushed his erection deeper into her mouth. She didn’t mind. She sucked on him with all her power as though she were starved and famished for the feel and taste of a man.
But just before he was about to come, he jerked away, wanting to sink into her soft body more. Lifting her mouth to his, he kissed his tangy flavor from her lips. “I may just keep you locked away in here; screw Bessie’s orders,” he whispered against her mouth.
“I’d lie in bed waiting for you to make love to me. You’d let me come and come and come,” she said on a little caught breath, rubbing her breasts against his chest. “My body would always be wet for you and wet from your sperm. I would be your receptacle for sperm.”
It was too much even for a man of his restraint, or maybe he’d never had a wife before, a woman who was his. Maybe that sense of possession, of ownership heightened the avaricious nature of sex. “Open yourself,” he said, his voice rough with lust. “And we’ll see if your body is ready for me.”
She lay back against the pillows instantly; she spread her legs. Her pubic lips were swollen, distended, the moist fluid of desire gleaming on the soft flesh. “Is that wide enough?” she whispered, her expression diffident and so unlike Caro he glanced again at her face. “I’ll do anything to feel you inside,” she breathed, shuddering with need. “I can’t help it.”
Jesus… he’d never seen her so necessitous, so overcome and he wondered if her pregnancy was cause and agent for her new wellspring of burning desire.
“Please, Simon,” she sobbed, her vagina quivering, swimming in glossy lubricant, her thighs spread wide so the little runnels of pearly liquid oozing from her cleft were visible. “I know I’ve said please before, but, I really, really mean it this time…”
“Hush, darling,” he murmured, quickly moving over her, taking her in his arms, gliding into her body, widening her passage, filling her, impaling her as she arched up in desperation to meet him. “I’m here… I’m here,” he whispered as she clung to him, whimpering. “I’m right here inside you for as long as you need me…”
Her hips were writhing, pumping, drawing him deeper and deeper, her need for consummation a fiery, hot hysteria.
And he gave her what she wanted, what she yearned for and craved, staying deep inside her, satisfying her greedy desires with indefatigable patience and skill, indulging her unbridled lust over and over, filling her with come an astonishing number of times.