Kate Pearce - Simply Wicked

He wanted to taste her skin. With a groan, he dipped his head and touched his lips to her throat. She sighed and leaned back into him, his fingers crushed between them, his heart racing.

“Unlace my corset too.”

He studied the spiral bindings until he worked out how to release her and set to work coaxing the long strings through the holes. His mouth was dry, his breathing uneven. It was one thing to sexually service an unknown woman at the pleasure house, but making love to Marguerite, a woman he desired and liked, was a completely different equation. Would she detect his lack of expertise?

She turned in his arms, allowed her gown and corset to fall to the thick carpet. She was covered by only a thin muslin shift now, her nipples and the dark shadow between her legs visible through the sheer material. She tugged at his cravat.

“May I help you undress?”

He nodded and stood still as she eased him out of his tightfitting coat and waistcoat and unpinned his cravat. Her smile was beautiful as she touched him, and he yearned for her hands on other parts of his body, especially his cock. To be handled with such gentleness almost brought tears to his eyes. So different from Minshom and the other men, so humbling . . .

He cupped her cheek, drew her mouth toward his and kissed her soft, willing lips. Her hand slid between them and worked on the button of his pantaloons. He gasped as she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and squeezed hard.

“Anthony, you know you said I couldn’t shock you?”

He dragged his attention from his aching cock to her face. To his surprise, she looked almost as worried as he felt.

“You can do anything you want to me, Marguerite.”

She leaned in and bit down on his lower lip. “Would you mind if I had my way with you first? It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and I’m a little concerned about being at your mercy.”

He blinked at her as her fingers continued to caress his cock and balls. Had she heard that he liked it rough? Was she really afraid that he might harm her? He forced himself to respond. “I’d never hurt you.”

She patted his cheek. “I know that. It’s just that you are a big man, and I’d like to be in control of how you take me . . .” She stopped talking and stared up at him, biting her lip.

Suddenly he understood her all too well and was more than willing to oblige her. “I’d be delighted.”

Her laugh was low and full of relief. “Then take off your shoes and pantaloons and get on the bed.”

He stripped everything off and went to lie on the white sheets of the pristine bed. His cock rose, seeking relief, seeking a release he knew only Marguerite could give him tonight. He settled back against the headboard and waited for her to join him. The mattress barely dipped as she climbed onto the high bed and crawled toward him.

For one awful moment, he wanted to hide himself from her unabashed stare. Would she like what she saw? Would she somehow sense how unworthy he was of her regard and tell him to leave? He flinched as she straddled his hips, fisting his hands by his sides in an effort not to touch her. Her breasts danced in front of his eyes, their red tips already tight and ready for his mouth.

“Anthony, are you all right?”

He blinked and found her staring at him quizzically. Her face was as beautiful and delicate as the rest of her. He felt the wet heat from her sex on his balls, the way his cock brushed against the skin of her stomach as he tried to breathe normally.

She sighed. “I know I said I wanted to be in charge this first time, but I didn’t mean to stop you enjoying it.”

“I am enjoying it. Can’t you tell?”

“I’ve heard that some men don’t like a woman to be too aggressive in bed. Is that true?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m quite happy lying here, waiting for you to take me.”

She finally smiled at him. “Are you sure?”

He glanced down at his eager cock, rolled his hips toward her body. “God, yes.”

She knelt up and grasped his shaft around the base, drawing the tip back toward her. He groaned as he brushed against her core and was guided inside her. Instinctively, he tried to thrust upward but was met by a tightness that held him at bay.

Marguerite licked her lips. “Perhaps you are too big.”

“Perhaps you should be wetter.”

Anthony gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers over hers on his cock. He knew too well how painful a forced penetration could be, and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen to Marguerite. The lessons he’d been given about arousing a woman resonated in his head.

“Let me help you.”

He sat up straighter, drew one of her breasts into his mouth and began to suckle. She sighed deep in her throat and rocked toward him with every pull of his mouth. He withdrew his cock from the tight hole and instead rubbed the wet crown against the bundle of nerves at the front of her sex.

Strange that he could aid her, even stranger that she was obviously enjoying what he was trying to do. He transferred his attention to her other breast and used his left hand to caress her soft buttocks, to slide his fingers lower and penetrate her sex from behind—wet now and wider, easing his way, opening to his touch like a flower.

“Anthony . . .”

She moaned his name, kissed the top of his head, his ear, anything she could reach, her nails digging into his shoulder as she moved with him. He couldn’t believe how natural it felt to have her like this, her cream coating his fingers, the crown of his sensitive cock rubbing her clitoris.

He closed his eyes and repositioned his cock against her now slick entrance, encouraged her to guide him inside. This time he slid in at least three inches, the whole thick purple crown inside her. He felt her flesh give and yet not give, encase him in a lush cave that shifted and changed the deeper he penetrated her.

“Take more, Marguerite.”

He leaned back to watch the glorious sight of her body poised over his, his shaft disappearing inside her, and almost came. This was nothing like taking a man. Her sheath undulated and pulsed around his shaft, drawing him deeper even through the threat he’d be trapped forever, making him want to stay inside her more than breathe.

“God . . .”

He grasped her hips, encouraged her to shimmy lower, and groaned as she finally took him all. She looked at him, her smile tentative, her eyes huge in the shadowed darkness.

“You are even bigger than I thought you’d be.”

He held still, let her body settle around him and enjoyed the tight grip of a woman’s passage on his cock for the first time.

“You thought about having me like this?”

She stroked his chest, her thumbs feathering over his nipples making him shiver. “Of course.”

“Then perhaps you should continue to play out your fantasy and make me come for you.” He hesitated. “Unless you wish me to pull out . . .”

She shook her head. “That isn’t necessary.”

Anthony tightened his grip on her hips. “Then will you have mercy and ride me to completion?”

She started to move on him, her sex sliding up and down his shaft, squeezing and releasing him with a fierceness he would not have dreamed possible but that he was experiencing it firsthand. So tight now he could feel his cum being forced up his shaft by the demands of Marguerite’s body.

“Don’t stop,” he managed to groan, as she continued to move on him. He remembered to find her clit, thumbed her in time to their combined thrusts, felt the moment when she climaxed like a punch in the gut as his cock was squeezed to extremes and began to spurt seed deep inside her. The spasm seemed endless as he rocked and writhed beneath her, heard her answering moan of completion.

She collapsed over his chest and he held her there, one hand splayed over her buttocks, his cock still throbbing inside her. She threaded her fingers into his hair and cuddled deeper, her body shaking with little aftershocks as she curled up against him.

He kissed the top of her head, inhaled her beguiling scent. She’d trusted him to make it good for her, trusted him enough to let him inside her, for God’s sake. He smoothed his hand over her hair and felt her move closer. He’d never felt like this before in his life—so complete, so sexually sated, so happy. His eyes flew open.

How the hell had she done that to him? And what the hell was he going to do now?

Marguerite squeezed her eyes tightly shut as tears continued to seep from them. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be, had naively thought the sexual act would remain the same, even with a different man. But it hadn’t been like that all. Anthony was completely different from Justin; his smell, the texture of his skin, the way he moved beneath her—all different and infinitely strange.

Anthony sighed and kissed the top of her head, drew her closer into the curve of his warm muscular body. She managed to stop crying, terrified the tears would touch his skin and wake him up. She didn’t regret what she had done in the slightest, yet somehow it felt like the ultimate betrayal of Justin, another area of her life where he had been supplanted, another new experience to eradicate his memory.

She turned her face into Anthony’s shoulder and inhaled his particular scent. There was no way back now. She could only hope she would be able to live with the consequences and not allow her guilt to destroy the fragile beginnings of something she hoped would be precious.

Marguerite woke up slowly with a sense that something was different. The thud of another heartbeat under her cheek and the feel of a warm masculine body sprawled beneath her made her open her eyes wide.

“Anthony?”

“Hmm . . . ?” He touched her face, trailed his finger down to her throat. It was still dark, and although no light penetrated the thick blue velvet curtains, the birds had started singing into the stillness.

“You should go home.”

“Hmm . . .”

His hand moved lower, slid down her back to cup her buttocks and squeezed hard. She squirmed against him, felt his erect cock jerk against her stomach.

“Anthony . . .”

“I need to be inside you.” He rolled her onto her back and kneed her legs apart, slid his shaft deep inside her and started to thrust. Marguerite could do nothing but grab his wide shoulders and hang on, answer his kisses with her own, demand answers and replenish needs she’d almost forgotten existed. She lifted her hips to meet each hard stroke, gloried in the sensation of him moving over her, taking her, fucking her.

He groaned and rocked harder, ground himself against her sex until she wanted to scream and writhe, bite and scratch. Her climax caught her by surprise, forced him to stiffen too and come inside her. He sank down, his body covering hers completely.

She lay still and let his weight settle over her like a heavy living blanket. He suddenly rolled off her.

“Did I hurt you?”

His quiet question made her turn her head to look at him. “Non.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would you even think that?”

He stared at her, his face a pale outline in the darkness. “Because I’m more used to being with men, and they aren’t quite as delicate as you are.”

He moved to the side of the bed, groaned as his feet thumped onto the wooden floorboards. Marguerite rose up on one elbow to watch him gather his clothes and put them on, his movements jerky and unsure in the dim light.

“Anthony, are you all right?”

“Of course I am. You told me it was time to go, and I’m leaving.”

Marguerite gathered the sheets tightly around her breasts. Although he sounded quite amiable, he was hardly exhibiting the loverlike behavior she had unconsciously expected. She bit down on her lip.

“Is this how you treat your male lovers?”

He paused, his hands at his throat as he wrapped his cravat around his shirt collar. “What?”

She waved her fingers toward the door. “You just get out of bed and walk away without a word?”

“Usually, yes.”

“Oh.” She lay back down and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Good-bye, then.”

He came back to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out to touch her hunched shoulder. “Marguerite?”

“Go away.”

She refused to look at him; obviously the experience they had just shared meant nothing more to him than any of his other, no doubt varied, sexual conquests.

“Marguerite . . . there is something I want to say to you, but I refuse to talk to a pillow.”

She opened her eyes and stared into his face. His smile was so tender it made her want to cry. “What?”

“You are right: men don’t make polite bedfellows, but you . . .” He swallowed hard, traced the line of her cheekbone with his fingertip. “I’m not sure I even have the right words. You honor me by accepting me into your bed.” He kissed her nose. “Over you, inside you . . .”