NOT only is this romantica, but it is a romatic suspense set in 1208 England!
Feast on this, my lovelies!
She licked her lips. He’d teach her how to use them on him.
She spread her arms out. He’d show her how to welcome him into more than one embrace.
On cat’s feet, he padded across her little carpet and kneeled on the bed. It rolled beneath his weight. Yet, she lay there still and waiting for his lead. His cock stirred. He had never been so painfully hard and he had to sink himself inside her soon again or die of her lack. With a flick of his wrist, he peeled the fur away. The pale ivory of her skin had him pausing, fighting down a compliment to the beauty before him. He did it mutely, quickly, running his palm over her shoulder, her shapely arm, her long fingers, the indentation of her waist and the swell of her hip to the curve of her calf and the delicacy of her toes. Ah. He would begin with those.
He shifted to the foot of the bed—and with his move, he detected she gave a sigh of relief. But he had finer plans in store.
With one giant hand to her left foot, he wrapped his hand around her arch and bent to suck her little toe. She jerked in surprise, but he was ready for her and held her to the ticking. She froze. He smiled no smile and set his tongue along the ridge of her other toes. In objection or delight or mayhaps both, she rolled to her back. The glory of the Countess Atherton was spread before him once more—and this time, he had the patience and the presence of mind to absorb the sight of her perfection. Fingering her big toe on one foot, he grasped the other ankle and held her to the bed. For conquest’s sake, for his own delight, he forced her feet apart to view at his leisure now that most vital place that was solely his to lick and suck, to savour and to fuck.
Her cheeks grew pink. She grunted and tried to loose her feet from him, but years of training in the lists and scores of battles in the East, had built strength his delicate Elise could never match. Still, she tried to kick him off. To no avail. She sat up to pummel him. He yanked her ankles with such force, she fell back on the mattress with a yelp, the bedclothes and her glorious big breasts bouncing in the effort.
He slid his hands up her calves. The skin so soft he almost wept. Her knees so rounded, he kissed their flawlessness. Her thighs, so plump but firmly muscled, he squeezed the indentations in admiration for the way she must have held her horse as she rode the beast. The way she would now ride the beast in him.
His hands reached her bushy mons. The wealth of hair that covered her mount of Venus when he’d glimpsed her in the pond years ago as they’d swum together had blossomed in these ten years like a forest. Her cuny hair was a whiter hue than the gilding of the hair on her head. But this—he splayed one set of fingers into her froth of curls—this was his to tease and please, to part and claim. He fingered her labia apart. She moaned, but did not thrash, her duty to let him have her converging with her aged and her newest desire for him. Her glistening cuny lips were drenched in rosy colour that made him narrow his eyes. The smell of her—the meld of her liquid spice and her delicate soap—flared his nostrils. And he bent to spread her fruit and feast on the meal spread before him. He had always enjoyed eating a woman, but Elise was his one true love. The brew she created intoxicated him better than the finest wine and he could feast on her forever and never grow tired of her sugary fare.
In one long swath, his tongue laved her from her cream-covered core to her tiny pearl of love. His fingers holding her open for him, he kissed her jewel and with the tip of his tongue, he circled her and gave her tiny little licks of love that drove her to a mute keen. She arched in delight, but he ran one hand up to her stomach to gentle her.
“I give you more than any man, Elise,” he soothed and caressed her skin down to her groin, then plunged a finger inside her liquid walls. “I always have.” He pulled her heavy lips open with one hand while he stroked inside her with the other. But he could tell one finger was not enough to abrade her and so he shot another inside her. And in approval, she growled deep in her throat. He returned to her rosy hard button to kiss it, lick it and press loud little sucks against it and make her whimper with delight.
He grinned as she ground out, “Have me, Simon. End this torture.”
But for the desolate years that he had dreamed of this, her plea coupled with these two brief fuckings was small recompense. Torture, she called it, torture, she deigned it. She had not one inkling of the meaning. He would show her. He would make her acknowledge him. He’d make her talk to him sweetly. He’d make her linger with him for hours. Before he lifted a finger from her fabulous form, he’d make her sing in mad delight and beg to keep him inside her cunt forever.
So he ran his hands up to her ass cheeks, nuzzled her curly little mound once more, licked her navel and with one swift move, lifted her and flipped her over in the bed. The air left her lungs as she fell face down. She moaned in protest, but he hovered over her, giving her no time to rise, as he scooped her up under her waist, pressed her buttocks to his groin and reached down to invade her cuny once more with determined and demanding fingers.
“You think you know torture? This is it, Elise.” He swirled his fingers over her tight, dew-soaked nub and swept down into her cunt to gather more of her love liquid and bathe her lips and cuny hair with it. “This is what torture is, my countess. To want a fuck. To need a cock. To need one special one, but to have none. To be caressed.” He demonstrated with deft fingerings. “To be rolled and petted into a frenzy and to yearn for the only hand that can give it you. But find no relief.” He pulled his hand away.
“No! Simon!” She panted, trying to grab his retreating hand.
He eluded her.
Instead, he forced her hips back against him while he inserted his cock between her ass cheeks and shifted to get himself up higher near her flowing cunt. Then, as he had her where he wished, he stroked her slit with his long aching member.
But he groaned. The need to have her hot little quim surround him and squeeze him dry made him shudder. The night was long, was it not? And he was just beginning.
But to fuck her face-to-face again when her mind was still so far from him roiled him. And he growled in his own frustration and ran a hand up her back to press her down. He bent and licked the perfect plump ass cheek that rose to greet him, then claimed the other with a wet lashing of his tongue. She gave a small cry and tried to turn. But he wrapped a hand around one thigh, hoisted her higher and with one open palm tapped her slit. The yelp she made died into a cry of delight. Smiling at her joy in his wicked ways of love, he promised himself to spank her harder and longer another time. For now, he sent two fingers inside her cunt to draw forth a thick coating of her white cream. She moaned, thinking probably that he would caress her more there. Instead, he withdrew and drove one finger inside her tiny nether hole. And she froze.
“There is more to a fuck than you’ve learned, my lady.”
(Copyright 2009 Cerise DeLand)