Page 46 of Brutal Serpent

St. Erth was bending so close to me, but when his tongue touched my throat, I yelped and dropped my needlework.

“There’s a reason Eve was in the Garden,” he said.

“What would that be?” I hissed, despite my resolve to ignore him.

“To get cock,” he whispered in my ear. “She wanted to get fucked.”

I wanted to say a lot of things, such as “I don’t think that’s what the Bible verse means,” but my heart was pounding so hard I felt faint.

Then I saw Mr. and Mrs. Elton inviting their guests to tour the gardens with them. Lord Sheringham and Mr. Westruther got up agreeably, although I wasn’t sure how interesting a country vegetable garden would be to a couple of city bucks.

But just as I was about to follow them outside into the bright sunshine, I felt a strong hand close on my arm and another over my mouth, and my husband was propelling me down the dark hallway, one hand firmly on my arm.

His hand was so tight my voice was muffled, so I tried to kick him but of course he absorbed all my blows while still holding me tightly.

He backed into one room and it was the vicarage’s other, smaller, sitting-room, dark and with the curtains drawn.

My husband turned and swung me up on the piano.

“St. Erth! What are you doing?” I hissed, although when I felt my husband’s rough hands on my soft thighs I knew what he wanted.

I began to wiggle, but of course there was no escaping him.

“What if anyone comes in here?” I begged him, trying to push his hands off my thighs.

“Then they’ll see me fucking my wife,” he said, ignoring my hands to shove my dress up and my undergarments down, yanking me closer to him.

“But, my lord!” I protested, but his fingers closed around my thighs, his eyes blazing into mine with an unholy fire.

“Viscountess, put your thighs around my headnow.”

This order he punctuated with sharp slaps at my thighs that were crisp pops of pain.

I did as he said, but I was shocked when he flipped up my skirts and stuck his head underneath them.

“Stop it!” I moaned, but he only pulled my hips closer and it was like an ice-cold deluge down my spine when I felt his tongue hit my thighs, licking and sucking all the way up to where I most squirmed and writhed.

Then I felt his tonguethereand I squeaked with surprise and embarrassment, but he only tightened his hands on my thighs, and I heard his growl vibrating my cunt.

“Oh, godsdamn, you taste good.”

It felt so wanton, wrong, and wicked, but he buried his face between my legs, and no matter what I did, he wouldn’t let go.

My core heated up like an inferno inside me.

“I want you so wet, Catherine,” he said, and the outline of his broad shoulders between my thighs made my insides begin to flame. “I want to fuck you dripping wet.”

Surely this wasn’t necessary to breed me!

The Viscount raised his head from underneath my skirts, and I saw with a start that his broad chest was heaving.

He grabbed my jaw with one hand, forcing my mouth open, reaching for his cock with the other.

“Taste, Catherine St. Erth,” he growled at me. “Taste what drives me to madness.”

Then he bent and spit in my mouth, and I wanted to scream and shove him away, but I could only do one thing—taste the sweet wanton mix of myself and my husband on my tongue. And then swallow him down.

Whatever he saw in my eyes seemed to make him even more feral, since he grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me closer to him.

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