Page 9 of My Fake Mistress
‘It’s unlikely we’ll be noticed, all the way up here,’ she said. As he brushed his palm over her nipple, she half closed her eyes and gave the smallest moan.
‘But we might,’ he said. He gave her a light pinch.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, then slid her hands along his waist, holding him at the hips. ‘We might.’
What a fantastical thought. The barest of silhouettes, engaged in an amorous encounter, shielded by the angle of the shadow. To show all those leachers that she was not for them, she had chosen him. And reckless, the idea was wholly reckless, but it awoke the most delicious desire in him. He had loved his wife, had loved her body, but he couldn’t remember even once engaging with her outside of the bedroom, and certainly never like this. He felt like a different man, who rather than moving through life with stoicism and caution, instead let passion and impulse guide him, and with a relish, he handed over control to his baser instincts.
No, not base. Divine. Because that’s what shared intimacy was—heavenly beyond compare.
Julian pinched her again, and she seemed to melt against him. ‘Untie your skirt and loosen your waistband,’ he ordered.
‘Should I remove my skirts?’
A mirage of her sitting in only her corset, stockings and chemise surged into being, and Julian thought he’d lose all control right then. Faced with the actual visage, he didn’t know how he’d stop himself from spending immediately.
‘No. We’ll go slow. Just your buttons for now. And, when you’re ready, mine.’
Blythe leaned forward, her back arching. Julian pushed the small shell buttons at her waist through their loops. Her torso expanded with an exhalation as the tightness eased. The small, gaping triangle revealed her petticoat ties, and with a steady deliberateness, he tugged the bow loose.
‘Your drawers?’ He slid his hand beneath the soft cotton fabric, expecting to find another barrier, but his fingertips instead met soft skin.
‘I’m not wearing any.’ She spoke at the same moment he made the discovery for himself, and loosening her skirts a little more, he revealed a wicked triangle of flesh, and the lush indentations of her bottom, and just a hint of her cleft. ‘I enjoy the feeling. The freedom.’
‘You are naughty. My fake mistress is ever so intriguing.’
Julian pulled her against him, her back nestling into a small supportive groove created by his thigh and the chair. He wanted to show her so many things, take her in so many ways. As he buried his hand amongst her skirts, she gave the breathiest of whimpers, and as he tickled one finger through her soft, entangled hair to slip between her thighs, her whimper became a small groan. When he flicked over her already firm nub, she cried out with painful ecstasy.
Bracing one hand against the chair, he loomed over her, his finger stroking slow, then faster, then slower. When he sunk two fingers into her, so sumptuous and wet, she tipped her head back and brushed against his hard, straining cock. She cried out with erotic abandon, a shuddering moan vibrating through her body, its little tremors caught by his.
‘It feels good, to share pleasure, doesn’t it?’ he asked, his voice something between a grunt and a whisper. She half opened her eyes and nodded, but as she bucked against his palm, he wondered if he asked her or himself. He’d locked himself off for so long, and right now, he couldn’t imagine why, because feeling her grind against his hand as she angled her body so that he could thrust deeper, and as she stuck one boot against the windowsill and let her thighs fall as wide as her skirts would allow, he could not imagine a more sublime thing to do with another. How had he forsakenthis?
‘Julian, I feel like I’m falling.’
‘Don’t fall yet, don’t let it overtake you,’ he said as he slowed his strokes. ‘Unbutton me. And will you… will you take me in your mouth?’
With her seated on the chair, and him slightly bent as he buried his fingers in her cunny, his crotch was perfectly aligned to her mouth. His back would likely give him hell later, but right now all he felt was the most thrilling promise of ecstasy. With deliberate movements, she unfastened his buttons, then tugged his trousers and his smalls just low enough to release his cock.
‘I haven’t ever before,’ she said as she stroked a finger along his shaft, level with her face. He jerked under her touch. ‘What if I don’t do it right?’
‘Men are not so complicated. Just be careful not to scrape your teeth.’
She started with her tongue. With selfish pleasure, Julian stopped his caressing and straightened, just so that he could fully take in the sight of her perfect, smart mouth, and her witty, sharp tongue as it explored the shape of his knob. She kept her eyes downcast in concentration. His breath bundled, and when she pressed her tongue flat against him, he exhaled with a needy moan to rival hers. A small droplet formed on his tip, and she swiped it away, her eyes slightly widening in surprise.
‘In my mouth?’ she asked.
‘Like the frescoes of Pompeii,’ he said. She flashed him the most scandalous grin, then opened her mouth and closed her lips around him.
Every inch of him felt so thoroughly roguish, so unfettered and free. He fumbled through her skirts to slide his hand between her thighs again, and her beautiful, warm tightness encased his fingers. In their desperation to touch, to give, to take, they were all awkward, hedonistic angles, stretched limbs, curved spines, arched necks. One hand gripped the back of the chair, bracing his slightly bent body, as his other hand stroked between her slit, then plunged inside her, his thumb rubbing her warm nub. Her moan shuddered through his cock, and he angled closer, pushing himself deeper.
‘That’s it.’ He thrust into her mouth, all while fucking her with his fingers, her delicious wriggling and groans reverberating through him. ‘That’s good. So fucking good. Do you feel how amazing it is to both give and take?’
Her eyes opened, her pupils dark circles almost blotting out her irises as she held his stare. As she sucked, he remained entranced by her steady gaze, and her soft pink lips encircling his hard shaft.
‘Sweet mercy, Blythe, I’m going to spend. If you don’t want me to finish in your mouth, you need to stop right now.’
Her eyes fluttered, before she closed them, but she did not move, only continued her steady attentions, and the realisation that she wanted this, wanted him to finish inside her drove him on, unrelenting, unshaking toward his release. Her moans, audible and visceral, cascaded, each little stuffed gasp high and wanton, and as he stroked her throbbing cunny, so wet her hair was soaked, he released, and the thumping pleasure shuddered through him, and he cried out so loud his echoes bounced off the wooden beams, as if he was voicing satisfaction for them both. As the last of his orgasm began to fade, Blythe jerked against him in ever demanding spasms until finally she freed his cock from her mouth and gave an animalistic groan. Her softness tensed around his fingers, and one hand clenched his shirt while the other pushed against her forehead, until with a final gasp, she slumped against him.
Julian removed his hand from her skirts and tucked himself away. A thin sheen of sweat made her cheeks, with their light red flush, glow in the sunlight. He inhaled her scent from his fingers, before biting his thumbprint and stamping her taste in his memory.
