Page 77 of Temptations of a Wallflower
One by one, she undid the buttons fastening his breeches. The placket fell away, and there he was, his erect penis jutting up from the opening in his drawers. Though she’d seen it in the morning light, never before had she beheld his cock in the full day, out here in the open. It was ruddy and full, veined and eager. The head was nicely round and plump, looking delicious as a little bead of liquid gleamed at the slit.
Arousal built in her breasts and between her legs, her own wetness gathering just to see Jeremy’s naked penis.
She wrapped her hand around it, her fingers barely meeting—he was as stirred as she. “How soft it is,” she sighed. “And how hard. Feels so wondrous in my hand.”
He groaned as she stroked him, up and down. His hips moved, rising up with each pump. It was all the more exciting because she could not see his face, couldonly hear his sounds of pleasure as she caressed him. They could have been strangers. In a way, they were—she’d spent her morning penning tales of erotic adventure as he’d written a sermon.
“What must it taste like?” she mused to herself. Here, she wasn’t playacting. So far, she had not yet experienced what it would be like to take him in her mouth. And she had been so eager, so ready for this moment, having written about it only today but never having known what it would be like to taste him.
Trembling a little, she bent low, her breath fanning over his penis. He strained toward her. She licked her lips, then gave the round head an experimental kiss. A groan tore from his chest. Feeling emboldened, she ran her tongue in a circle, tasting the musk of his flesh.
“Yes,” he growled. “Deeper.”
“He’s awake!” she exclaimed.
“Aye, lass,” he said, his voice taking on a rough country lilt. “And I want ye to suck my cock.”
“So crude.” But she loved it. Loved hearing him talk in such raw, earthy language, as if she’d written it herself for him. She felt exactly like one of her heroines—bold and unashamed. “Yet I must try.”
She took the whole head into her mouth and was rewarded with his curse of pleasure. Sinking lower, she sucked his shaft, her hand grasping the base, wrapping tightly around it. She bobbed up and down. Women in books did this, simulating the feel of coitus with their mouths. He was exquisite, delicious. She’d never felt more powerful than she did at that moment, with him utterly at her mercy as she doled out pleasure.
His hand came up to cradle the back of her head,gently guiding her. Her eyes closed in satisfaction, sensation pouring through her body. She was so wet, so ready for him. Judging by the way he growled and moved beneath her, arousal gripped him as tightly as it did her.
He grew yet harder in her mouth. Until he rumbled, “Fuck me, lass.”
She couldn’t keep up the pretense of the untried maiden any longer. Quickly, she stood and peeled off her drawers. Then she straddled him. And sank down, his cock filling her as she sat in his lap. She gripped his shoulders and moaned.
“God, yes,” she breathed.
They could not go slowly. She rode him hard, bouncing as she ground her hips against his. Deep, hard thrusts that touched the very core of her. It was too good. Too wondrous. She felt her climax gather in hot gold streaks. Until it burst over her, racking her with pleasure.
He growled as he came, gripping her hips so tightly it nearly hurt. The slight pain only added to sensation.
At last, she collapsed against him, breathing heavily. He held her close, the hat still covering his face, but she heard and felt him gasping.
Finally he removed his hat. His face was red, filmed with sweat. He gazed up at her with awe and affection. She knew she looked down at him with the same expression.
“My lass,” he said in his normal accent.
Fulfillment was a lazy river moving through her. Up to now, she’d only understood sex as something two bodies engaged in as a means of shaping individualpleasure, of reaching climax for its own selfish purpose. But this . . . what they made together . . . defied her capacious imagination. Went far beyond whatever she had known, or believed she’d known. Pleasure led to emotion, and emotion led to pleasure. They fed each other, and it grew and grew until it was the size of the universe.
This, she realized, was love.
Chapter 22
I went to Vauxhall, seeking diversion. There, I encountered one of my previous lovers, a sea captain on leave. I remembered how thick and delicious his cock had been, a crude instrument of passion. He offered to take me to bed, and though I remembered him fondly as a very energetic partner, my interest in pursuing our mutual pleasure was too minimal to accept his offer. I returned home alone . . .
The Highwayman’s Seduction
Jeremy didn’t mean to eavesdrop—yet as he walked down the hallway toward his study, he couldn’t help but overhear the female voices floating out from the parlor.
“It’s not that I don’tenjoybeing abed with my husband, Lady Sarah,” sighed a woman who sounded suspiciously like Mrs. Edmonds. “It’s just that . . . well . . .”
“It’s all right,” Sarah answered soothingly. “You needn’t speak of it if you don’t wish to.”
“But I do. I cannot talk about this to anyone else, and . . . in truth . . . you’ve a way about you. I feel I can trust you to speak honestly. Yet you’ll hold my secret.”
Jeremy understood exactly what Mrs. Edmonds meant. Often, late at night, when he and his wife had temporarily exhausted their physical need for each other, they lay in bed and spoke of significant things, trivial things, the deepest secrets and the most mundane observations. He told her more of his wish to found a charity, of his desire for freedom that the Church—and his father—never permitted. She often found the beauty in small things, such as the silhouette of a cat sitting on a wall, or the color of wine held up to the light, and would recount them to him at these moments. She hated coconut. He loved the feel of silk. A thousand little intimacies.
