Page 43 of Veiled Flames
I quiver in response, beyond excited by his touch, loving how his large hands can cover so much of me at once. My entire body quakes—inside and out—as he strokes and kneads my flesh.
“I’m not going to take you like this,” he says, “but it’s a good way to prepare you.”
“Prepare me?” My muscles tense.
His fingers slide close to my cleft, and my back bows as it digests the heightened fluttering inside me. I’ve never felt anything so wonderful. His large hands shift their focus to my upper thighs, and his fingers tease closer and closer to my now throbbing cleft.
“Spread your legs wider.” His deep command awakens a rush of fear, and yet I obey.
His fingers sweep through my exposed cleft, sliding front to back.
I gasp. There’s no leather between us this time, and the feeling is overwhelmingly pleasurable. He repeats the action, over and over, his thick strong fingers brushing and fondling the most forbidden parts of me.
I’ve long known I was sensitive down there. The first time I touched between my legs was the night I saw the stableboy’s sausage, but the warm feeling from my own touch doesn’tcompare to Saxon’s fingers stroking my dampened skin, sliding everywhere.
An edginess awakes inside me; my knees shake, my hips pump, and my back bends like an archer’s bow, as if my entire body is demanding more and more from his caresses.
Then, as if responding to my unspoken demand, his touch becomes firmer, and his fingers delve between the folds of my cleft, touching places I was taught no hand should ever touch, not even my own.
Why would Othrix forbid something that feels this good?
“You’re very wet.” His voice erupts in a low rumble, and I’m relieved that he sounds pleased. “So ready.”
One of his hands rests on my lower back, as a single thick finger strokes through my folds. And after many luxurious long strokes, that finger stalls above the hole that releases my courses. I tense, embarrassed and overwhelmed by shame, but he circles his fingertip there, and the slight roughness of his skin wakes even deeper feelings, washing away all negative emotions.
“Brace yourself, ma chérie.”
His other hand slides up my spine, the pressure holding me forward. And he pushes his thick finger inside me.
Sharp pain strikes. My entire body clenches at the invasion, and I grit my teeth, swallowing my urge to cry out.
“Relax, ma chérie.” His hand gently strokes my back, holding me forward as his finger stays lodged inside me. “Breathe.” Bending forward, he kisses my throat. “Easy now, easy.”
As he gently soothes me, my body unfurls like a banner released to the wind, and I start to enjoy the warm feeling of holding the tip of his finger inside me. But just as I begin to accept the intrusion, his finger slides even deeper.
I gasp again, shocked at what he’s doing and unsure how I feel about having a part of him—any part of him—inside me.
Steadily, he works his finger in deeper. Then he pulls it almost out, resting it just inside the place where I open. Slowly, he repeats his motions several more times, pushing in and pulling out, but twisting his finger now, and seeming to dig deeper each time.
“Oh, ah!” Sounds burst from where I’ve been holding them back.
“That’s it.” Saxon growls near my ear, and he kisses my throat. “That’s the way, ma chérie. Easy now, easy.”
Moving slowly, his thick digit continues to probe inside me, going so deeply that his other fingers strike the flesh of my cleft folds each time he intrudes.
And in spite of my shock and initial discomfort, as I relax, an unmistakable pleasure rises inside me. A kind of pleasure I’ve neverimaginedbefore. It’s as if I’ve discovered new worlds, arrived in the Great Beyond, or perhaps fallen into the depths of Darkness.
I don’t care. Even if what he’s doing to me is wicked, even if Othrix will cast me into the Darkness as punishment for it, I want more and more from Saxon’s finger.
My body moves, rocking back against his plunging finger, wanting him deeper, and I’ve never felt so wild, so fully myself even though I barely recognize who I’ve become.
Then, just as I get used to the pleasure, his finger slows, and he draws it right out.
My arms collapse onto the cot, and I rest my forehead against it. Is it over?
“Hmmm,” he says. “No blood.”
Was he expecting me to be on my courses?
