Page 68 of The Villain
“You can,” he replied, his voice rough and tortured, as if he hovered on the same line between bliss and agony that she did. “Touch yourself, Daphne … breathe … relax.”
She released a shaky breath while working a hand beneath her body, searching for her clit. When her fingers found it, she gasped, in reaction to both the pleasure it caused and the evidence of her own desire. She was absolutely drenched, her cunt wetter than she’d ever experienced.
“Yes, that’s it,” he urged, slowly withdrawing a few inches and then plunging into her arse, his grip on her buttocks tight enough to leave fingerprints. “Let yourself feel … do not fight it.”
She released another sob, this one combined with a sound of pleasure as she circled her fingers over her clit. Adam gave her more of his cock with each thrust, the burning sensation at odds with the pleasure exploding from where she touched her little bud of pleasure. Then, his pelvis came to rest against her arse, his entire cock lodged inside of her. She continued to breathe slowly, in and out, urging her body to unwind and accept him instead of fighting him.
When he moved again, circling his hips against her, it sent a ripple of bliss to the tips of her fingers and toes, tearing a surprised moan from deep in her throat. He did it again and again, teaching her body a new pleasure, one that seemed ten times as intense as what she felt when he thrust inside her cunt.
“Aye, little dove … that’s it … slip your fingers into your cunt … fuck yourself with them.”
She did as he commanded, heightening the ecstasy to near unbearable limits. Yet, she persevered, steadily pumping two fingers in and out of her sheath while Adam fucked her arse, moving faster and faster with each stroke.
“Goddamn it,” he groaned, his entire body trembling against hers. “Jesus-fucking-Christ … Daphne … Daphne …”
His name on her lips, rough and ground out from between clenched teeth, sent her over the edge, and she shattered again, her screams reverberating off the walls. Her vision went black as her channel pulsated around her fingers, her body wracked with spasms so violent, she could not control them. She collapsed onto her stomach and Adam followed, his chest resting against her back as he pumped into her arse a few more times before spending with a tortured groan.
He fell limp on top of her, resting there for a moment and panting in her ear. His hair fell around them, blanketing her in a cocoon of sable silk. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the oblivion, allowing her body to float in the blackness that filled her mind. It enveloped her like a warm blanket, dragging her into unconsciousness.
She was not certain how long she remained that way, but when she came to, Adam was carrying her into the washroom. The candelabra resting on the washstand illuminated the shower bath, which he carried her to with long, sure strides.
How could he stand after what they’d just shared? She felt as if she were half dead, let alone capable of standing on her own two feet.
She tried to mumble something to that effect, but it came out unintelligible, slurred as if she were drunk.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, keeping his arms right around her as he rested her feet on the wooden bottom of the lower basin. “Hold on to me, little dove.”
She wrapped her weak arms around him, resting her head against his chest. A moment later, water washed over them in a warm deluge, startling her back to full wakefulness. She gasped, raising her head as the water doused her head, the droplets splattering her face. It rinsed her clean, washing away Adam’s touch and his seed. His hands moved over her without lingering in any place overlong, helping the liquid remove the traces of him that could be washed away. The soap followed, a masculine-scented cake that reminded her of him. He used it on them both, somehow managing to get them both clean before rinsing them.
Then, he was carrying her again. Laying her on the counterpane and toweling her off with clean linens. After that, he maneuvered her so he could remove the coverlet and rest her on the cool, dry sheets. Fanning her damp hair out on the pillow, he then laid his body over hers, gently parting her legs and lowering his hips between them.
Despite having just had him, her body roared to life when his head kissed her entrance, his cock having surged back to life. She arched her back, clawing at his shoulders as he thrust into her, so slowly and gently that tears sprung to her eyes again. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder as he took her slowly. The throbbing soreness in her arse mingling blissfully with the pleasure he created in her sheath, his pelvis at the perfect angle to stimulate her clit with every stroke.
“Ah, little dove,” he whispered, nibbling her ear and kissing her neck as if he were her lover instead of her tormentor. “If things were different … if you were someone else …”
She moaned in response, unable to say with words that she knew what he meant … that she heard the things he did not say.
“In the morning, I will let you go,” he groaned. “But not now … not tonight.”
No … tonight, he was still the monster who had dragged her into his cave. And she was his little dove—ripped from her cage and clenched in the jaws of a beast.
As climax swept over her once again, Daphne had no choice but to admit to herself she was exactly where she wished to be.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“ell, then … here we are.”
Daphne pulled aside one of the carriage window curtains and stared at the unassuming stone facade of the building looming over her. Across the conveyance from her sat Niall, who had been tasked with returning her to London.
Adam, apparently, could not have been bothered to even see her off.
She had awakened in his bed alone, with no more than the lingering soreness in her buttocks and the scent of him clinging to her skin to offer proof of what had transpired the night before. Maeve had entered the room with a breakfast tray and a carriage dress draped over her arm … along with a chemise and corset.
With the sunrise, Adam’s restriction against undergarments had been done away with. While she had eaten, draped in his shirt from the evening before, servants had come in and out of the washroom to fill the bathtub for her. Maeve had insisted upon a long soak to relax her for the journey back to London. She’d wondered if the maid somehow knew what Adam had done with her the night before. It almost felt as if it had been emblazoned across her face for the world to see.
She had enjoyed the bath, soaking away the stiffness in her muscles—though Adam’s spanking and penetration of her arse could not be washed away with a single bath. She would likely feel the effects of that for at least another day.
She had waited for him to appear while Maeve dressed and groomed her, turning her head at every sound, hoping for even a glimpse of him. With each passing minute, it had become more and more apparent she would not see him … perhaps not ever again.
