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A Midsummer's Sin(7)

By:Natasha Blackthorne


“Easy now,” he tightened his hold on her hips.

She gripped his sides with her thighs to maintain her balance then positioned his sex at her entrance.

She hesitated. She’d never imagined she would take the aggressive part and fuck a man. How was it done?

“Like this, Rose. Mount me.” He pulled her down firmly.

Her cunt was so wet that his thick, hard length came all the way inside in one sweet, sliding move. His girth seemed to stretch her to her limits. The delicious fullness sent waves of delight through her so strong that she gasped. He flexed his hips up and she gasped again. Sweet, it was oh so sweet and she wanted more. She had to have more. Tentatively, she rocked.

“God, Rose, God.” His voice was harsh. He slapped her buttock, a sharp smack that sent a surprising surge of heat through her. She melted for him. Her inner walls rippled over him. She worked her hips again, quickly finding just the right angle. Her fluids poured out of her, making sloshing sounds, filling the air with their sensual scent. Thrusting again and again and again, she became possessed with a single-minded, desperate determination to take all he had to give.

Her sex contracted on his hardness, fierce spasms so prolonged it seemed they might never end. She wailed like any wild thing there in the wood.

Spent, she fell against him. Her lungs hurt for breath and she panted open-mouthed. The odour of his sweat, masculine musk overlaid with something spicy and woodsy, surrounded her. It was all right. It was safe here. She belonged against him. She could spend forever like this.

He strengthened his grasp on her hips and rocked against her. She didn’t want it. Why wouldn’t he be still? Why wouldn’t he let her be? She wanted only to lie against him and float away on the bliss he had allowed her to experience.

His hand brushed over her folds. Sparks ignited in her nub. She drew a quivering little breath and gripped his broad shoulders. With his fingertips, he sought that little erect piece of her, rubbing it with light intensity. Her sex began to pull tight. Oh Lord, it wasn’t possible—it just wasn’t possible, not again. But it was happening. Her pleading moans echoed in her own ears. She held him more tightly.

“That’s it, sweetheart, give yourself over to it.” His breath tickled her ear.

Her cunt spasmed, contracting on his flesh again, harder than before. Her body convulsed. Pleasure coursed through her, so fiery and fierce that she screamed with it.

She came back to herself slowly. His strong arms were cradling her. He stroked her back in long, leisurely motions. His breathing sounded heavy. His cock throbbed within her, still erect.

He murmured something then withdrew, his thick length sliding from her.

She whimpered at the loss of fullness. At the loss of him.

He rolled her onto her back. The scent of earth rose. The grass was soft and cool, contrasting with his hard, warm body as he lowered himself on her. He bent and took one of her taut nipples into his mouth, laving it, his tongue like wet fire. She clutched his head. He suckled on her tight peak. Shafts of delight stabbed down through her belly to her core. She arched her hips and all the while uttered pleading moans.

She hadn’t imagined this would be so…so very sumptuously sensual.

“I want you.” His voice was husky, urgent. “All of you. Now.”

He lifted his body. She opened her eyes. He was holding himself in his hand. Stroking slowly. He was so huge. She’d known that, of course, having had him inside already. But seeing him like that, held for display, made it seem all the larger. He took his cock and rubbed it against her most sensitive part, sliding like velvet against velvet. Unbearably sensual pleasure. She writhed and strained for more of the sensation and her nub grew erect yet again.

Her core felt hollow. Empty. She craved him. She needed him.

“Please, please, please…” She tossed her head on the mossy grass.

He lifted his head. His eyes were like green flames, glittering. Moonbeams cast highlights and shadows over his face. “Give me my name. I will not be just any man to you.”

She reached up and touched his cheek, tracing the angles of his cheekbone, his jaw line. “Thomas, Thomas, please, please, take me, fill me.”

“Show me.” He put his hand over hers and pressed it to his cheek. “Show me how much you want me.”

He dropped his hand and leant back.

She caught her breath. Other men, wealthy gentlemen and aristocrats who had purchased her favours from Mr Boger for an hour or two, had ordered her to display herself. A cringingly humiliating experience.

But she had yearned for Thomas from afar and never thought to have him. He was her choice. Her dear love. Without further demure, she grasped her knees, pulled her legs apart and up to her chest, spreading her nether lips. She wanted him to see how much she craved him inside her. To see how the wetness seeped over her swollen inner lips.