24. Catherine
Iwas expecting St. Erth to go in the other room with the gentlemen, but he did not do that at all. Instead, he sat beside me as I worked on my embroidery. My husband sat way too close, his fingers on my threads, pulling each one so that I could barely make a stitch without feeling his fingers brush against mine.
My face flushed hotly.
“The gentlemen are all over there,” I hissed at him.
“So?” he asked lazily.
I pulled a bright green thread through to finish the head of the snake, my movements restricted by the way my husband had twined his fingers around the thread.
“What a vicious snake,” he said, his voice low and wicked in my ear. “Maybe the stories have it all wrong. Maybe the snake is the one who couldn’t stay away from Eve. Maybe there was never any escape for her.”
My breath seemed to catch in my throat, and the way his voice stirred the curls on my neck made heat break out all over me.
Maybe I was just running a fever.
But I didn’t feel sick, just hot, flushed, with prickly, heavy heat stirring between my thighs.
I didn’t trust my voice, trying to focus my eyes on where I was stitching the snake’s tongue. It came out a bit crooked and I looked at it in dismay.
St. Erth was bending so close to me, but when his tongue touched my throat, I yelped and dropped my needlework.
“There’s a reason Eve was in the Garden,” he said.
“What would that be?” I hissed, despite my resolve to ignore him.
“To get cock,” he whispered in my ear. “She wanted to get fucked.”
I wanted to say a lot of things, such as “I don’t think that’s what the Bible verse means,” but my heart was pounding so hard I felt faint.
Then I saw Mr. and Mrs. Elton inviting their guests to tour the gardens with them. Lord Sheringham and Mr. Westruther got up agreeably, although I wasn’t sure how interesting a country vegetable garden would be to a couple of city bucks.
But just as I was about to follow them outside into the bright sunshine, I felt a strong hand close on my arm and another over my mouth, and my husband was propelling me down the dark hallway, one hand firmly on my arm.
His hand was so tight my voice was muffled, so I tried to kick him but of course he absorbed all my blows while still holding me tightly.
He backed into one room and it was the vicarage’s other, smaller, sitting-room, dark and with the curtains drawn.
My husband turned and swung me up on the piano.
“St. Erth! What are you doing?” I hissed, although when I felt my husband’s rough hands on my soft thighs I knew what he wanted.
I began to wiggle, but of course there was no escaping him.
“What if anyone comes in here?” I begged him, trying to push his hands off my thighs.
“Then they’ll see me fucking my wife,” he said, ignoring my hands to shove my dress up and my undergarments down, yanking me closer to him.
“But, my lord!” I protested, but his fingers closed around my thighs, his eyes blazing into mine with an unholy fire.
“Viscountess, put your thighs around my head now.”
This order he punctuated with sharp slaps at my thighs that were crisp pops of pain.
I did as he said, but I was shocked when he flipped up my skirts and stuck his head underneath them.
“Stop it!” I moaned, but he only pulled my hips closer and it was like an ice-cold deluge down my spine when I felt his tongue hit my thighs, licking and sucking all the way up to where I most squirmed and writhed.
Then I felt his tongue there and I squeaked with surprise and embarrassment, but he only tightened his hands on my thighs, and I heard his growl vibrating my cunt.
“Oh, godsdamn, you taste good.”
It felt so wanton, wrong, and wicked, but he buried his face between my legs, and no matter what I did, he wouldn’t let go.
My core heated up like an inferno inside me.
“I want you so wet, Catherine,” he said, and the outline of his broad shoulders between my thighs made my insides begin to flame. “I want to fuck you dripping wet.”
Surely this wasn’t necessary to breed me!
The Viscount raised his head from underneath my skirts, and I saw with a start that his broad chest was heaving.
He grabbed my jaw with one hand, forcing my mouth open, reaching for his cock with the other.
“Taste, Catherine St. Erth,” he growled at me. “Taste what drives me to madness.”
Then he bent and spit in my mouth, and I wanted to scream and shove him away, but I could only do one thing—taste the sweet wanton mix of myself and my husband on my tongue. And then swallow him down.
Whatever he saw in my eyes seemed to make him even more feral, since he grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me closer to him.
I could feel his cock hovering at my entrance, my body trembling at what he was about to do.
He yanked on the laces on the front of my dress, pulled them so tight that I gasped for breath.
The Viscount pushed me up against the ornate window. If anyone was in the garden they would be able to see my body pressed up against the glass, my husband taking me no matter what I did to stop him.
My hips were tipped up, my husband’s strokes deliberate and regular, each thrust pulling and tipping my hips higher.
I felt like liquid under his touch, and I began to sense that strange pressure that sometimes grew in my belly when he took me.
I didn’t like it; it made me feel prickly heat break out all over my chest and throat, but it was almost like what it had felt like when he gave me a Female Paroxysm treatment.
“No, no,” I cried, nervous about how embarrassing it would be to have a paroxysm with his cock in me, and I shoved at St. Erth, but he only bared his teeth as his mouth fell on my throat.
“Stop it, brat,” he growled on my flesh, his fingers biting into my hips.
I could feel his breath on my throat, and his demanding kiss on my mouth. His lips were cruel and possessive, and when I felt the sting of his teeth as he bit my bottom lip, the pressure inside me tightened still further, a spiraling aching throb.
I began to mewl and protest, desperate for him to stop so the pressure would stop too. But he only made a low angry noise and yanked my hips even closer, grinding me over him, and my nipples brushed against his chest, their tips aching, my breasts heavy with need.
Suddenly I heard a noise I had never made before rip from my throat, an urgent, desperate plea for something, anything to relieve this pressure, and I then felt myself hit the peak and then my body was flooded with that all-engulfing liquid pleasure. My head fell back as I succumbed to it, my husband’s cock prolonging the shuddering gasping release.
He made a pleased grunt and then his hand was wrapped around the back of my neck, his big hand tangling in my hair and his hips were quick and jerky now as he released his seed into me.
The way he filled me was a pleasurable ache this time, and I moaned again, my head lolling sideways.
My husband’s breathing was heavy and he didn’t pull out right away. I could feel his eyes on me.
For a minute St. Erth didn’t speak. I could feel my eyes getting heavy and sleepy, like I was boneless and limp in his arms.
“You will do that every time I fuck you,” he said.
“You’re the one that does it,” I replied sleepily, but I opened my eyes, staring at the gilded golden ceiling languidly, still feeling the liquidity of my legs and arms, as my eyes slowly traveled down to meet his.
There was a curious expression in them and I was too weak to resist when he put a finger up and moved one of the sticky, sweaty curls plastered to my forehead.
Then my husband finally pulled out and I was just sitting up sleepily when I felt his big hand crack and he was giving my cunt a firm slap. I was unbearably sensitive and I yowled in surprise, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure-pain through me.
“Keep my release inside you,” he said sternly. “No moving until I say so.”