CHAPTER TWENTY
Lizzy had little time to revel in her triumph.
When his lips seared her neck, all sentiment was lost in a sea of lust. She was not satisfied to have his body cover hers but twisted and pressed against him in an effort to join every inch of her to him.
His kisses felt more urgent, more passionate than ever before, but did not match her ardor.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and gripped his head in place lest he should disengage for a breath.
His kisses would be her air. She assaulted his lips and tongue as if emerging from famine.
He matched her aggression and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, mining the hot, wet orifice for desire’s relief.
The hardness at his crotch had grown. She rubbed herself against it.
He moaned low in his throat and turned his attention next to her breasts.
He pulled down the décolletage and freed her nipples, which he fondled by hand and mouth.
When he suckled a teat, the ache between her legs swelled.
She was past needing efforts to arouse. Her body, already aflame, craved release.
She pushed her hips at him. He took the hint and put a hand to her crotch, but the kalasiris clung tightly to her body, allowing limited penetration.
She grunted in frustration. He took the hem of the dress and managed to pull it up past her knees.
He reached beneath the dress and—glory!—his magnificent fingers were at her womanhood.
His manipulation of her there was less gentle and precise than her prior experiences, but she welcomed the rougher touch. She wanted to spend, and spend fast.
Though he had found a way to caress her, the dress hampered the range of his access.
She pulled at the confounding material, wishing to hoist it past her thighs.
Sensing her vexation, he grasped the dress and tore it between his hands.
It ripped all the way to her hip. His hand was instantly at the nub of flesh nestled between her folds.
He stroked her with his thumb, dipping at times to her perineum. The wetness between her legs grew.
“Faster, harder,” she moaned, pushing herself into his hand.
He obliged and intensified his fondling.
Lowering his head to her neck, he took whole mouthfuls of her.
She threw back her head and arched her back, wanting him to address as much of her body as possible.
His caresses fed her desire, but she wanted more.
She wanted more of him. Gripping his banyan, she pulled it down past his shoulders.
He shrugged out of the garment and barely missed a beat as he resumed his kisses and ministrations.
She had an ache deep within her that only he could satiate.
Wrapping her hands around his neck, she returned his kisses with a vigor that seemed to surprise him, but he did not resist and met every thrust of her tongue, every bite and suck of the lips.
She reached for his crotch and rubbed the swell there.
This was what she needed, what she desired.
If all that she had read held true, this hardness between his legs could produce the most wondrous effects.
But he pushed her hand away. She looked at him with brows raised.
To appease her, he slid a finger into the tight, hot, wet crevice below her clitoris.
She gasped at the intrusion. She thought she heard him moan.
Slowly, gently, he pulled his finger from her, then gradually reinserted it.
She shivered. The pressure felt a little strange at first, but as he grazed the swollen bud with his motions, the sensations became delightful, a perfect pairing.
The muscles within her pulsed about his finger.
Studying her reaction, he asked, “Do you require the safety word?”
She was adamant. “No!”
“Do you recall it?”
She did not, but when he paused, she scrambled to find the word. She needed him to continue.
“I shan’t need it,” she insisted.
“Montreal,” he supplied. “Repeat it.”
She felt ready to burst and panted, “Montreal, Montreal, Montreal.”
He sank another finger into her and seemed to meet a resistance.
His breath caught as her molten desire coated him, lubricating a path for his fingers.
Sensing his hesitation still, she ground herself into his hand.
There was a flare of discomfort as his fingers breached the resistance inside.
She gasped. He stilled. Then his thumb circled her clitoris, recalling the beautiful sensations.
He sank a finger into her. Her cunnie clutched at him greedily.
She groaned her pleasure, but her climax remained at bay. More of him was required. She reached once more for his groin.
“No,” he refused harshly.
But she ignored him. If he was not aroused, he would not possess such stiffness there.
Thus, he must have some level of desire for her.
She rubbed her right hand along the knob.
When he pulled her hand away, she used her left, determined to stoke his arousal.
Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her arms above her head.
Undeterred, she gyrated her hips against him.
“Stop.”
She would have protested, but her body spoke more forcefully. Wrapping her legs around him as she had seen done in so much of the artwork in Trenwith House, she pressed her cunnie against him.
He groaned. “You know not what you do.”
That she could undo the resistance of a practiced mentor was exhilarating.
If she had been in an impassioned state of mind, she might marvel at what little flair was required to seduce a man, and that one as inexperienced as she could yet cultivate the primal urges in the opposite sex.
Pulling a hand free from his grasp, she reached for the buttons of his fall.
This time he did not brush away her hand.
She slid her hand between the fabric and…
oh my. The appendage really was as hard as intimated. But smooth to the touch.
He pulled away from her. “I cannot. I am ill prepared.”
But she grabbed both his arms. Her heart was pounding in her ears. He held the key to quench the burning deep inside of her.
“Perhaps you could simply rub it against me,” she suggested and shifted her hips so that her thigh skimmed his erection. Without waiting for his reply, she ground herself against the full length of his desire.
“You must desist,” he grunted.
She paid him no heed. The feel of his cock against her cunnie, bumping, sliding between her legs, enflamed her craving even more. She wanted it. She wanted to experience the ecstasy forbidden to women of her state.
“Desist,” he repeated.
“Are instructors granted safety words as well?” She could not resist, for she felt the balance of power tilted in her favour.
“You will rue this moment,” he warned. “The aphrodisiac, not your will, prompts your actions.”
“I wish to have the full extent of this education.”
He shook his head. “But have you before—”
She bucked her hips against him. Her clitoris struck the head of his cock over and over. It felt delicious. She wanted more. She could feel his resistance ebbing.
“Please,” he begged.
She grabbed his head between her hands and crushed her lips to his without mercy. “Take me. Take me, please! Now!”
Never had she been so demanding, but she thought she would go mad if she could not be satisfied. With a relenting groan, he pushed his cock at her hot, wet opening. She gasped loudly upon its entry. He stilled.
Sensing he was about to withdraw, she tightened her hold of him. “No.”
She took a fortifying breath. He felt much larger than she had expected. Undeterred by the discomfort, her lust throbbed hot and wet about him. He slid a little farther.
Good God.
His cock might as well have been made of flint or steel.
The hardness felt almost unnatural. Her body rejected the intrusion at first. Perhaps her folds were not pliant enough, her entry too tight, his cock too thick, or any combination of the aforementioned.
But once again, desire prevailed over all opposition.
Desire indicated this, above all else, was the path to glory.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, his voice full of concern.
She shook her head. It was tolerable pain.
They kissed for several minutes as she cradled him between her legs.
At last, his shaft moved deeper inside of her and breached the final wall of resistance.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She did her best to stifle her cries and did shut her eyes against the piercing pain.
She understood now Cleland’s metaphors of weaponry, for surely this was what it felt like to be speared.
He covered her with kisses, as if they could take away the anguish.
Angling his hips, he slowly withdrew, grazing his cock against her most sensitive and arousing spot.
She shivered. Gently he pushed himself back into her.
The pain began to defer to the delightful stimulation of his motions.
Her cunnie pulsed about him, now welcoming the invader.
She, too, angled her hips so that his hardness could better rub against her nub of pleasure.
His rhythmic thrusting both satisfied and amplified her craving.
“Oh…yes,” she breathed as he plunged deeper.
She clasped him harder as the pressure mounted deep within her womb.
Her nipples chafed against his chest, but she adored every sensation.
She undulated her hips, wanting to maximize the friction, wanting him to fill her as much as possible.
It was all so maddening, thrilling, agitating, and glorious.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she encouraged.
He quickened the offensive, making the bed shake with his efforts.
Perspiration beaded upon his brow. The sound of flesh smacking against flesh joined their grunts and groans, ehcoing off the chamber walls.
In heated desperation, she impaled herself more forcefully upon his cock, attempting to push herself past the precipice.
He responded by shoving himself faster and harder at her.
Her release came as an eruption, catapulting her into an overload of blinding magnificence.
A loud cry tore from her throat. Her body jerked uncontrollably against him.
She thought her teeth to chatter as spasm after spasm rolled through her body.
After the apex of her euphoria had passed, she cringed and shuddered.
The sensations, now past their prime, became too much.
She was spent. Her heart hammered as if she had sprinted against winged gods.
Her cunnie pulsed wildly about his cock, which remained throbbing inside of her.
And in the warmth of his body, the weight of him upon her, she felt a surprising comfort and strangely secure.
She took in a long breath and soaked in the brilliance of what she had just experienced.
*****
After rolling off of her, Darcy folded her in his arms as they lay upon the now sodden bedclothes.
Her body was warm and damp from perspiration, her cheeks flushed, her breathing audible.
He thought she had never appeared more beautiful.
He had had every intention, before he spent, of withdrawing from her, though nothing had ever felt more divine than the wet heat that pulsed around his shaft.
But the look of her, the sound of her, the feel of her as she succumbed to the throes of lustful passion, had proven too much.
“My God, what have I done?” he groaned silently after his seed had emptied inside of her.
For one brief moment, he had never felt more glorious, his body having shot into the heavens of carnal pleasure, but the penitence set in swift and deep. What he had done was irresponsible. Unforgivable. She had trusted him, Abby had trusted him, to do right by his student. And he had failed.
His lust for her had proven the stronger rival to his conscience. Even now, awash in misery over his failing, he reveled in the pleasure of holding her. If only he could have her thus for an eternity. Without guilt. Without shame. His to possess by right.
The simple solution came to him then. He could not undo his error, but he could made amends by preventing the worst of consequences from materializing and, concurrently, satisfy his own, heartfelt wish.