She pulled away with wide-eyed horror. “Did I hurt you?”
Incapable of speech, he shook his head rapidly. She swallowed hard and his cock leapt in his hand. Licking her lower lip, she opened her mouth and tried again, this time engulfing the whole of the crown.
“Suck,” he gasped, his head falling so that he hovered over her, watching as her cheeks hollowed and she tugged with soft suction. His legs trembled and he groaned a low, tortured sound.
Encouraged, she took him deeper, her tongue swirling in tentative exploration. Her mouth was stretched wide to accommodate his girth and the sight was enough to wipe his brain of any rational thought.
“I’m going to move,” he bit out. “Don’t be frightened.” His hips began to thrust forward, fucking her mouth with gentle, shallow strokes. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away or protest, instead she responded with less and less hesitation.
Watching her, Marcus was certain he’d passed on to his reward and been given the realization of his deepest longing. He was afraid to believe it was Elizabeth who serviced him so well.
“God, Elizabeth …”
Releasing his cock, he dropped his hand between her legs and caressed her through the open folds of her sex. She moaned and he stroked with more intent, determined to concentrate on her in an effort to hold off his own imminent release. Slick and hot, she melted into his touch. She felt so good, like satin, and he grit his teeth as he slipped a finger inside her. Tight as she was, she’d be a snug fit. His chest ached. His sac weighed heavily, then drew up. He stepped back on shaky legs, his cock slipping from her mouth with a soft, wet pop.
She worked her jaw and licked her lips, her violet eyes dark and questioning.
His voice like gravel he whispered, “It’s time.”
Elizabeth shivered. Marcus had always looked at her as if she were a meal laid before a starving man. At the moment however, his gaze was … desperate. The tip of his cock leaked profusely, and she swallowed, her mouth flavored with his essence.
He’d felt so different from what she’d expected. She’d thought herself beyond the innocence of a virginal girl. Now she realized how little she knew. With the thick, pulsing roping of veins that etched his erection she’d imagined he would be hard, textured. Instead the skin had been as soft as the finest silk, slipping over her tongue in a rhythm that awakened a matching pulse between her legs.
The act was not what she had expected, not at all. She’d thought she’d feel used, nothing more than a receptacle for his lust. But he was devastated, she could see it and she’d felt it in the way he trembled. The way his voice had grown so hoarse. There was power to be had in possessing a man’s passion.
“Release me,” she ordered breathlessly, wanting to see how far she could take this.
He shook his head and pushed the back of the chair onto its hind legs. Caught off balance, she screeched until he stopped. It was then she understood his aim. Resting the top of the chair against the nearby damask-covered wall angled her perfectly, presenting her spread sex to his cock. His grin stole her breath, filled as it was with wicked promises. He reached between them and pressed his erect shaft down, bending his knees until he breeched her. He stroked up and down, coating her with the semen that continued to dribble from the flushed head.
She couldn’t hold back the half-sob of anticipation. The blatant, deliberate teasing had her sweating and gasping for air. She ignored the voice that urged her to fight, choosing instead to enjoy him … just this once.
“Do your arms pain you?” he asked, never ceasing his movements, soaking her with the evidence of his excitement.
“You pain me.”
“Should I stop?” From the catch in his voice, she knew the thought was torturous.
“I shall shoot you if you stop.”
With a groan, he positioned and thrust deep, forging through her in a relentless drive. She writhed against the invasion, the size of him far too much for her long unused flesh. The tip of him rubbed inside her, stretching her, stroking her far better than his magical fingers had done.
Both hands to the wall, Marcus gasped as he slipped deep. “Ah, Christ.” He shuddered. “You’re hot as hell and tight as a fist.”
“Marcus …” She whimpered. There was something undeniably erotic in the way he took her, still partially dressed with his boots on. It should have offended her. But it didn’t.
All these years she’d spent consoling the women discarded by her father and listening to the gossip of women left disillusioned by Marcus’s inconstancy. How had they failed to see their own influence? Marcus had nearly killed a man with his bare hands, yet here he stood before her, weakened in his need.
He pulled out, his head down bent. “Watch me fuck you, Elizabeth.” His powerful thighs flexed beneath his breeches as he pressed back inside. She gazed, eyes riveted to the sight of the thick, proud shaft slick with her cream withdrawing, only to return in a painfully slow glide.
Her arms ached, her legs stretched uncomfortably, and her tailbone was growing numb from bearing the brunt of her weight, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered beyond the apex of her thighs and the man who rutted there.
“This is trust,” he said, his hips pumping his cock into her with a precise, unfaltering rhythm.
Trust. Tears slipped past her lashes as the divine torment continued, his skill undeniable. He knew just how to stroke her, dipping with bent thighs to rub his cock in just the right spot to pleasure her to madness. She was panting with it, and then begging for it. Her blood roared, her nipples peaked so tightly beneath her garments they ached. “Please …”
Marcus was panting too, his chest heaving so forcefully it shook the sweat from his hair to drip onto her face. Her heart swelled at the intimacy.
“Yes,” he growled. “Now.” He dropped one hand between her legs and rubbed gently. Like a spring coiled too tightly, she broke free with a sharp cry. Her back bowed and Marcus moved in slow, deep strokes, drawing out her pleasure, keeping her taut and breathless and tearful beneath him.
“No more …” she cried, unable to bear another moment.
He thrust his cock deep and held it there, allowing the fading ripples of her orgasm to milk him. He sucked in a sharp breath and then began to shudder with such force the chair back tapped against the wall. He groaned, a long, low, pained sound as his cock jerked inside her filling her with his seed.
Gasping, he finally stilled. He tilted his head and stared into her eyes. The frank bemusement in the emerald depths soothed her somewhat, lost as she was in her own devastation.
“Too fast,” he muttered. One of his hands left the wall and cupped her cheek, his thumb following the curve of her cheekbone.
“Are you mad?” She swallowed hard to ease the hoarseness of her voice.
“Yes.” He pulled away slowly, carefully, but she still winced from the loss. With great care he unhooked her legs from the arm of the chair and helped her to her feet. Weakened, she crumpled against him. He caught her up, and carried her to the bed.
Laying her on her side, Marcus untied her hands, rubbing her shoulders and arms when they tingled as the blood returned. Then he reached for the bow at her throat.
Elizabeth pulled back. “I must leave now.”
Chuckling, Marcus took a seat next to her. He bent low to tug off his boots, removing a blade hidden there and setting it on the nightstand. “You are exhausted, and can barely walk. You are in no condition to seat a horse.”