Claiming His Wife by Golden Angel Page B

skirts, only the Earl's body would keep a passerby from seeing
her completely at this point.  She moaned against his hand,
panting as his fingers slid through her folds, becoming soaked in
her cream.  The Earl moaned too, and bit down on her nipple.
 It was pleasure and pain all rolled into one, and she was
reminded abruptly of the little clips he'd put on her nipples when
he'd last punished her.
    As if in remembrance, her bottom
throbbed.  Cynthia writhed against him, rubbing her pussy
against his hand as her passion grew exponentially with each stroke
of his fingers.  She couldn't contain herself, and if he
hadn't kept his hand firmly planted over her mouth, her sensual
cries would have been heard all over the gardens.  Then
Wesley's mouth replaced his hand, his desperate kiss drinking in
her cries as cool night air wafted across her wet nipple and his
fingers shoved inside of her.
    Every muscle in her lower
body seemed to clench, all at once, and she felt her clit rubbing
hard against the heel of his hand as he rocked against her,
applying rhythmic pressure against her tender parts.  Cynthia
was on fire, the pleasure building between her legs somehow much
more intense than when she touched herself there.  It was
almost more exciting when it was the Earl touching her, more
pleasurable... his fingers pushed back and forth inside of her,
making her clench around him as her juices dripped over his
hand. 
    She cried out, her passion
muffled by his lips as he pressed her hard against the tree.
 Writhing, she could hear the rip of fabric as her dress tore
against the bark, and she didn't care.  It only excited her
more.  Ecstasy pulsed through her core as his fingers stroked
her insides, her hands clutching at him as her muscles went weak
with the overwhelming pleasure that sizzled along her body.
 Her ears filled with a roaring sound as she rode his hand, in
the middle of a garden, the excitement of their surroundings
enhancing her rapture.
    When he withdrew his hand, letting her
skirts fall back into place, she moaned as he lifted his mouth from
hers.  Every inch of her skin felt like it was fizzing, like
the top of the glass of champagne, effervescence escaping the only
way it could.  Her knees were weak, too weak to hold her, and
she found herself sliding down the Earl's front until she was on
her knees in front of him.
    Shocked that he'd let her fall, she
looked up at him in the darkness, just as the Earl's hand slid into
her hair and tilted her head even further back.  Her face was
shadowed, but he could still see her swollen, parted lips, as she
panted, and the creamy swells of her breasts hanging free of her
gown in the night air.  Wesley was too far gone to care about
propriety or being caught; he desperately needed relief after
having Cynthia writhing and moaning against him in such a wanton
manner.  
    It was the work of a
moment to undo the front of his breeches, something he could easily
do with one hand, and then he was pressing the head of his cock
against her mouth. 
    "Open," he hissed at her, his balls
throbbing with need as the softness of her lips pressed against his
sensitive tip.  "And don't use your teeth."
    Wet heat surrounded him as he thrust
forward, one hand still tangled in her hair, using it to guide her
head, and he braced the other against the tree behind her so that
he could bend over and watch as she took his cock into her mouth.
 The shocked look on her face made him feel rampantly
possessive; it was obvious she hadn't done this before and he
relished the knowledge that he was the first - and only - man to
have her body.  Even if she'd flirted and played with danger,
she hadn't indulged.
    She was his.  All his.  To
corrupt and play with, to mold and teach, and to conquer and claim.
 He was on fire for her, and he didn't think it would ever be
quenched; every touch only seemed to feed it, like the bellows of a
blacksmith.  Even when it was banked, the embers glowed,
waiting