himself with stroking her thighs for a bit, while he slid her skirts up to rest just over her knees.
He wanted to pleasure her, and he wanted to leap out of the coach.
He could devour her, and he could kick himself for getting entangled in the whole infernal mess.
She shifted on the bench, slid an inch closer to him, bringing the scent of clean, intimate female wafting past his plans and intentions. His cock liked that fragrance exceeding well; his resolve to shock her witless was rather distracted by it too.
He moved his thumbs in small circles, massaging, exploring, and all the while gently pressing Felicity’s legs open with his forearms. Still he did not bare her to his gaze, but let her skirts trail over her thighs.
His forbearance was not a sop to her modesty, but rather, a nod to his flagging self-restraint.
As his fingers caressed Felicity’s intimate flesh, the dread in Felicity’s expression was replaced by something else—curiosity? Inchoate arousal? Her mouth was slightly parted, and her breathing a bit accelerated.
She deserved better than this. Better than him.
“What do you feel, Felicity?” Gareth asked, bringing his thumbs together and limning her outer folds, while in his head trying to recall the geometric proof for bisecting an angle.
“Restless,” she muttered. “Itchy under my skin.”
His touch on her told him she was aroused, but not to the degree of torment his attentions to her breasts seemed to cause. Interesting, because he, poor, randy sod, could have closed his eyes and come with no further provocation than she’d already provided.
“Restless is a start. You can learn to touch yourself the same way. We’ll practice as often as you like.” His set of antique jade phalluses came to mind, none of which were any harder than the flesh and blood appendage in his breeches.
The need to feast on her had become tearingly urgent, and her folds were wonderfully slick, but she wasn’t writhing or moaning. Not yet. For a few minutes, he limited his touch to Felicity’s outer flesh, but when her hands began to open and close on the leather seats, he carefully slid a thumb higher.
“This small, hidden little piece of flesh here”—he punctuated his words with a sudden increase in pressure—“is a source of much pleasure.” Felicity gasped and relaxed her hips forward.
He took shameless advantage of her discomposure, inching her skirts up until he could see what he was touching. The sight of her was almost enough to make him spend, so wet and pink and lovely was she by the light of the single lantern.
“Gareth.” She was asking him for something—relief, understanding, he knew not what.
“Relax, Felicity. There’s no rush, and I’ll do whatever you want me to…” He kept up the pressure on her, moving his thumb in slow circles and letting her feel the small surcease of a gratifying rhythm. “I think you might feel a little better, love, if I also touched you inside, though.”
He slid a single finger in and out of her body, shallowly, slowly. Her breathing accelerated further, and she tossed her head against the leather seat. What he would not give to replace that finger with his cock—
And yet, he was relieved too, that it was only his finger, that he was suffering torments of arousal rather than truly deflowering her under these circumstances.
“Gareth… it’s too… I need…”
God, so do I.
Felicity was wet, tight, hot, and denying him nothing. Cautiously, he slid a second finger into her and penetrated a bit deeper. The deuced woman liked that, rocking her hips into his fingers and showing not the smallest sign of being appalled, disgusted, or brought to her proper senses.
“It still isn’t enough, is it?” Gareth asked, coming up on his knees and moving Felicity’s skirts up to her waist. “Maybe this will help.”
He found her with his mouth and drew firmly in a slow, relentless rhythm. Shock rippled through her, then her hips lurched forward
He wanted to pleasure her, and he wanted to leap out of the coach.
He could devour her, and he could kick himself for getting entangled in the whole infernal mess.
She shifted on the bench, slid an inch closer to him, bringing the scent of clean, intimate female wafting past his plans and intentions. His cock liked that fragrance exceeding well; his resolve to shock her witless was rather distracted by it too.
He moved his thumbs in small circles, massaging, exploring, and all the while gently pressing Felicity’s legs open with his forearms. Still he did not bare her to his gaze, but let her skirts trail over her thighs.
His forbearance was not a sop to her modesty, but rather, a nod to his flagging self-restraint.
As his fingers caressed Felicity’s intimate flesh, the dread in Felicity’s expression was replaced by something else—curiosity? Inchoate arousal? Her mouth was slightly parted, and her breathing a bit accelerated.
She deserved better than this. Better than him.
“What do you feel, Felicity?” Gareth asked, bringing his thumbs together and limning her outer folds, while in his head trying to recall the geometric proof for bisecting an angle.
“Restless,” she muttered. “Itchy under my skin.”
His touch on her told him she was aroused, but not to the degree of torment his attentions to her breasts seemed to cause. Interesting, because he, poor, randy sod, could have closed his eyes and come with no further provocation than she’d already provided.
“Restless is a start. You can learn to touch yourself the same way. We’ll practice as often as you like.” His set of antique jade phalluses came to mind, none of which were any harder than the flesh and blood appendage in his breeches.
The need to feast on her had become tearingly urgent, and her folds were wonderfully slick, but she wasn’t writhing or moaning. Not yet. For a few minutes, he limited his touch to Felicity’s outer flesh, but when her hands began to open and close on the leather seats, he carefully slid a thumb higher.
“This small, hidden little piece of flesh here”—he punctuated his words with a sudden increase in pressure—“is a source of much pleasure.” Felicity gasped and relaxed her hips forward.
He took shameless advantage of her discomposure, inching her skirts up until he could see what he was touching. The sight of her was almost enough to make him spend, so wet and pink and lovely was she by the light of the single lantern.
“Gareth.” She was asking him for something—relief, understanding, he knew not what.
“Relax, Felicity. There’s no rush, and I’ll do whatever you want me to…” He kept up the pressure on her, moving his thumb in slow circles and letting her feel the small surcease of a gratifying rhythm. “I think you might feel a little better, love, if I also touched you inside, though.”
He slid a single finger in and out of her body, shallowly, slowly. Her breathing accelerated further, and she tossed her head against the leather seat. What he would not give to replace that finger with his cock—
And yet, he was relieved too, that it was only his finger, that he was suffering torments of arousal rather than truly deflowering her under these circumstances.
“Gareth… it’s too… I need…”
God, so do I.
Felicity was wet, tight, hot, and denying him nothing. Cautiously, he slid a second finger into her and penetrated a bit deeper. The deuced woman liked that, rocking her hips into his fingers and showing not the smallest sign of being appalled, disgusted, or brought to her proper senses.
“It still isn’t enough, is it?” Gareth asked, coming up on his knees and moving Felicity’s skirts up to her waist. “Maybe this will help.”
He found her with his mouth and drew firmly in a slow, relentless rhythm. Shock rippled through her, then her hips lurched forward
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