Fascinated

something stopped… something broke, and nothing could stop the storm of feeling and emotion that crashed over her, into her, around her, hot boiling pleasure pouring through her body and between her legs. His pleasure, his cream, hot and blasting out of him like a cannon, and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't stop it, he couldn't, couldn't couldn't couldn't-

And then one last mighty thrust-and he pitched mindlessly over and into her arms.

Desire was an insidious thing. It crept up on a man at the least likely times. He thought he was dead exhausted, and a half hour after his forceful possession of her, he was still inside her, stiff as a board, and hot to fuck her again. She didn't have to do a thing. All he needed was a vessel, and she was still soaked, thick with his cream, an image that aroused him ferociously.

He eased himself more against her, burying himself so powerfully and so deep, he could feel her pubic hair scraping against his own. He felt himself contract, and then he spurted, not the full blow, but damn and hell, all he had to do was embed himself in her and he went off half-cocked. Shit. He couldn't control anything, not her, not sex, not his unruly penis.

He rocked against her, pushing, pushing, pushing. Her body was so pliant, taking him deeper and deeper as he ground his hips into hers. He wanted to root between her legs forever.

He had been at her so long, the candle was guttering, burned to the nub and suddenly gone, throwing the room in total darkness.

There was something about the dark. Forbidden things happened in the dark. Things that two people did to each other that did not have to be acknowledged in daylight. Things he wanted to do to her right now while she was naked and still coated with his semen.

He nudged her legs together and straddled them so that she enveloped him even more tightly. She stirred, and her sleepy, futile movements stoked him to the blasting point. He covered that one breast to feel her nipple shaping beneath the flat of his hand. He covered her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep within, concurrent with the sharp, thrusting movement of his penis.

She came languidly awake as she accepted his tongue. Her body arched under him as he fingered her nipple the way only he could, and he followed the movement with a hard thrust of his hips.

This was all he needed: his possession of her turgid nipple, the soft, hot accommodation of her supple body, the hot press of his penis deep inside her, her avid mouth voraciously feeding on his lips and tongue.

He didn't want to move. Couldn't move. If he moved… he spasmed, he spurted, and he ruthlessly got himself under control. He wanted this full bore possession to go on for hours, for days, for months, with no beginning and no end.

And all he had to do was wholly embed himself in her and not move.

He had to move. Had to move. His tongue, his hips, his fingers. Just to let her know he was there. Inevitably, indomitably there.

And that nipple. That hard, pliable nipple… it drove him crazy the way he could play with it, rub it, caress it, the way her hips shimmied and ground into him every time he manipulated it, the way her body got hot, stoked, languid with every erotic touch.

Don't move. Let her move. Let her squirm and twist and try to get away from me. This is my nipple. She will never get away from me.

Something else almost got away from him. The more he tried to contain her, the more she writhed and made hot little pleasure sounds in the back of her throat, and the more aroused he became. A man wasn't meant to feel this explosive, as if every part of him would blow apart if he gave in.

He was desperate to give in. His penis was bone-stiff with his lust to possess her. He thrust into her, short, sharp movements, because any more commitment and he would blast. And he wanted to prolong it, he did. He had all best intentions, just short jabbing thrusts, one two three. Feeding on her lips, one two three; feeling the caress of her tongue against his, one two three; a man had to be made of stone, one two three; well, part of him was, one two three-one last drive home and he burst like a dam, carried away by the gushing geyser of his release. One two three.

Light filtering through the curtains. Movement beyond the door, the maids scurrying to begin the morning. Morning. Damn and hell. Morning.

And here he was wrapped around her naked body and hot and hard and primed to go. Had they slept? He thought so. She had only been half awake at the most during the night.

And now she was this enticing bundle in his arms, her naked body his to do with whatever he wanted. And he wanted. He wanted. He would have to get used to his penis at full staff around her. She would have to get used to it.

He pulled her against him, spoon-fashion, and inserted three fingers of one hand between her legs and cupped her breast with the other.

She was still slick with his semen, still hot, still willing. Her bottom undulated against his hips, she parted her thighs to invite his fingers, and her hand grasped his wrist and pressed them deeper into her cleft.

He was coming closer, closer, closer to something, some pleasure point nestling just within her. There-oh!-there... her body stiffened. She pressed down hard against his fingers-oh now... He had her other nipple… Oh no oh no- too much, too much-

A knock at the door and she swallowed her dismay on a tide of wanton need.

'Good morning, my dear,' Reginald called. 'Come join me for early breakfast.'

'Tell him you're exhausted, you're sleeping in this morning,' Jeremy whispered.

She couldn't talk. How could she talk with his fingers doing what they were doing to her. 'I-I'm still rather tired,' she called back, her voice ragged. 'I'm going to sleep in this morning.'

'As you wish, my dear. We'll talk later.'

Blast, blast, blast…

'I'm still here,' Jeremy whispered.

'I feel so illicit.'

'You're my mistress,' he reminded her bluntly. 'After last night, nothing'-he drove his quiescent fingers into her cleft- 'nothing interferes with this

She felt herself quickening. He stoked her and stroked her, twisting his fingers deep inside her; she bore down on him, seeking that elusive thing that she didn't know what it was, and succumbing to the ribbons of sensation that skeined from the tip of her nipple to the pleasure point between her legs.

There it was, there, nestling just within her, that secret place waiting for a touch, a caress, a certain pressure that would send her spiraling out of control. She felt it coming. She felt her body reaching for it, yearning for it, closing on it- there, just there-there! Her body seized up, tightened, and then catapulted into a convulsion of unspeakable sensation that just didn't end.

She didn't want it to end. How could she bear it if it ended? And if Jeremy left, as he must certainly do before the morning ended.

Don't think about that. Think about how rock-hard he is and that he's in a fever for your body. That's all there is. And if you want to keep him in your bed, that's all there ever can be…

All, all, all, all, all, all-alllllllllllllllll-

A clock struck somewhere in the distance, and she forced herself to move. She didn't want to move. The morning was perfect, with Jeremy lying beside her naked and asleep, and the wonder of him was that when he slept, that rebellious other part of him didn't.

And what an amazing part it was, all muscle and heat and a life of its own. She touched him, sliding her hand down the long, hard shaft and into the thick thatch of hair at the base.

Soon, soon, he must leave her. And then what? She didn't expect this complication about being- pretending to be?-a mistress. She hadn't expected any of the realities, least of all the kind of bone-sapping pleasure of which she was capable.

No wonder coupling like this was forbidden, secret, immoral. It was so powerful, in so many ways, and so hurtful in others. If she even thought she had feelings for Jeremy, for instance, she might be devastated the moment he walked out the door.

It was so much better that she had initiated their intimacy for her own purposes, and that she was in control of her feelings and could and would play the pleasure game as often as he wanted.