Fascinated

rounder, heavier, her nipples tighter, harder.

He needed her nipples now.

He came to her. He reached out and took them, and immediately she spasmed at his touch. Instantly, he reached around her to unlock the chain with the key he had wound around his wrist. A minute more, and he rammed himself home, deep home, the angle of his penis perfect to penetrate her as she stood, and he rocked himself into her so deep he didn't know where she began and he left off. And then they were body to body, hip to hip, with her nipple tips tight against his hairy chest.

Don't move don't move don't move… he nipped at her lips… don't… he moved his hands down to her curvy buttocks… don't… move… he jammed himself tighter, maybe a mistake… don't...

He kissed her deeply, and felt her body squirm against him as if she were seeking to take him deeper still… don't… yes… his penis was so strong, so virile, he could rule the world-he ruled her-and maybe that was his world…

Breathless… don't… can't take much more-all she could take… don't.… just tight sharp little… don't move… have to… have to… have to have to have to have to...

… have to

And gone. Pounding her like a piston and discharging himself in one blasting cannon shot.

Stay.

More.

Not yet.

Soon.

He was still embedded in her in this erotic upright position. He held her tightly against him, tight, tight, tight. He kissed her long, hard, deep. He felt himself flexing, hardening, elongating in her tight, soaking sheath. He felt his strength and his power rising.

He wanted more, but she had wrung him out.

This was the test; this was her power. And the evening was still young.

He liked this the best: he owned her nipples, and he could feel or feed on them however he liked all this evening long. And he could fuck her anytime he wanted all this evening long. He liked the freedom of penetrating her at his will and fondling her nipples whenever he felt like it.

He came to her again and again, to fondle and fuck and sometimes both. All she could take. And more.

She was as greedy as he, ravenous for his penis and his possession, and enticing him to take her nipples with every shimmy of her body.

He couldn't keep away from them. He couldn't keep his hands off of her. He felt up every inch of her body, everywhere he could reach. He made her come with his fingers in her cunt, and at her nipples; and he took her from behind, all the while she stood, submitting to his every desire.

'You need to be locked up, fancy-piece. You're dangerous.'

'How so?'

'Those nipples. The way you flaunt them.'

'Because I want you to make them harder.'

'I'm sucked out, my lady.'

'Really? After all your boasts of having enough for two? You hardly have enough for me.'

'It sounds like my lady is ready to fuck again.'

'You said all I could take. I want more.'

It was all he needed, her voracious command.

'I rise to the occasion.'

He came to her again, and stood so his jutting penis could root just inside her cunt. She never got tired of watching him at the cusp of penetration. And neither did he. 'Ready to take it?'

She drew a sharp breath, and he plunged his hips, plunged himself back into the hot depths of her. God, all night she had been so stoked, so hot, so soaked with his cream. Nothing fazed her, not even this willing submission to him or his binding her arms. It was enough to storm all his defenses. All he wanted was to root in her. They had been at it for hours, and he couldn't even count the number of times.

He was sapped; he had just enough in him to push another explosive ejaculation. Just enough to untie her hands and tumble her into the bed. Just enough to kiss her and pull her against his quivering body. Just enough to cup her breast, and to fall asleep with her nipple shaping beneath his palm. Just enough… it was… just enough-he needed nothing more.

Voluptuous. Her whole body felt swollen, languid, satiated; she wanted to just wallow in bed with him after her father left for his morning calls. She wanted to lounge in the circle of his body all day, all night, forever. The last thing she wanted was company in the morning or even to leave the house for her usual morning carriage ride.

But there was Ancilla at the door with news of the morning line, and there was no way to turn her away, even knowing Jeremy was in the bedroom above dressing-blast it-and slipping down the back stairs.

'They say Mr. Raulton will make his determination within the month,' Ancilla announced as she settled herself on the couch and poured a cup of tea. 'The odds on that are twenty-to-one. Father said, anyway.'

'You are remarkably well informed on Mr. Raulton's comings, goings and matrimonial propensities,' Regina said, barely absorbing this up-to-the-minute information.

'The whole of London is agog at his new diversion. Imagine him desiring marriage at all. He wants a wife who is wealthy, who wishes to be married, who is not carnal, and who will allow him his digressions. That is not you, my dear Regina.'

'No,' she murmured, 'that is not me. Whoever wagers on that will go down hard.' And what would she wager that her affair with Jeremy would last beyond the end of the month as well? How did a woman sustain a carnal life hour by hour, day by day? After this morning, she wasn't sure she wanted to live that way any longer; only her father's dire prediction of her fate stopped her.

And now the morning line, putting Raulton in church and walking down the aisle in less than a fortnight.

Well, people had very little else to do between private parties and the weekly Assembly Rooms. Why not elevate Raulton's private affairs to public property? It amused everyone and harmed no one, except the innocents whose names were in play.

And she, Regina, was no longer an innocent.

She rang for the carriage and brought with her the books she must return to the lending library, the most innocuous place she could think of where running into Mr. Raulton would not be the prevailing sport of the day.

And yet, there he was, and she could have inferred that perhaps he had been watching for her and following the carriage.

He was all politeness. 'What a pleasant surprise. You frequent Hatchard's, then? They do have a fine selection. What authors do you favor?'

And Ancilla watching this all with her skeptical eye. Regina fumbled over every word, her mind wholly on Jeremy and not even attending to Mr. Raulton's attempts to engage her.

She felt crowded, suddenly, and too much the center of attention when he was around.

Not so Ancilla, who was critiquing his manners later that evening when they met at the Weydeanes' house for a sit-down dinner. 'He can be very pleasant,' she observed as they were being seated. 'Come to think, he has been exceptionally pleasant at every function.'

But here, Regina thought thankfully, was one place he would not be.

That hope was short-lived. He arrived late, profuse with apologies, somehow having wangled his way onto the Waydeanes' guest list. How, how, how? And yet the answer was almost immediately clear: two eligible heiresses were at table, two whose names were linked with his.

The following Wednesday it was Almack's where he prowled, and eventually came around to Regina, Sally Jersey in tow to give permission for Regina to engage in a waltz.

'Mr. Raulton.'