Marissa Day (25 page)

More, her body urged her. More. She ran the cock up and down her slit, slowly at first, but slow would not answer. She needed it fast. She needed power and fire.

She pressed the ivory cock against her weeping entrance and groaned. It slipped easily inside, fitting delectably. She arched her hips and pressed deeper. Oh, yes, that would feel so good. He’d fuck fast and hard, urging her to scream in her pleasure.
Let me hear you, Jane. I want to hear you!

“Oh yes,” she gasped. “Yes, Thomas, I want it. I want it deep.”

“So I see.”

Jane’s eyes flew open. Thomas, clad in shirt and buckskins stood over her, his eyes alight with mischief and desire.

“Oh G—” She was on her back,
en dishabille
, with this wicked toy in her pussy, and Thomas had seen it all.

“Oh, no, Jane, don’t stop on my account.” Thomas knelt beside the couch, his hands pushing under the disarray of her skirts to caress her thighs, then to cover her hand where it still clutched the ivory cock. “Don’t stop at all.”

He moved her hand, moved the ivory cock inside her in long, slow thrusts.

“Ahhh . . . what are you doing?” she sighed, half appalled, half sinking back into desire.

“Giving you what you asked for,” he murmured. “You want it deep. You want it hard.” He increased the tempo, setting a glorious, wicked friction against the silken walls of her sheath. “Take it, Jane. Take it hard.”

“Yes.” Her head fell back and her hands rose to her own breasts, plucking and toying with her nipples. It felt so good to have him minister to her with this cunning toy. To have his eyes on her as she arched her hips, seeking a deeper stroke. “Yes.”

“Lovely, greedy, impatient Jane.” The fingers of his other hand probed the very top of her slit until he found her clit. Jane gasped and her hips bucked. “Ah, now, that’s even better, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” she cried as he rubbed her and thrust the ivory cock inside. “Oh, yes!”

“You know what I want, Jane. I want you to beg me to make you come like this.”

“Please, please, please!” she cried the word in time to the thrusts, the rolling of her clit, the trembling caress of her own hands against her breasts. “Oh, Thomas, I want to come!”

“Yes!” He thrust and pressed down and Jane cried out as her pleasure burst from her, rocking her hips hard against his hand, wringing wordless cries from her. Slowly, slowly the waves subsided and she fell back against the sofa, gloriously spent.

Thomas smiled down at her, and eased the ivory cock from her sheath. Pulsing as she was with the echoes of her orgasm, Jane felt strangely empty. Thomas grinned as if he guessed her thought and leaned over. He kissed her softly, yet openly, his tongue stroking and tangling hers. Jane groaned again as fresh desire rose with a swiftness that was almost frightening, and she reached for him.

“Oh, no, Jane.” Thomas caught both of her wrists in one strong hand as he pulled away. “You have been very naughty. You know that, don’t you?”

“What . . .” Desire robbed her of her wits. “What have I done?”

He held up the ivory cock. “You should have waited for your master to instruct you, Jane. You took this to pleasure yourself without my orders.” Wicked light shimmered in his green eyes, and Jane could not help but glance down at his cock. Oh, he was hard. Very hard.

“Please,” she whispered. “Master Thomas, I will be good. Don’t punish me.”

“Now, now, Jane, what kind of master would I be if I did not show you discipline? You would grow careless of your glorious body and all your sweet pleasures.”

He stood and with a strong tug brought her to her feet. She stood before him, her nightdress and robe horribly rumpled, her hair falling about her shoulders and her breasts straining beneath his heated gaze.

“Bend over the couch arm,” he ordered. “Put your hands on the cushion, and leave them there.”

Jane’s mouth had gone dry, and her heart pounded hard in the base of her throat. The familiar nervous anticipation fluttered in her wrists, but it was almost lost in the wicked eagerness to see where this new game would lead.

She did as she was instructed, bending across the sofa arm, and planting her hands on the plush seat. Her breasts rubbed against the fabric of her nightclothes, and the curve of the sofa arm pressed right against her swollen pussy. Her ass lifted high in the air.

She felt Thomas move behind her and heard his harsh breathing. His arms reached around her and his fingers fumbled with the hooks and ribbons of her nightclothes, loosening them just enough so he could shove the garments down hard, so the fabric fell into a heap around her ankles. Cool air washed across the heated skin of her body and she hissed, shifting her weight. As she did, her pussy rubbed against the sofa arm, and it was all she could do not to gasp.

“Now, Jane,” said Thomas in a warning growl. “Do not make this worse than it must be. Keep still until I give you permission to move.”

His hand was on her ass, caressing, up and down, exploring the rounded flesh with a connoisseur’s appreciation. Her nipples tightened again with painful abruptness and she groaned.

“Please,” she arched her back.

“Oh, no, Jane. Not yet.”

She felt a blunt point press against the right half of her ass. At first she thought it was Thomas’s cock. Then she realized it was only the toy, still slick with her juices, rubbing and prodding her flesh.

“Ahhh . . .” she sighed.

Thomas said nothing, but caressed the curve of her ass with his free hand. Her pussy dampened and strained to open. This was good, but she wanted more. She wanted his body over hers, his cock, his real cock inside her . . .

The tip of the ivory cock pressed against her anus and Jane’s eyes flew open.

“You’re not . . .”

“Open for me, Jane. You wanted this pretty toy inside you. You couldn’t wait for it. Take it now.”

She’d had his finger in her that way before, and it had felt good, but this . . . it was so much bigger . . . it couldn’t possibly fit.

Thomas pressed the ivory cock closer, stretching her open. It felt strange. It felt good. It felt wrong. It felt right. He was so close behind her, leaning over her, his thighs against the backs of her legs, his arm alongside her to brace them both.

“Take it, sweet Jane. Be good. Show me how very good you can be.”

Desire and curiosity both rose. She pushed out as Thomas pressed the ivory cock inward. It stretched and it burned, and she cried out, and it was inside and he was moving it, fucking her with it, pressing her against the sofa arm so that her pussy rubbed against the velvet with each thrust.

She sighed and her arms trembled. “Please, Master Thomas, let me move.”

“Oh, not yet, Jane. Not quite yet my sweet, sweet Jane.” He rubbed his chest against her back. He was so close and yet infinitely distant. Her breasts swung, grazing against each other, and she moaned. She was full of the ivory cock, but it wasn’t enough. Her muscles clenched around it and her empty sheath, and it only made desire burn brighter. She wanted more. She needed more. “I want you. Please, Master!”

She heard the unmistakable sound of buttons being torn open and she groaned with relief. He would remove this decadent instrument of sexual torture. He would bury himself in her sheath. She wanted that so badly she ached and trembled. She would weep if she had to wait any longer.

Thomas took firm hold of her hips to adjust the angle of her. His cock pressed against her thighs, and she parted for him. Shifting her position caused the ivory cock to move inside her, almost as if it were a living thing. Thomas moved closer, running the tip of his cock around her drenched folds, and settling it against her entrance.

It occurred to her fevered brain that he was not going to remove the ivory toy. He was going to fuck her while it remained inside her. Jane didn’t know whether to be elated or terrified, and then Thomas was inside her.

The first sensation was relief. Her sheath and pussy had been begging for this for what felt like ages. Now that she had what she needed she could do nothing but revel in it. She was twice stretched, twice full, and the double sensation fed all the greedy flames of desire burning in her.

“So hot, Jane,” Thomas moaned. “So ready for me.”

“Always ready,” she panted in answer. “Always ready for you.”

“Yes.” He gripped her hips and ass, holding her ruthlessly where he wanted her and began to thrust. Each powerful movement ground her pulsing clit against the sofa arm. His merciless hands squeezed and kneaded her ass, and that stirred and shifted the ivory cock so that it too fucked her. Harder and faster, Thomas slammed into her, as lost to the wicked glory of their fucking as she was.

She wanted it to stop at once, lest she burn alive in the fire. She wanted it to never end.

“I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” Jane’s fingers dug into the velvet cushions.

In answer he thrust deep so that her sheath clenched around him and her ass squeezed the ivory cock tight.

Jane screamed as the orgasm took her. She flew free, her body beyond control, lost entirely to the tumult of pleasure. Thomas roared like a lion and she felt the second storm of his climax as he drove madly into her, clamping her tight against the sofa, refusing to release her until at last he was spent.

Panting, trembling, moaning. Jane couldn’t move. It was entirely beyond her. Gently, Thomas slid both his cocks from her. He gathered her into his arms and carried her across the room to the bed. He lay down with her, and draped her across his partially clothed body.

“Beautiful, beautiful Jane,” he whispered as he cradled her close to his chest. Languor took her. She was exactly where she longed to be. All questions could wait. Right now, all was perfection. He was saying something else, but sleep had already moved her beyond understanding. She could ask about it later. For this moment, she had all that she needed.

T
he woman currently called Fiora Beauchamp dozed fitfully in her bed. She’d had many names in her long life; Fiora mac Sulen, Red Fiora, the Nightingale of Drury Lane, but none of them mattered, because none of them were spoken by her queen anymore.

Fiora twisted restlessly beneath the weight of the quilts her maids had heaped upon her to try to keep out the endless cold. In response, the ache that permeated all her joints dug in deeper. She was not truly asleep. Real sleep had not come to her in a long time. She chased darkness and light through her mind, but never did she dip far enough below the surface of thought to lose awareness of the heaviness following close behind. It was patient, inexorable and final. It would settle onto her heart and lungs when it caught up with her. She was so slow, and she couldn’t catch her breath. It would have her, it would smother her and she could not even scream . . .

Light like a benediction fell all around her. The cold was gone, the pain was gone, washed away by a sylvan flood. Even the final dark could not stand before this bright glory, and it slunk away. Fiora knew this light instantly, though she had not seen it in many long years. It was the light of the Fae realms. The light of her true home, and her true queen.

“Majesty.” Fiora struggled from beneath the heap of blankets. She fell to her knees and clasped her hands together. “Majesty!”

The queen stood at the foot of the bed, and she was beautiful and terrible beyond words. Midnight black draped her perfect form, and she held a silver sword in her hand. Black wings drooped from her shoulders. She was war, she was vengeance, and she fixed Fiora with eyes the color of thunderstorms.

“You betrayed me, Fiora. You let your heart stray from your loyalty to me.”

Memory flashed through Fiora, clear and violent as lightning. She saw herself and Cullen locked in a torrid embrace. She saw his ungainly, lumpish, mortal form, felt the slop of his mouth on her face, the clumsy fumbling of his hands across her body. The terrible weakness of his lust found answer in her foolish spirit. Weak as she was, she mistook this greedy pawing, this stinking, graceless coupling for something approaching the unending love that was due Her Glorious Majesty.

In the depths of Fiora’s heart, a faint voice wailed that there had been more. They had only fallen in love as human men and women did. Such affection did not lessen the love or loyalty due to others. But the visions the queen poured into Fiora’s open mind quickly smothered such weak protests.

“I’m sorry!” Fiora threw herself down prostrate at the queen’s feet. “I was weak and selfish. I took your blessing for granted. Forgive me! Please, Majesty, forgive me!”

Silence. It was as if she’d been deserted in some arctic place with only darkness on all sides. And yet, and yet . . . she could feel her queen. She was distant, she remained present.

“Forgiveness must be earned.” The queen’s words fell soft as snow onto Fiora’s franticly beating heart.