Sutton's Spinster (The Sinful Suttons 1) - Page 60

She explored him as he was doing to her, running her hands down his side, careful to avoid the mottled plum of his bruise. When he trailed his caresses over her mound, her fingertips traced the firmly chiseled flesh of his hip. She was growing bolder.

“Touch me. Take my cock in your hand,” he urged, voice low and soft as velvet and dipped in sin.

Cock. She liked that word. She liked that part of him. His fingers were on her, firm and warm and seeking. Parting. Finding the swollen heart of her and giving her what she wanted. And in response, she gripped him. Softly at first, fingers curling around the silken heat of his shaft. For a moment, she remained still, uncertain what to do, but then she recalled the manner in which he had held himself, stroking the way he had instructed her the first time they made love, and she moved her hand along his length.

Up and down. Moisture seeped from his crown and he groaned, hips bucking into her hand. He traced her opening. Tantalizing swirls over her folds had a sound of frustration fleeing her. She wanted him inside her. This was not enough.

As if he had heard her thoughts, he obliged her, only not in the fashion she had supposed. The finger teasing her dipped inside.

She inhaled, the sudden breach as surprising as it was delicious.

“So slick for me, minx. All this sweet dew, for me.”

Should she be ashamed? She was not certain. So much of what passed between a man and woman had been kept from her. When she had sought bawdy books and caricatures out of curiosity, she had learned some of the rudimentary mechanics. However, that had not prepared her for the man she had married.

He worked his finger in and out of her, shallow thrusts at first and then deeper, and she could no longer care or think. All she could do was exist, a creature of pleasure, made for him and the exquisite torture he visited upon her. His thumb nestled between her folds, finding the bundle that seemed to be the very center of her body. His finger sank deeper, and then a second joined the first, stretching her, filling her in a new way.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, his nearness, Jasper’s hazel gaze burning into her, she pressed her mouth to his. This kiss was as drugging as the ones which had preceded it. His fingers moved in a new way, reaching a place inside her that was indescribably wonderful.

She was lost. Helpless. All she could do was rock against his touch, taking him deeper, her tongue mating with his as they kissed. Belatedly realizing she had stopped stroking him, she resumed. He was thicker and harder and hot. So hot. And she was about to lose control.

The spasm that gripped her arrived like a lightning bolt. It hit her core and expanded outward as pleasure washed over her body. She cried out and he ate it up, kissing her harder, his hips jerking into her as she pumped him, his finger sinking deeper as she succumbed to the madness.

Then, with every bit as much haste, he broke the kiss and withdrew from her in one single, fluid motion. Taking her wrist in a gentle grip, he removed her hand from him. She was bereft and confused, the ripples of her bliss still making her channel contract in tiny bursts, when he rolled to his back and pulled her with him so that she straddled him.

She found herself atop Jasper, palms planted on his chest for purchase, uncertain what she was meant to do next.

His ribs were paining him. Badly. But he was also desperate to make love to Octavia.

Jasper was in a complex coil, trapped in two different kinds of suffering, both his own making. He ought to have seen old Tim Bradley coming with that fire iron, and he ought to have known better than to allow his gorgeous wife to ride his thigh this morning while he played with her nipple.

And yet, here he was, beneath her. He paused to bask in the sight. Ebony curls wild and flowing down her shoulders and back. The aristocratic and dainty lines of her face: golden-brown eyes with their thick, dark lashes, eyes wide, cheekbones sharp, cheeks flushed, her nose a straight little stubborn blade, her mouth too wide and full—a mouth a man could not help but to look upon and envision in all manner of sinful acts. The creamy globes of her breasts tipped with pert, pink nipples he knew how to tease and suck and bite until she moaned. The sweet, fleshy curves of her belly and waist, the dark curls shielding her mound parted to reveal glistening pink folds and one demanding, swollen pearl. He wanted her on his tongue again, and he would have asked her to sit on his face if he thought he could last that long.

As it was, no. Even the most experienced rakehells had a limit, and Octavia finding her pleasure was his. Every part of him was on the brink. His ballocks were drawn tight from the feeling of her cunny, so drenched, clamping on his finger. She was like molten silk. Hot and smooth and soft.

Her awakening to desire was the most erotic sight he had ever beheld, and as a jaded scoundrel to whom ladybirds were not strangers, he had witnessed some deuced depraved entertainments. Hell, he had seen, and partaken in, acts that would have shocked even the most hardened voluptuary.

“You are beautiful,” he managed to say, pleased with himself for stringing together coherent words despite his desperate state.

As the bliss began to fade, her countenance changed, growing less confident. “What…I do not know…”

Yes, what a bastard he was, havin

g his wife, newly introduced to fucking, ride him as if she were a seasoned harlot. And yet, thanks to his damned ribs, this was the only way either of them was going to have complete satisfaction.

“You need to be the one atop this time,” he said, short of breath thanks to a combination of lust and pain. But for Jasper, this was life. He would not have it any other way.

Her dark brows rose. “I can?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “You can. And will.”

He took hold of her waist. She was still wonderfully wet and prepared. That would render this far easier.

“Jasper?”

He guided her up. “Brace your hands on either side of me, sweet.”

She did as he asked, her hair falling around them in waves, a dark, decadent, sweet-smelling curtain. That exotic floral perfume of hers wrapped him in a spell. He was lost for a moment, until his aching cock reminded him of what needed to come next.

Tags: Scarlett Scott The Sinful Suttons Historical
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