It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Scandal

She could feel her muscles stretching, protesting, then there was a burst of relief as the tight muscles of her pussy seemed to cave and surrender to the thick cock invading it.

"That's it, my little minx," he purred at her ear, increasing his pace as he wound a thick strand of her hair around his fist. "Your tight cunt is going to take every fuck I give it tonight…even when it hurts."

He kissed her hard and deep, and she responded with shameless eagerness and blistering lust. “I'll make it sweet as well, but days after tonight, you'll push your hands beneath the blanket, spread your legs wide, and play with your sore but well-pleased pussy and remember every stroke of my cock," he whispered roughly, pressing short biting kisses on her lips, in perfect tandem to the short, almost brutal shunts deep inside her core.

The wicked whisper of each illicit word awakened something she was not certain she could ever put back to sleep. It flared from a hidden recess of her being she'd never known existed. The spark flickered, and burned brighter with each roll of his hips, with each filthy word he used to praise her until he burned away any sense of modesty she'd ever possessed and left a pure carnal woman behind.

Sensuality hazed through her mind. Something wicked…dark…electrifying arrowed through her and the roll of her hips became more enticing, instead of accepting. Her hips swiveled, they rose, undulating beneath Gabriel, urging him to ravage her with decadent greed.

Still kissing her endlessly, he withdrew and thrust deep, stinging her pussy with sweet erotic pain. One of his hands lowered to her hips and held tight, while the other hugged her across her shoulders, caging them in erotic intimacy. Then he ravaged her cunt as he’d promise, with sharp, deep thrusts that filled her with ecstasy. His head buried at her neck as he stroked inside her powerfully.

He drew out and then plunged deep. Again. And again. And again. Each slow plunge ignited a burst of fire deep down in her stomach until sweet, mind-shattering ecstasy blew through her. Pleasure unlike anything she could have conceived blossomed in her and tore her apart. She couldn't move as shudder after shudder of release rippled through her, and with a loud shout, he hugged her to him and emptied his seed inside her.

They stayed hugged together for a very long time. Finally, when their hearts had calmed, Gabriel withdrew from her gently and pressed a kiss to her brow. Then he climbed off the bed, the flickering fire cast dancing shadows over his naked form.

He cleaned her gently, before coming down on the bed and hugging her from behind. She closed her eyes, and her breath released in a long sigh as she snuggled closer into his incredible heat.

“With everything I have. With all I am, I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her nape.

She turned in the cage of his arms, staring into his eyes. “I love you too,” she said smiling. “So very much.”

Primrose burrowed into the warmth and comfort of his embrace, slipping her hands around his waist and resting her head on his chest. The wind raged outside, the windowpane rattled, and when the air grew chilled, he did not leave her, only drew the coverlet over their entwined frame.

She had been wicked and wanton…and he had been so beautiful and honest with his desires. A soft smile played on her lips. She had not thought carnal surrender would bring this overwhelming sense of intimacy and shared secrets between them. The room was silent, the darkness comforting. And she drifted to sleep replete in his arms, with happiness in her heart.

Chapter 4

With the household still abed, Gabriel strolled along the eastern path of the estate, his boots sinking into the snow. Sancrest Manor was a majestic three-story building set in perfectly landscaped grounds which had always given him pleasure whenever he strolled. But now snow fell in a steady dribble, dotting the land with its frosted beauty. Quite perfect, for his mother had made all the preparations for a spot of skating on the northern section of the lake which had iced over. A cold morning mist crept over the land, and he inhaled the brisk, clean air into his lungs. This air was pleasant, much different than the smoke-filled and acrid scent of death and despair he’d inhaled during the war.

A feeling of hope and joy blanketed the air, and he felt a sense of peace which had been missing during the long months away. He was home, and it was a place where he intended to remain. He had plans to publish a series of books about a hero who’d seen the horrors and triumph of the war. A well-respected publisher had already responded to his letter of query with interest, drawing a parallel between Gabriel’s vibrant imagery, prose, and the social injustices imbued in his words to that of Charles Dickens. Gabriel only had to finish the first draft and deliver it to London. He chuckled, thinking of how flustered his family would be by that news. They were long used to him changing his profession as a lady changes her costume during the day.

He had studied law at Cambridge, and while he’d excelled there had been no passion in his heart for it. He’d then tried to manage a lesser estate of his father’s in Hampshire and had almost died of boredom. He followed his brother to town for a season, had attended several balls and routs and even had a lover or two, but had found no happiness in the frivolities of the season. He’d felt unmoored, like a ship without sails and had been unsure of his path in his life. He was the second son, a spare in the event, God forbid it, his brother died before producing a male heir. Gabriel did not want the responsibility of the earldom. No, George had been groomed for that since birth, and currently held the courtesy title, Viscount Weatherton.

Instead, Gabriel wanted something of h

is own, something he’d worked for and not solely dependent on his family’s connections. He’d tried to explain his desire to George who’d thought him ridiculous, but that feeling had still pushed Gabriel to secure a commission in her majesty’s army. He’d been eager to leave his idyllic life of privilege, and so he went to serve his country. His family hadn’t understood, his mother had been beside herself, as he’d tried to explain the sense of purpose that had filled his heart and pushed him to act. His father had been more supportive, proud even, and George too had been accepting. Primrose was more apprehensive, and he suspected she held back her full objections. But despite that he had committed, searching for a sense of self and purpose. And he had to find his to be fully worthy of her. He’d started the war as a 2nd lieutenant and had ended as a captain.

His injury had seen him retiring from the army, with a plan to pursue his passion for writing. Fickle and inconstant his brother would no doubt tease. But to Gabriel's mind, it was more important to find and hold onto the things he had a true passion for, which he discovered to be the art of writing during the war. The horrors of the war had indeed reinforced how fleeting life could be. It had been brutal and ugly, at times the stench of death and the hopeless cries of his comrades were a memory he could not escape. His sole solace became the quill and ink, recording his and others’ tales. He’d identified how much he wanted to live a full, abundant life where he was truly happy.

The only thing Gabriel had ever been sure of in his entire life was how he felt about Miss Primrose Markham. With a mere thought, his heart started to race, and happiness like he'd never know burst inside his chest. Bloody hell. It felt like the purest of sunshine on this frigid day, and he couldn't stop the grin that curved his lips.

He hadn’t planned to take her last night. Swirls of want and needs long denied had rushed through him, and he had given in to all the lustful cravings in his heart. And she had responded without shame or hysterics. His Primrose had been so adventurous she had damn near killed him. He had ridden her long and hard, rocking her soaking wet, yet impossibly tight pussy over his aching cock for the entire night. Three times he’d made love with her, and damn his soul he should have been gentler. The sensual creature he’d always sensed within her had stretched and purred such wonderful filthy things in his ears.

My pussy aches from your possession, but I do not want you to stop.

Lick my cunt…yes…just like that.

My cunt is yours, my love, make me your sweet harlot, my darling.

Each time she’d moaned, a drawn-out sound of shocked pleasure as if she couldn't believe the words spilling from her lips. How he’d reveled in the sensuality of it all.

A piercing whistle sounded, and he glanced around. His brother, George, waved in the distance. Gabriel went to meet him, and soon he was engulfed in a fierce hug. They were of a similar height and lankly built, but their similarities ended there, George taking his blond fairness and green eyes from their father, while Gabriel favored their mother with his black hair and dark blue eyes.

“I only arrived from town early this morning when the household was still abed. Verity told me you were here,” George said gruffly, releasing him. “I am happy you made it home.”

Gabriel grinned. “I’m happy to be home too. I presume Father went straight to bed?”

George nodded. He and their father hadn’t been home yesterday when Gabriel had arrived at Sancrest Manor. “I take it whatever business you had in London was successful?”