Wicked Deeds on a Winter Night

Ecstasy transformed his face. And she realized he hungered to be just as filthy with her urgings and praises. He spread her thighs wide as he lowered his mouth to the swollen, wet curves of her aching quim. The first touch of his tongue to her clitoris destroyed her. He licked at her drenched sex, piercing her flesh with mind-shattering pleasure whenever his tongue curled and rasped over the sensitive nub.

He licked her folds, parting them, and then he covered her nub with his lips, sucking it delicately. Then he came up, his lips glistening. “You’re so damned wet I could drown in you.”

“I can’t help it,” she cried, her entire body blushing red.

“You taste like heaven, ” he murmured. “Lick my lips. I want you to know the sweetness

I taste.”

She darted her tongue across the seam of his lips—sweet, musky, sultry. His growl of approval ghosted over her mouth, and right down to the empty aching place between her legs. He lowered himself back to her splayed legs and engulfed that bundle of pleasure into his mouth. Then he began to lick and suck it with firm destructive strokes. She writhed beneath him, twisting, bucking against his mouth as he worked her clitoris. Her nub was a swollen knot of burning need, and he kept her on a wicked edge of pleasure, never tipping her over.

She did everything he wanted, simply because she could not help the hunger crawling through her body. Her heels pressed into his shoulders as she arched her wet sex against his diabolical tongue. Primrose screamed, she moaned, and she begged for relief. Then he took her clitoris between his teeth and nipped. She trembled as pleasure swept through her, blistering and forceful.

He rose above her, his eyes dark with hunger. A firm, heavy pressure lodged against her wet opening. His gaze swept over her body once more, taking in her lascivious sprawl, and a pleased groan escaped his throat. Her eyes dropped to her splayed thighs, to where they connected, gasping weakly as the broad flared head of his cock parted the wet folds of her quim. He kissed her, centering her to the taste of his lips, as he began to work his cock inside her in shallow thrusts that opened her, stretched her to accept his steady penetration.

“Gabriel…,” She sobbed his name against his lips. “Make me yours.”

He leaned over her, his expression so gentle, so filled with approval that her heart clenched. “It’s going to hurt, my Primrose.” His voice was dark, excited. “You’re going to scream for me, and you’re going to love it.”

Then he shoved his cock up inside her dripping opening in one, smooth movement. The sudden penetration had her arching at the pleasure-pain of his abrupt impalement. Her body was so very wet, soft, and yielding, but even so, her muscles resisted his invasion, and her core quivered to accommodate his thickness.

She lost her breath; she lost any control of her body. “Gabriel!” she gasped raggedly at the unbearable pressure filling her sheath.

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 his 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.