Page 88 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

She felt him smile against her neck, and then he tugged her fully against him. She felt the sheer size of his body behind her, the strength in his thighs as he bracketed her, and the breadth of his shoulders as he pulled her arms up over her head.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice thick.

“Hold on to me.”

There was nothing to hold, arched as she was. Her left fingers found his head and played in his thick curls. Her right hand touched nothing but air, but he balanced her back against him so she remained stretched out in a decadent pose. Especially as his hands roamed over her body.

He skimmed over her belly, but quickly found her breasts. His touch was light through the muslin as he stroked her nipples. The feel was both rough and too light as the fabric scraped across her peak. “Take it off me,” she whispered. She didn’t know how she had the temerity to say such a thing.

He stilled for a moment. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He lifted up her shift. He worked slowly, first gathering it in his fists at her waist, then raising it all the way off while she shivered at her sudden nakedness. Her arms came down, and she meant to cover herself. There was bold, and then there was brazen. This was beyond both.

“Shhhh,” he whispered against her temple. “You’re beautiful. Let me look.”

He gathered her arms and again pulled them high, draping them over his shoulders. She found his curls—this time with her right hand—while he stroked the underside of her left arm where it stretched over their heads. Then he turned them both a bit.

“Look how beautiful you are.”

She opened her eyes, startled to realize she’d shut them tight. At his urging, she focused on a round mirror on the wall. It wasn’t so large as to show her full body, but she saw enough. Skin pink and pale in the candlelight. Her body narrow as she arched, her breasts heavy. And there he was behind her. His eyes were nearly luminous. His hands were tan, his shirtsleeves a rough blue, and he held her as if she were porcelain.

“Take off your shirt,” she said. She wanted to feel him as naked as she. His flesh, his heat. He smiled and pulled back to strip off his workman’s shirt.

She watched in the mirror as he stripped off everything. Shirt, shoes, and stockings, then his pants. Soon he stood naked and proud. His organ was large, even in the reflection, and she saw its dark reddish color amidst the gold of his hair and skin.

“Are you frightened?” he asked. “I’m large, but we will fit, I promise you.”

“I should be.”

“But you’re not?”

No. She was intrigued. Excited. She looked into his eyes. “I’m delighted.” Finally, she could begin her life unfettered.

He grinned in answer, but when she went to kiss him, he stopped her. “I have dreamed of this,” he said. “Let me watch you before I lose control.”

“Watch?” she asked, but then he turned her back to the mirror. He guided her arms again, stretching her out against him as he touched her. Skin on skin, calluses brushing across her in increasingly powerful caresses.

He stroked her breasts, then palmed her nipples. She gloried at the size of his hands and the way his eyes watched her flesh spilling through his fingers.

Then he took hold of her nipples and twisted, pinching and pulling while she writhed against him. Her blood felt electrified by lightning.

He supported her as she arched into his hands. He nudged her head back, and she relaxed against his shoulder. And she moved up and down on the hot fire of his organ where it pressed thick and wet against her bottom.

“Lift your knee,” he said.

She had no idea what he meant until he nudged his thigh between her legs. She bent her left knee, and he immediately used his leg to pull her open as he braced his foot on a nearby stool.

She still wore her stockings, bright white against the dark hair of his leg. The mirror didn’t show below her navel, but she could see his leg and hers intertwined when she looked down. And she could feel his finger press down her belly before sliding to the wetness below.

She had felt this before. She knew this sensation. The fullness, the erotic rub. He spread her and speared her. Touching everywhere with thick, callused fingers. Then the invasion deep inside her. She ground against his hand, wanting more.

Her breath caught, and fire flashed across her skin.

“Yes,” he said against her ear. “Come for me.”

She barely heard him, though she knew the tone of command. How silly to order such a thing, and yet she strained to obey. Faster and faster, he rubbed her. Tighter against her nub. Deeper inside her as she moved in ways outside of her control.