Invitation to Ruin by Ann Vremont

were on our sides
facing each other.
    “Every day!” I answered.
    Insatiable, he reached between my legs,
fingering me to the edge of another peak. “And did you touch
yourself when I was not there to touch you?”
    “You do think I am wanton!” My accusation
lacked any genuine indignation. I knew he had every reason to think
me so, although my unexpected nature seemed to please him.
    “Not so,” he assured me. “It is better, do
you not think, for a woman to pleasure herself when her husband is
away than to let the heat of her passions melt her reserve with
other men.”
    “I would never do such a thing, Sebastian!”
Did he think I might seek another lover? He could not, but there
was caution in his voice and I rushed to reassure him. “Other men
are insignificant creatures compared to you.”
    “But I must sometimes make long trips,
Gabrielle, to see to the entire estate’s needs.” His fingers found
their way into my core, their suggestive probing shocking me all
over again. “And now, you have no fear of injuring yourself should
you miss me.”
    “Your father makes those trips.” I heard the
weakness of my argument in my voice. It was not that I lacked
conviction in what I said, but that he argued with his hands as
well as with words and logic. My mind felt wrapped in a warm, wet
blanket. I could only repeat myself as he brought me to climax so
easily. “Your father makes those trips.”
    Stiffening beside me, he withdrew.
    “Shhhh…love, what troubles you?” My voice
broke with concern.
    “I will be absent. Show me how you will
survive the separation.”
    I could feel my cheeks flush and I drew my
hands to my chest, unsure of how to respond.
    “Roll onto your back, Gabrielle,” he ordered
and I obeyed. “Good,” he said and took my hand, placing it between
my legs. “Do you remember how I stroked this little button?” He
asked.
    I nodded and then remembered that he couldn’t
see me. “Yes.”
    “When I am gone, you can stroke it when you
find yourself missing me too much.” He held his hand over mine and
forced my index finger straight. Lightly, he made me stroke the
length of the button’s spine until I began to moan from the sweet
sensation of it. “Do not stop rubbing that sweet pussy, Gabrielle,”
he said and removed his hand from mine.
    “How does it feel?” he asked, his breath warm
against my ear.
    “Heaven,” I confessed, my strokes growing
more rapid, firmer.
    Sebastian eased up the bed until his back was
against the frame. Spreading his legs wide, he told me to roll
over, onto my knees while I continued to touch myself.
    When I was before him, like a cat, he
presented his rod to me. He was hard again, deliciously so, and I
took a tentative lick at the plump head that rested atop its thick
length. He was still coated with my juices, and I licked the length
of his shaft, groaning with need as my bottom pumped the air, my
fingers vigorously working my sex.
    He knotted his hands in my hair, making sure
that, as my mouth covered him, I kept my strokes deep and
thorough.
    “Sweet Gabrielle,” he groaned, his body
pressed tight against the bed’s headboard. “I will never forget how
sweet your mouth, how sweet your pussy. I will always worship your
taste and your body.”
    His bold words drove me wild and I tightened
my mouth around his shaft, letting my saliva pool so that my lips
could work him at a faster pace, a pace that matched the hard
strokes I delivered to my own body. I felt his hands clench my hair
tighter, his whole frame stiffening.
    “Ah, release me, Gabrielle, before it is too
late!”
    A disobedient wanton, I only clamped his rod
more firmly in my mouth, stilling the strokes to the shaft that I
might suck his seed from him as my own pleasure flowed warm down my
thighs.
    “Gabrielle…Gabrielle,” he cried, shuddering
against me, filling my mouth with the taste of his lust and love
for me. I sucked harder, abandoning my own exhausted pleasures to
grab his