"Very impatient," she murmured, placing her palms on his chest and pushing herself upright so she straddled his legs. "And seeing how you seem to be… um, ready." she breathed, tugging her petticoats out of the way with a tantalizing movement of her hips and bottom, "why don't we"—rising slightly on her knees, she guided his rigid erection to her pulsing labia and softly finished—"be libertine together…"
He shut his eyes as she lowered herself, the sensation momentarily heart stopping, and when he opened his eyes, his erection ensconced deep inside her, he said in a low, heated growl, "Maybe I'll fuck
you
to death first…"
"Starring now, I hope, Monsieur le Comte," Flora murmured, coquettish demand beneath the velvety resonance.
His hands came up leisurely and grasped her waist, but his grip was hard and possessive, and his dark eyes were touched with a flash of temper. "You like to give orders." His grip tightened at her waist.
"Sometimes. Do you mind?" Her violet eyes were teasing and unintimidated, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
He shrugged so she felt the small ripple of his muscles under her palms. "It depends," he. carefully said.
"On?" She moved her hips slightly so they both felt the slippery friction, the acute throbbing response.
"On what the orders are," he answered with a seductive smile, his temper dispelled by carnal diversion.
"You're accommodating, then," she whispered, his powerful shoulder muscles bunching under her hands.
He lifted her as if she were weightless, sliding her up his rigid length. "To a point," he murmured, intent on gauging distance.
"Will I know… when that point is reached?" she asked in a breathy hush, tantalized by the exquisite gliding ascent.
He held her suspended on the pulsing tip of his penis for a provocative moment. "You'll know," he whispered, exerting a gradual pressure downward with his hands so she was slowly filled with his hardness again, deeply pene-
traced, stretched. Then he arched his back and drove upward that small sensational distance more.
She cried out in a fierce heated whimper at the irrepressible rush of pleasure. And when the flaring intensity had partially diminished and her lashes half lifted to let the world in again, he softly said, "Hello…" He smiled then, self-confident, assured, a man skilled at pleasing women. "And now we have to take your gown off, sweet
bia
," he murmured, sliding his fingertips over the silk-covered stays at her waist. "It's in my way."
"Only my gown?" It was a sultry courtesan voice, heated and low, and those violet eyes gazing down at him were wanton, audacious in their challenge.
He chuckled at her unabashed sensuality. "We'll begin with that," he softly replied, "and go on from there. We've plenty of time. It's a long night…"
The breakfast room was awash with sunshine, Lucie's bright chatter sunny like the warm spring day outside. The small table held a steaming array of food on crested china and gleaming silver: scones; porridge; bacon; ham; poached eggs; buttered toast; colorful jams. A small bouquet of lavender-blue iris in a celadon vase graced the center of the table, the arrangement suitably low so conversation wasn't impeded. Adam and Flora, seated opposite each other at the round table, exchanged discreet smiles over the delicate blooms. Neither had slept more than an hour, their senses languid in the aftermath of a night of heated passion, tantalized by their nearness, hot desire a tangible presence to the initiated.
"Can we ride to see the baby foxes?" Lucie inquired, stirring Chantilly cream into her hot chocolate so briskly it splashed over the rim of the cup.
"After your lessons," Adam replied, ignoring the widening chocolate stains on the linen cloth, a silver spoon with a dollop of cream in his hand. "Do you want more?"
"After my
morning
lessons?" Lucie stopped stirring in her excitement.
"Right after," Adam answered. Assuming her nonreply to his question meant no, he
He shut his eyes as she lowered herself, the sensation momentarily heart stopping, and when he opened his eyes, his erection ensconced deep inside her, he said in a low, heated growl, "Maybe I'll fuck
you
to death first…"
"Starring now, I hope, Monsieur le Comte," Flora murmured, coquettish demand beneath the velvety resonance.
His hands came up leisurely and grasped her waist, but his grip was hard and possessive, and his dark eyes were touched with a flash of temper. "You like to give orders." His grip tightened at her waist.
"Sometimes. Do you mind?" Her violet eyes were teasing and unintimidated, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
He shrugged so she felt the small ripple of his muscles under her palms. "It depends," he. carefully said.
"On?" She moved her hips slightly so they both felt the slippery friction, the acute throbbing response.
"On what the orders are," he answered with a seductive smile, his temper dispelled by carnal diversion.
"You're accommodating, then," she whispered, his powerful shoulder muscles bunching under her hands.
He lifted her as if she were weightless, sliding her up his rigid length. "To a point," he murmured, intent on gauging distance.
"Will I know… when that point is reached?" she asked in a breathy hush, tantalized by the exquisite gliding ascent.
He held her suspended on the pulsing tip of his penis for a provocative moment. "You'll know," he whispered, exerting a gradual pressure downward with his hands so she was slowly filled with his hardness again, deeply pene-
traced, stretched. Then he arched his back and drove upward that small sensational distance more.
She cried out in a fierce heated whimper at the irrepressible rush of pleasure. And when the flaring intensity had partially diminished and her lashes half lifted to let the world in again, he softly said, "Hello…" He smiled then, self-confident, assured, a man skilled at pleasing women. "And now we have to take your gown off, sweet
bia
," he murmured, sliding his fingertips over the silk-covered stays at her waist. "It's in my way."
"Only my gown?" It was a sultry courtesan voice, heated and low, and those violet eyes gazing down at him were wanton, audacious in their challenge.
He chuckled at her unabashed sensuality. "We'll begin with that," he softly replied, "and go on from there. We've plenty of time. It's a long night…"
The breakfast room was awash with sunshine, Lucie's bright chatter sunny like the warm spring day outside. The small table held a steaming array of food on crested china and gleaming silver: scones; porridge; bacon; ham; poached eggs; buttered toast; colorful jams. A small bouquet of lavender-blue iris in a celadon vase graced the center of the table, the arrangement suitably low so conversation wasn't impeded. Adam and Flora, seated opposite each other at the round table, exchanged discreet smiles over the delicate blooms. Neither had slept more than an hour, their senses languid in the aftermath of a night of heated passion, tantalized by their nearness, hot desire a tangible presence to the initiated.
"Can we ride to see the baby foxes?" Lucie inquired, stirring Chantilly cream into her hot chocolate so briskly it splashed over the rim of the cup.
"After your lessons," Adam replied, ignoring the widening chocolate stains on the linen cloth, a silver spoon with a dollop of cream in his hand. "Do you want more?"
"After my
morning
lessons?" Lucie stopped stirring in her excitement.
"Right after," Adam answered. Assuming her nonreply to his question meant no, he
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