tightly wound he wasn’t sure he could stand it much longer, Marcus slid his hands over her hips, down, and then round, delving beneath her dress and finding warm, smooth skin. He swept his hand up her thigh, felt her tremble against him, and then he was cupping the hot centre of her through fine, silky lace.
Celia tore her mouth from his and dropped her head back, letting out a soft moan when he tilted her pelvis up and slid first one finger into her and then another. So hot and wet, so tight, instantly clamping around him as if she intended to never let him go.
He moved his fingers inside her. He stroked. Slid in and out. Found her clitoris with his thumb and teased. And all the while trailing his mouth along her jaw, down her neck and over her collarbone.
She clutched his shoulders and arched against him, whimpering and panting. Her hips jerked and he could feel her tightening around him. And then she moved her hands to his head, yanking it up and pulling it forwards, planting her mouth on his to smother her moan as she came, shaking in his arms, convulsing around his fingers and making him burn with the need to be inside her.
Shudders racked her body and she kissed him wildly as she rode it out, and then she was tearing her mouth away, breathing hard as she grappled with the button of his trousers and unzipped his fly, slipping her hand inside.
The minute she touched him, Marcus lost it, the desperation to bury himself in her as deep as he could overwhelming all logical thought and reason. He reached behind him, searching for the tiny hidden pocket in the lining of one of the tails, in which he’d stashed a condom months ago, which took longer than usual because his hands were shaking so much.
Not least because Celia was thrusting her hands beneath the waistband of his shorts and pushing them and his trousers down. She wrapped her fingers around him and moaned faintly, and he gripped her wrist and yanked her hand away before he exploded. He tore open the packet with his teeth, shook away the foil and, dimly remembering her concern about her dress, whipped her round.
He swiftly rolled the condom on, grimacing with the effort to control himself, then he bent her forwards and positioned her hands wide apart on the back of the bench. He lifted the back of her dress, rolling it up to her waist in the vague, distant hope that that would stop it creasing. He put his hands on her waist, slid them down over her hips. Tore at one side of her knickers, then the other, and the fabric floated to the ground. He pushed one knee between her legs, parting them. And then, holding her steady, he drove into her.
She was hot and wet and tight and felt like velvet, and he felt his self-control unravel.
With a soft groan she arched her back and threw her head back. She pushed back, and ground against him, and Marcus lost his battle to keep this clean. Leaning over her and wrapping a hand in her hair, he brought her head up and lowered his so that his mouth was close to her ear, and he started telling her what he wanted to do to her, how she felt.
She moaned again and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘hurry’ and he began thrusting in and out of her, harder and faster, all animal instinct and primitive need, until he could hear her breathing turn ragged, could see her knuckles go white as she clung onto the bench, could feel her tightening around him, squeezing him and wiping his mind of everything but her and the yearning for release clawing at his insides.
The pressure within him built. The heat surged like wildfire. She spread her legs wider, rotated her hips faster and ground against him harder. Then he felt her tense, heard her take a breath, and somehow, despite the haze of desire in his head and the hammering of his heart and the roaring in his ears, he untangled his hand from her hair, whipped it round and clamped it over her mouth a second before she came.
Her harsh, muffled cry and the feel of her unravelling
Celia tore her mouth from his and dropped her head back, letting out a soft moan when he tilted her pelvis up and slid first one finger into her and then another. So hot and wet, so tight, instantly clamping around him as if she intended to never let him go.
He moved his fingers inside her. He stroked. Slid in and out. Found her clitoris with his thumb and teased. And all the while trailing his mouth along her jaw, down her neck and over her collarbone.
She clutched his shoulders and arched against him, whimpering and panting. Her hips jerked and he could feel her tightening around him. And then she moved her hands to his head, yanking it up and pulling it forwards, planting her mouth on his to smother her moan as she came, shaking in his arms, convulsing around his fingers and making him burn with the need to be inside her.
Shudders racked her body and she kissed him wildly as she rode it out, and then she was tearing her mouth away, breathing hard as she grappled with the button of his trousers and unzipped his fly, slipping her hand inside.
The minute she touched him, Marcus lost it, the desperation to bury himself in her as deep as he could overwhelming all logical thought and reason. He reached behind him, searching for the tiny hidden pocket in the lining of one of the tails, in which he’d stashed a condom months ago, which took longer than usual because his hands were shaking so much.
Not least because Celia was thrusting her hands beneath the waistband of his shorts and pushing them and his trousers down. She wrapped her fingers around him and moaned faintly, and he gripped her wrist and yanked her hand away before he exploded. He tore open the packet with his teeth, shook away the foil and, dimly remembering her concern about her dress, whipped her round.
He swiftly rolled the condom on, grimacing with the effort to control himself, then he bent her forwards and positioned her hands wide apart on the back of the bench. He lifted the back of her dress, rolling it up to her waist in the vague, distant hope that that would stop it creasing. He put his hands on her waist, slid them down over her hips. Tore at one side of her knickers, then the other, and the fabric floated to the ground. He pushed one knee between her legs, parting them. And then, holding her steady, he drove into her.
She was hot and wet and tight and felt like velvet, and he felt his self-control unravel.
With a soft groan she arched her back and threw her head back. She pushed back, and ground against him, and Marcus lost his battle to keep this clean. Leaning over her and wrapping a hand in her hair, he brought her head up and lowered his so that his mouth was close to her ear, and he started telling her what he wanted to do to her, how she felt.
She moaned again and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘hurry’ and he began thrusting in and out of her, harder and faster, all animal instinct and primitive need, until he could hear her breathing turn ragged, could see her knuckles go white as she clung onto the bench, could feel her tightening around him, squeezing him and wiping his mind of everything but her and the yearning for release clawing at his insides.
The pressure within him built. The heat surged like wildfire. She spread her legs wider, rotated her hips faster and ground against him harder. Then he felt her tense, heard her take a breath, and somehow, despite the haze of desire in his head and the hammering of his heart and the roaring in his ears, he untangled his hand from her hair, whipped it round and clamped it over her mouth a second before she came.
Her harsh, muffled cry and the feel of her unravelling
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