The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3), Sahara Kelly [english novels for students .TXT] 📗

He moved onto the bed behind her, caressing her hips as he grasped his cock and rubbed it over her slick sex.

Head turned awkwardly, she watched his face as he entered her once more, slowly, deeply this time, deeper than before.

“Take me. All of me.”

She nodded, not sure if her voice would work.

“Good. So good.” He pressed home, and she sucked in air as he filled her, stretched her a little and drew a groan of pleasure from her as his body met hers.

Then, once again, he began to move.

She was close, so close. One hand found her breast, swinging beneath her in time with his thrusts. He tweaked her nipple, pinching it, a pain that only intensified the thrill of her mounting desires.

Gwyneth’s world spun madly as Harry worked his magic, finding new spots to rub, forcing her to ride with him, and then sealing her fate by a solid smack on her buttock. She cried out, but not with pain—with surprise.

“You like that,” he muttered, more to himself. He did it again, and yes, she found she liked it. The sting, the heat rushing to the spot and then his palms stroking her…sensations were rising that caught her completely off guard. Once again, Harry had surprised her in the very best of ways.

His hands seemed to be everywhere, his cock driving her ever higher, her skin heated beneath his slaps and then gentle strokes. She panted, little whimpers of need accompanying the sound of their bodies colliding in the age-old ritual.

His fingers drifted over her roundness, over her hips, then back to trail down the cleft between her buttocks, lingering on the tight ring of muscles and pressing against it.

She moaned, so aroused that this touch brought on a wave of almost violent sensation.

“Harry,” she cried, “please, oh please…”

She didn’t know what she was begging for, only that he would do something, anything, to finish her.

He heard. And he granted her wish.

Hips thundering against her, he reached down between her legs and pressed her mound, rubbing beneath in just the right spot.

The dual assault pushed her over the edge, and she grabbed a pillow, screaming into it as her world vanished into a maelstrom of erotic spasms that racked her body.

She barely heard his groan, but the flood of hot liquids releasing within her stimulated even more spasms, and a part of her knew he was sharing this moment.

Her muscles were out of control, grabbing his thickness, milking him so hard it was almost painful.

“Harry,” she gasped again, her fingers scrabbling on the bedclothes as she weathered the storm erupting within, helpless against the forces he’d awoken.

But at last her body eased and relaxed and her release faded, leaving her panting for breath. Harry withdrew, and she felt bereft, empty without him inside her as she collapsed, face first, onto the bed, limp and sated.

“Jesus God, woman,” Harry groaned as he fell beside her. “You are incredible.”

If she’d had the strength, she’d have agreed. But all she could do was mumble into the sheets. “Mmm.”

*~~*~~*

He woke her twice more during the night.

He craved her, surfacing from sleep to find himself painfully hard and already seeking the warm place between her legs.

She seemed to share those feelings, since within seconds of him touching her she was parting her thighs in welcome, and moaning a little as he entered her.

The second time he pulled her on top of him, and she sleepily straddled his hips, sliding down onto his cock as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gwyneth,” he whispered. “What have you done to me?”

At that, she smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Nothing you haven’t already done to me,” she whispered back.

And then she began to move, displaying a natural grace and rhythm that took his breath away. A pale shadow in the darkness of the room, she rose and fell, her breasts swaying, her hands rising to push her hair out of the way as she found a rhythm that pleased them both.

Long strokes, silken fire cradling his cock, Harry was convinced he’d found heaven.

He moved, half-sitting up, and pushed a pillow behind his back. Now he could hold her breasts, tweak her nipples and feast on them if he desired.

Which he did, bringing soft sighs of pleasure from her throat.

Once again he let his hands cup her buttocks, stretching them apart, holding on as she rose and fell. With his body bent slightly, he could rub himself against her swollen nether lips, while running clever fingers down that darkened cleft, teasing the sensitive nerve endings he knew were awaiting his touch.

He felt her shudder inside as he pressed, then rubbed, then pressed again, finding the soft skin opening for him.

He explored her gently, slipping a fingertip into that tight darkness.

She gasped, and he let his other hand drift between them, finding her swollen mound and the treasure that had hardened into a nub beneath.

The erotic touches, combined with her movements, tipped them both over the edge, and on a silent scream Gwyneth shattered around him, her sheath gripping him with violent strength, milking him once again with savage spasms, breaking his focus and sending him flying.

They clung to each other, shuddering, an eternity of time spent floating in a void of utter ecstasy.

It ended too soon, and she tumbled on top of him, gasping for breath. “Harry,” she said. “I think I may be dead.”

“In that case we’re both dead,” he muttered, delicately adjusting their positions so that they could breathe.

She slid from him willingly, landing on her back, her chest still heaving as she panted. “Say hullo to Saint Peter, will you? I don’t have the energy…”

Within seconds she was asleep, her