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

“I want to fuck you, Gwyneth. Will you let me?” He turned her onto her back, pulled her nightgown up around her neck and straddled her. “I mean fuck you. Just fuck you until we can’t see anymore.”

Gwyneth’s heart thudded with need. “Yes. Yes, Jeremy. Fuck me. Hard. Until we can’t see or hear or feel anything but what we’re doing.”

His gaze fell to her body as he began to rub himself against her, heating her eager flesh, hitting the sweet spot that made her shudder and open herself to him.

He thrust himself between her thighs, pushing them apart roughly, his hand strong and forceful and bringing a gasp to her throat.

There were no kisses, no sweet words, no tender caresses.

There was just Jeremy, hard and thick, plunging into her to his balls without a moment’s check.

“God,” he hissed, thrusting again and again, so forcefully she moved upward with each push. “God, yes.”

His eyes closed, and Gwyneth held on, locking her ankles around him, heaving her hips against him as best she could.

It was rough, but it was magnificent, this pouring of lust and desire, this fierce and savage fucking.

He reached beneath her, grabbing her buttocks and pulling her sharply into him, always pounding, forcing his rigid cock deep into her body.

She clung to him, a limpet on a rock withstanding a battering storm.

Suddenly he pulled out, making her whimper. But within seconds he’d turned her over and pulled her to her hands and knees.

“I love you like this,” he muttered low, leaning over her and biting her shoulder, claiming her. “I could do this for hours…”

He thrust inside her again, deeply, making her feel the fullness of him as he slid easily in and out. She was soaked, her thighs wet and her breasts swinging with every pounding of his hips against hers.

“God, Jeremy…yes…”

He closed the gap between them, shortening his plunges and reaching for a nipple, grabbing it and pinching it with his free hand.

“Ohhh…” It was a strangled gasp as her arousal threatened to choke her.

“Gwyneth,” he whispered, “I’m going to come. Come with me…”

He locked her against him, his thrusts sharp and rapid, and released her breast only to seek out and find the slick lips between her thighs.

He rubbed just the right place, and she screamed into her pillow as a tremendous release hit her, shattering her and rocketing her into some kind of erotic madness.

Jeremy held tight, his fingers still rubbing those wet lips and his cock rubbing deep inside her. “Jesus, oh sweet…”

He came, massive eruptions that set off another round of spasms, almost painful in their intensity. She clutched the bedclothes, letting her thighs slip wide apart as her world rattled and shook around Jeremy’s cock.

She had no breath to scream, no ability to move, she could only ride him as her body trembled on and on, refusing to subside even as she felt the hardness soften inside her.

“Gwyneth” he whispered, his arms holding her tightly against him. “My dearest Gwyneth…”

She eased, finally, her muscles frail and loose, glad of his strength. “Jeremy,” she whispered back, out of breath and ready to collapse.

Now the tenderness came; he helped them both topple onto the bed, pulling the covers up and settling her head on his shoulder, his arm around hers, tucking her close.

“That was…” His voice tapered off.

She managed a small chuckle. “I agree. It was.”

“I didn’t hurt you?” He squeezed her a little. “I was rough. Too rough perhaps…”

“No. Stop. It was wonderful,” she reached up to put her fingers to his lips. “Don’t ever apologise.”

He sighed. “All right, I won’t.”

Silence fell, warm and comfortable, where each listened to the sounds of the other. Gwyneth could hear his heart beating steadily now as his body relaxed.

“She wasn’t what she told me.”

His comment made her blink. “I don’t understand.”

His chest rose and fell as he exhaled roughly. “Susanna. I was led to believe she was an innocent miss. All the time I loved her, in the darkest of my days in prison, I believed I had saved a virtuous young woman from a heinous rapist.”

“What are you saying?” Her skin chilled.

“She was a whore, Gwyneth. And the man I killed was one of her customers.”

“Dear God.” It was all Gwyneth could manage.

“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I see now how clever she was, because she convinced me that I was her saviour. Her sweet words, her delicate distress…no wonder I fell in love with her. And no wonder it hurt so badly when she told me she was to wed another. After all I’d been through…”

“Tell me all of it,” Gwyneth urged quietly.

“I didn’t find out until recently. When we met at St. Polycarp’s. She informed me her husband was unkind to her, but she slipped up and mentioned he’d forced her to work. Just like before, she said.” He swallowed. “Just like before.”

Gwyneth slid her arm around his chest and held him close.

“I looked at her when she said that, and I knew. I just knew right away what she meant. So I confronted her with it. And all she did was shrug.”

“That’s why she walked away from you in the first place?”

“Possibly,” he nodded. “Or maybe she thought a rich old man was a better bet than an ex-prisoner. I don’t know. But I realised over the past weeks that my mourning was more anger than grief. That I was so angry at her and angry at myself for not seeing what she was. And then…”

“On top of that, you felt guilty for all those kinds of emotions, didn’t you?” Gwyneth stroked his cheek. “It’s natural and normal, Jeremy. She was entwined in