Free Seducing the Groom by Cheryl Holt

becoming aroused, and considering how fervently she’d found release the first time, the second occasion—with him inside her—would be even more dynamic.
    He was still clad in his robe, though it was open at the front. His arms were covered, his thighs and legs too, and she wanted him as naked as she, yearned to feast her eyes on his smooth flesh, to observe the mysteries of his delicious male torso.
    “I want this thing off of you,” she told him.
    “Never let it be said”—he ceased his calculated penetration—“that Lord Banbury denied a lady’s request.”
    Urgent, she yanked at the garment, and he moved about, assisting her in undressing him. Shortly, the robe was dislodged, and he hovered over her, delaying, letting her look her fill.
    He was magnificent. His shoulders were broad, his arms toned, his waist thin. His chest was coated with a thick matting of dark hair that dusted his nipples, then descended to his navel and downward to nest around his male parts.
    Tentatively, she reached out and rested her hands on him, running across ridge and valley, sinew and muscle. The cushion of hair tickled, and she sifted through the intriguing pile, rubbed her nose in it. He laughed, a rumbling baritone that reverberated to her very pores.
    He liked her handling—she could tell by his reactions—so she grew more bold, dipping down to fondle the spot where they were united, roving behind to cup his rounded, taut bottom.
    Perched above her, tense and agile, he managed to suffer through her virginal journey of discovery until she decided to explore his nipples. When she took the tiny nubs between finger and thumb, she sent him over the edge upon which he’d been precariously poised.
    Impatiently, he slapped her hands away. “I’ve got to come,” he said. “Now! I can’t wait.”
    “What should I do?”
    “Hold me tight. Don’t let go.”
    “I won’t.”
    She snuggled him to her bosom as he settled himself down, kissing her and trifling with her breasts. Meticulously, rhythmically, he bore into her, each encroachment spurring him nearer and nearer to the precipice.
    His rise of lust fueled her own, and without warning, another stupendous orgasm swept her away.
    As she’d suspected, with him inside her, it was incredibly potent, and she grasped at him, needing him as her stable point as she flew across the universe. Even in his overly incited condition, he was cognizant of her drastic plight. He enfolded her in his arms, cradling her through the tumult.
    “Stephen...” she wailed, the only word that appeared to matter in the torrid location to which she’d traveled.
    “You’re mine, Ellen,” he intently maintained, bewitching her with his possessiveness. “All mine.”
    She discerned a voice crying out his name once more, and she vaguely recognized it as her own. Never seeming to attain the peak, she glided higher and higher, and he continued to plunge into her throughout the spiral.
    He too approached the pinnacle, working himself into a frenetic dither. With no regard to her inexperienced circumstance, he’d taken her raucously. He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t propel forcefully enough or delve deeply enough. Sweat pooled on his brow and chest; his anatomy was rigid with strain.
    Pushing into her once, twice, thrice, he froze, his body stiff and unyielding. He tarried just there, his rod lusciously embedded. His climax commenced, and he twined an arm around her and clutched her to him, clenching her so fiercely that she worried he might crack one of her slender bones.
    A haunting moan echoed out, and he shuddered. Far inside, his phallus was throbbing as his hot seed surged from the tip and spewed across her womb. The fiery emission gushed out again and again, his pleasure interminable, as though he couldn’t find his way to the end.
    Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, her fingers clasping his buttocks, and she pulled him in, hugging him to her as he emptied himself.
    At