Free The Harlot by Saskia Walker Page A

again, making sure she felt it where her puss was pushed out between her open thighs, as if begging for attention. “Is this making your situation worse?”
    â€œYes. Please, sire, I must…” she whimpered. “Please help me.”
    With his hand a hair’s breadth from her arse, he paused. He ground his teeth, counting time. When she wriggled closer, he moved his hand away. The tension between them had grown too large and unrelenting. This must be done or they could not move on.
    â€œWhat will I get from you in return?” he demanded. “Think about your answer carefully.”
    Silence filled the room, the tension between them sharp as a drawn dagger. He could almost hear her thoughts racing. Nonetheless, she kept still, and he noticed that she had her fingertips on the floor to balance herself.
    Breathlessly, she replied. “I will try harder to get it right, next time.”
    â€œThat was the correct answer.” He moved his hand down to the cushion of her puss. “Here? Is this where you need a man?”
    She kept still, her head hanging down, her hair trailing the floor. “Yes.”
    Her breath was scarcely above a whisper, as if she did not trust him to relieve her of her burden. Finally, she had recognized who was in charge here. He smiled, and stroked his finger the length of her slit. A muffled moan issued from below.
    She would do better next time, and she would not tease or question him. Stroking back and forth from damp hole to swollen nub, he marveled at how her moans rose in response, how he was able to play her like an instrument. When his finger on her clit started her panting breathlessly, he concentrated on that part of her. Never before had he found such a sensual, responsive gem. Gone now was his need to teach her she could not lead this situation. Instead, he wanted to makeher come. His desire to feel it happen was binding. He stroked her to the brink of completion and then eased two fingers inside her. The sigh of relief she let out when he thrust them deep was satisfying.
    He rested his free hand on the base of her spine, and moved his fingers in and out of her hot, wet sheath. Her flesh responded instantly, closing hard on him, releasing, and closing again. All the time her juices flowed, coating his fingers. It required every ounce of his self-control not to take over there and then, not to thrust his cock inside her to ease their mutual need. Instead he forced himself to learn the make of her, to explore her and enjoy the way her inner muscles grasped at his fingers.
    When her body stiffened, he found his fingers crushed and then swimming in her juices. She shuddered from head to toe. When she wilted over his thighs, he pulled his fingers free. Rolling her over, he lifted her and sat her up on his lap.
    She rested against him, her breathing unsteady.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she murmured against his shoulder, as soon as she could speak, “that I did not do it right.”
    Gregor did not trust himself to reply. He rested his arm around her back, tucking her against him. It would take some time before his erection subsided, but it had been a necessary lesson for her to learn. And him? Perhaps. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know she was a temptress. That was why he’d rescued her. What he hadn’t bargained for was that she would tempt him quite so relentlessly.
    She looked up at him. Her lips had darkened to red and her eyes were shining. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the ribbon that held it and her eyelashes were damp and glistening. How strange that it had affected her so. Was it the pleasure she had been afforded, or the unwilling submission to him that had brought that about?
    The urge to kiss her, to feel those soft lips under his own, was great. To have her body—supple and pleasured as it already was—under his on the bed, where he would bring her to release again and enjoy her more specifically from the