Free WidowsWickedWish by Lynne Barron Page A

setting off a riot of sensations deep within
her.
    “I’m not ready,” she whispered.
    “There’s no rush, love,” he assured her through clenched
teeth.
    She looked down to where their bodies met. His member lay
upon his flat stomach, only a few inches visible. Wanting to see more, she
scooted back until she was resting on his thighs and his…his…
    “What does one call it?” she asked.
    “There are any number of terms,” he replied gruffly.
    “Such as?” She lifted one hand to touch him, thought better
of it and dropped her hand before meeting his eyes once more.
    “Go ahead,” he urged her, his voice silky and low.
    “Is it permitted?”
    “God, yes. Permitted, encouraged, begged for on occasion.”
    Tentatively she drew one finger around the engorged head,
watched in fascination as his flesh pulsed and seemed to grow even harder,
longer.
    “Such as…” she prompted as she trailed her fingers down his
length and through the curls at the base.
    “Manhood is the politest term I can think of,” he rasped
out.
    “Manhood,” she repeated reverently. His manhood twitched and
Olivia looked up at him through her lashes before dropping her curious gaze
once more.
    “Does it pain you?” It looked as if it might. The fat tip
seemed an angry shade of red, almost purple.
    “Not pain precisely,” he answered around a groan. “Take me
in your hand, Livy, I’m begging you.”
    She wrapped her fingers around him, marveled at the heat,
the life that flowed through his hard flesh. “So soft and yet as hard as
steel.”
    “Jesus, Livy.” His hands fell away from her hips to grip the
coverlet as his hips lurched, his manhood gliding through her hand. When he
subsided onto the bed again with a groan, Olivia tightened her grip and drew
her hand from base to tip and back down again, watching all the while. Again
and again she caressed him, slowly, steadily. She listened to his breathing as
it became more labored and peeped up at him through her lashes.
    He was looking right back at her, his eyes gleaming as
bright as the hottest, bluest flame, his jaw clamped tight, a fine sheen of
moisture beading his forehead.
    “And the less polite terms?” she asked.
    Jack looked back at her blankly.
    “You said manhood was a polite term,” she prompted.
    “Penis,” he replied around a groan that might have been a
laugh.
    Olivia wrinkled her brow. “What else?”
    When he did not reply, she squeezed him gently.
    “Ah, Livy, you’re killing me,” he panted.
    “Sorry.” When she made to remove her hand, horrified that
she’d hurt him, Jack wrapped his hand around hers.
    “Killing me in the best possible way,” he assured her before
pumping their joined hands down his length and back up again.
    They both watched as their hands moved over him, his large
and dark, hers small and pale, the hard flesh beneath a rosy pink. Olivia soon
found the grip and rhythm he so obviously wanted.
    “Shaft,” he whispered before withdrawing his hand from hers
to find her breast. His other hand came up and he cupped both breasts, gently
squeezed.
    “Shaft,” she repeated, arching her back to press her breasts
firmly into his hands. She increased her tempo, her hand gliding up and down
his shaft, faster, firmer. Her breath stuttered when he caught her nipples
between thumbs and forefingers and gave her the slightest pinch.
    “Oh, my,” she whispered, her eyes drifting closed to better
absorb the pleasure shooting through her like lightning, shooting deep within
her womb.
    “Cock,” he growled.
    “Cock,” she repeated in a shocked whisper. “Cock, truly?”
    Jack laughed even as his hips rose and he pumped his cock in
counterpoint to the movement of her hand, once, twice and again.
    “Do you want to put your cock inside me?” Olivia asked, sure
that he must. She certainly hoped he did.
    “Yes Livy!”
    Jack grasped her hips and raised her over his cock until he
was poised at the opening to her body. It took her a moment to