Free WidowsWickedWish by Lynne Barron Page B

understand what
he intended.
    “Are you certain we can do it this way?” she asked
curiously.
    “Quite certain,” he assured her with a wolfish grin.
    Olivia grinned back at him and guided his cock to that place
that felt so terribly empty. As the fat head prodded her flesh, she met his
eyes and held them, wanting to watch his face, see his expression as she took
him into her body.
    Trusting him to hold her steady, she relaxed her thighs,
felt the engorged tip slip into her, welcomed the slight sting, the familiar stretching
sensation as she impaled herself upon him.
    “Jack,” she moaned as she slid down his length, as her body
yielded to his invasion.
    She flexed her thighs and rose, widened her stance, and
lowered herself down his hot, hard length again, and again, taking more of his
cock into her body with each pass until she was filled with him, wonderfully,
impossibly filled by him.
    “You’re so deep inside me,” she whispered in awe.
    Jack lay beneath her, completely still but for his heaving
chest, his eyes intent upon her face. Olivia dragged her gaze from his face,
down his neck, his chest and taut stomach. She looked down at the point where
their bodies joined. She rose, her fascinated gaze locked on their bodies. She
bore down again, watched as she took him into her body once more.
    “Look at us,” she whispered. “We fit perfectly.”
    “Livy,” Jack growled as his hands gripped her hips and he
held her while he thrust up into her, hard and deep. Olivia pushed down with
each thrust, quickly found the rhythm he needed, the rhythm she needed.
    “Ah, Jack,” she sighed as she felt the first shivers of
release dancing through her limbs. “Your cock…my God. It’s wonderful…amazing.”
    Jack bucked beneath her, ground his hips against her and she
felt him explode into her. It pushed her right over the edge. Her climax was
swift and violent, washing through her, wave after wave of pleasure.
    “Jack!”
    His hand was on the back of her head pulling her forward,
pulling her lips down to his. He muffled her cries, her moans, his tongue
urgent in her mouth.
    Olivia collapsed on him, her arms and legs limp and
trembling. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, smiled against his
skin.
    “Livy, you’re going to kill me,” he whispered into her hair.
“The things you say.”

Chapter Seven
     
    Jack decided that Purgatory was a small parlor in a gray
stone cottage in the north of England. And that time stood still in Purgatory,
a fact that Dante had forgotten to mention. His particular Purgatorial parlor
was warm and cozy. It was also overflowing with loud, rambunctious children. As
the afternoon fell away into evening the children clamored about the room,
playing some sort of game involving hidden treasures and shouted clues. He
shifted in his chair in an effort to ease the constriction in his breeches.
    All he wanted was to whisk the Countess of Palmerton into
some secluded corner of the cottage, an empty chamber, the pantry, even the
tiny linen closet in the hall would suffice.
    So long as there was room enough to take Olivia into his
arms, to pull her soft curves against him, to bury himself in her heat.
    Dinner was no better but for the fact that the pristine
white tablecloth hid the erection that had been his constant companion
throughout the interminable afternoon. He attempted, with little success, to
keep his eyes and his mind off the lady responsible for his uncomfortable
condition. It was impossible.
    Olivia sat directly across the round table, seemingly
unaffected by their earlier lovemaking, as if she hadn’t taken his cock into
her small hand and nearly brought him to climax with her enthusiastic, if
somewhat clumsy, caresses. As if she hadn’t risen above him and willingly,
eagerly taken him into her body, ridden him with abandon. What the lady lacked
in experience, she more than made up for in curiosity. Her curiosity was an
aphrodisiac, one he was only to eager to enjoy