Free Their Wicked Ways by Julia Keaton

tensed, then melted as
warmth spread through her.  She felt a tremor run through his body.  Her body
answered with a quiver of its own, tightening with expectancy.
     
    She settled closer.  Finding
her palms flattened against his upper chest, she began a slow exploration of
the body beneath the layers of clothing, skating her palms up and across his
broad shoulders, down along his arms and then back to his chest, following the
contours of his chest from his shoulders to his hard belly.  She hadn’t
realized how truly immense he was until she found herself on his lap, dwarfed
by his size, and it both surprised and delighted her.
     
    Her desire burgeoned, urging
her to search for more pleasurable contact.  She ceased to be an accepting
vessel and struck off on an exploration of her own, stroking her tongue along
his, closing her mouth around his thrusting tongue and suckling.  And as she
did, she slid her hand lower, along his thigh, searching.
     
    A jolt went through him as
she discovered the turgid flesh she’d been seeking, cupped her hand over it,
pressing down as she explored its length and breadth.  Feeling the size of it
made moisture seep into her slit with desire.  Her muscles quivered with acute
longing to have that broad length plunged deep inside her.
     
    He tore his mouth from hers,
gasping hoarsely, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.  “God!  Don’t!” He growled,
grasping her wrist.  “I’ll explode.”  The words were no sooner out of his mouth
than his eyes popped open.  Color flooded his face.  “My God, Bronte!  I’m
sorry, darlin’.  I forgot myself.”
     
    Bronte slipped one hand
behind his head, squirming on his hard lap, teasing him and feeling her desire
increase at his reaction.  “Shut up, Darcy,” she murmured, pressing her lips to
his once more, urging him to taste of her, longing to taste him again.
     
    The invitation was too much
for him.  The floodgates he’d barely restrained broke.  He ravaged her mouth
with savage possession, running shaking hands over her body, pulling her
tightly against him and then pushing her away to explore her with his hands
again.
     
    His hand skated over her hip
and around her thigh, fingers curving into her mound just as she slid her
tongue into his mouth.  Bronte thrilled at his groan, the suction of his mouth,
and the pressure of his fingers so close to where she needed them.  She knew it
would be exciting to kiss him, to hold him like this and be caressed in return,
but fantasy hadn’t prepared her for actuality. 
     
    Touching him surged through
her system with drugging effect, leaving her achy and feverish and longing for
more.  Her channel wept with need, preparing to accept his invasion if he would
only cease to tease her with his fingers.  The thin cloth of her day dress and
chemise were far too thick in her mind.  What she needed was to be free of the
encumbrance so she could enjoy Darcy the way he was meant to be enjoyed.
     
    She crowded her chest against
his, crushing her breasts against his chest as she squirmed in his lap.  The
thought of standing so that she could shift around and straddle him occurred to
her, tempting her beyond reason.
     
    Abruptly, he tore his mouth
from hers and surged to his feet, allowing her to slide down his length,
steadying her briefly and then releasing her so abruptly she swayed
unsteadily.  He looked wildly around the room, raking a shaking hand through
his hair and bringing it to total disorder.  “My God!  The front parlor no less! 
Hell and damnation.  I have to go.  NOW!”
     
    Bronte placed a palm over his
thundering heart, looking at him imploringly and feeling her kiss-swollen lips
throb in time to her heart.  “Wait.”
     
    He grasped her shoulders
almost painfully and set her away from him.  “Before God, Bronte,” he said
through gritted teeth.  “If you touch me one more time I’m going to throw you
down on the floor and fuck you senseless without a care