Free The Virgin's Auction by Amelia Hart Page A

more slowly.
    When she started to pursue him in his withdrawals, seeking out his touch, his body for her pleasure, it challenged his control more than he thought any man could bear and stay sane. She did not know what she asked of him, so unknowing, drowning in her own newborn responses, defenceless and vulnerable before him. It racked him to his very soul.
    An innocent succubus, infinitely tempting.
    He wanted to keep her this fresh, this pure forever.
    He wanted to plunder her, to take everything of her for himself.
    He was certainly crazed by lust, imagining all the things he would do to her, that they would do together. He was painfully, unbearably hard, had been so for so long now the torment of it seemed eternal.
    One night was not enough. Not nearly enough.
    He needed at least a month; maybe more.
    He would make her his mistress, with a little house of her own somewhere nearby. A house he would occupy every night. He would pleasure her in every room, until she was so content there she would never move again.
    Yes.
    Beautiful creature.
    He would cherish her, tutor her kindly in her chosen trade. A tuition they would both enjoy.
     
    She was limp, boneless as he raised himself over her, face above hers and weight held on one elbow.
    “I am afraid this is going to hurt,” he said gravely.
    Her eyes flew open at that, as he simultaneously began to push himself slowly into her.
    “No, wait!” she cried out in panic, feeling a great burning pressure between her legs.
    He stopped, the pressure undiminished.
    “You choose a most inconvenient time,” he said, his voice husky and strange. “For what do we wait, little flower? You sold, I bought, and this is mine.”
    She gazed up at him helplessly. He looked implacable, this stranger demanding his due: entrance to her body. She could not speak. There were no words.
    After a moment he took one of her hands in his, laid her palm on his wide chest and said: “Feel this. Feel that pounding. My heart is beating out of my chest to be nearer to you. Don’t be scared.”
    He shifted his weight so he could take her other hand, and he pulled it down between their bodies, putting it onto . . . onto something hard, hot, smooth and rigid; a bar that spanned the distance between them.
    She didn’t recognise it, but when she obediently wrapped her fingers round it he jerked and cursed softly under his breath. She snatched her hand away, frightened she’d done something wrong. But he caught her hand and brought it back.
    “Shhh. You are doing splendidly. This is nothing to be afraid of either; just a tool to delight you; and eager to do so.”
    At that moment she realised what she was holding, her eyes widening in horror as she connected that solid shaft with the pressure still burning away between her legs. He let her hand escape a second time, releasing it so he could put his own fingers on her, so intimately she wanted to shriek and scream.
    “See, you are wet here. Very wet. Gloriously wet, which will make it easy for you. Your body likes this. It likes what we are doing. It will be very happy to have me inside it. You’ll see.” He undulated minutely against her, his fingertips brushing back and forth over her there.
    She couldn’t sort out the feelings, her overburdened nerve endings trying to interpret information sent from a part of her she barely knew. Flashes of pleasure merged with heat and that unrelenting pressure. She closed her eyes, shutting him out, shutting herself in. She wanted to . . . wanted to . . .
    Without her mind making a decision, her body moved reflexively, instinctively, pushing back against him. It was only a small movement, but he perceived it.
    “Yes, yes, like that. God, yes .” And he bore down on her. The pressure increased, then increased again into pain. He slid further into her, giving a stifled groan. Suddenly, with a sense of tearing, the pressure was gone, the pain absent. He was deeply, deeply inside her and she felt stretched, full to