“What’s wrong with that?” I managed to ask. “Why can’t we want one another?”
“You don’t understand what I mean. When I say that I want you, I don’t mean your company or your conversation. I don’t want to pine over you and write you poetry. I mean,” he pronounced carefully, “that I want to bend you over this sofa and slide inside of you. I mean that I want to pin you to the ground and watch you squirm as I drive into you over and over again. I mean that I want to spend my evenings watching your pretty little head bob up and down on my cock.”
He took my hand and pressed it against the front of his breeches. There indeed was the object of his words, hard, so very hard, and thicker than I ever imagined. The knot inside of me threatened to snap. I wanted all of those things too, I realized, too aroused to feel embarrassed or shameful. I wanted him inside of me and I wanted to feel his mouth on me once more…
“You see now,” he said, lifting his head and looking me in the eyes, “why you must stay away from me. You don’t want to be the kind of woman who lets a man fuck her just so she’ll have a roof over her head.”
It took only a second for the meaning of his words to sink in, what he was implying about me and my sense of dignity…not to mention what he was revealing about his own concept of hospitality. My blood turned hot, scorching my own veins, ire pounding through me.
I slapped his face as hard as I could.
“I’m not a prostitute, and I’m more than capable of surviving on my own if I have to,” I said.
He turned his face slowly back to me, a handprint blooming on his cheek, each finger clearly delineated in bright red. I wanted to hit him again and again until he apologized, but as I raised my hand, he caught my wrist. We wrestled for a moment, his arms coming around my waist, and before I knew it, I kneeling on the floor, both of my arms pinned behind my back. He knelt in front of me.
My breath came quickly and adrenaline pumped through me, but it wasn’t fear I felt but a feverish rush instead.
“Oh, my little wildcat.” His voice was rougher than normal. “You give me no choice. I have to take this one thing from you. Just this once.”
He pressed his lips against mine. They were soft, oh so soft, and warm, and then he gently parted my lips with his own, and slid his tongue inside my mouth.
I wanted to pull him closer, wrap my arms around him and never let go, but they were still pinned behind my back, and his grip tightened as he deepened the kiss, as if he knew exactly what I wanted to do.
Our tongues met, silky and flickering, and I moaned into his mouth, the sensation so delicious, so perfect.
After what felt like several thousand heartbeats later, he broke his lips away from mine but remained close, so that I felt the breath of his words.
“I am going to try my hardest not to ruin you,” he said. “I am going to try my hardest not to touch you again, after tonight.”
He released my wrists, but I didn’t move them, almost missing the restraint. His hand slid up my skirts and under my chemise.
“Are you scared, Miss Leavold?”
In response, I parted my knees as far apart as I could, my body overriding my brain to give him access to whatever he wanted, because it was what I wanted too.
If I looked down, I could see him straining against his pants, but other than his thick erection, he gave no outward sign of his lust. He seemed perfectly calm and in control as his fingertips traced spirals up to my center, his eyes fixed to my face, his chest swelling with deep, even breaths. The moment he made contact with my clitoris, I inhaled fiercely, shuddering. His fingers moved down.
“So wet,” he murmured. “How can you be so wet from a single kiss?”
“It’s you,” I managed to gasp out. “You are the one doing this to me.”
His arm wrapped around my waist and yanked, so that I slid on the wood floor a few inches, spreading my knees even farther apart. One arm held me tight, while the other was under my skirts, and God, the things he was doing there.
“I am doing this so you can see why I need to stay away from you,” he said. One finger slowly pushed inside of me and everything within me shuddered and clenched and I let out a single, desperate, “Oh.”
“You’re so tight now,” he said, his lips now near my ear. “You have a tight little cunt and the man you marry will want it to stay that way. It’s so perfect and so wet, and he will want to be the first to feel it around his cock.” The finger moved deeper and deeper, until he reached a spot that made me writhe and push against that hand; all the while, he held me with his other arm, kept me pressed against him.
“And with your perfect cunt around me all the time, with those perfect breasts and that plump mouth, if I don’t make myself stay away, then I can’t answer to what will happen.”
“What will happen?” I whispered, needing to hear more, his words making everything in me tighten around his expert finger, making my body quiver and tense all around a central point deep inside of me.
His grin was wicked. “Then I will bend you over that sofa. I’ll watch you wrap your lips around me and suck until I’m satisfied, and then I’ll fuck your pussy until I spill inside of you. And once we start, there will be no stopping. I’ll have you in every room of this house, on every surface. I’ll make you climax as often as it suits me, even if it’s several times an hour for an entire night. I’ll make you thrash underneath me and beg, and maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you ride me and use me until you’re too limp to keep yourself upright any longer.
“And I’m sorry. I lied earlier…because I am taking one more first from you,” he said, and then he plunged two fingers inside of me, his thumb pressing once more against my clit in small, fast circles.
The quivering in my core was almost too much to bear. I grabbed on to Mr. Markham’s suit jacket, feeling almost panicked.
“Mr. Markham, please…”
