Page 51 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
The tiniest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She tilted her wet lashes up at him. “You’re very confusing when you’re nice to me.”
“I don’t want to be nice to you. If I let down my guard around you, then I want to do more than be nice. I want to touch you.” His brows came together in frustration while his heavy hand set itself against the side of her neck, palm warm and faintly rough with callus. “And this here is a battle neither of us can afford to lose. You’re my housekeeper, not my wife.”
“I know, but…” Her feet moved without her permission, inching toward his. Her hands went up to touch the silky whiskers of his beard. She’d been longing to touch it again since she’d cut it.
When her petting fingertips grazed his ear, he made a noise in the base of his throat and covered her mouth with his.
This was worthliving for, she thought distantly, as he rocked his lips across hers, tender and possessive, beard softly scraping her chin and arms closing around her to draw her into the powerful strength of his body. She drank in the taste of coffee and peaches, the scent of trail dust and summer heat and salty, sweaty man.
This was worth throwing away her education and marriage and reputation. It was worth crossing half a continent and living at the mercy of nature. When he kissed her, he made her feel pure even as his tongue slid in to touch hers and his hand roamed to stroke the side of her breast. He made her feel free even as he pressed her backside to the edge of the table and caged her with his weight and caught her earlobe with his teeth.
He made her feel powerful even as her muscles trembled with weakness and her loins turned to liquid because she only needed to tug at his shirt and slide her touch beneath the edge and she made him shake. When she opened her legs and let him press the thick shape of his arousal against the heat beneath layers of skirt and bloomers, he swore and gripped the edge of the table and hung his head against her shoulder.
When she palmed him through his trousers, he said, “Fuck, Marigold,” in a groan so helpless, she smiled against his throat.
Then he did the same to her, sliding his touch beneath the shortened skirt of her gown. He found the slit in her bloomers, and suddenly he was stroking the bare skin of her inner thighs, petting her damp curls. She squeaked in shock and tried to close her thighs, but he stood between her legs.
“It’s okay. I won’t fuck you.” His gentle touch was a stark contrast to his rough language. “I want to, though. Fuck, Marigold, you feel so nice. Hot and wet…” His finger explored her folds, tickling up and down, causing an acute sensation to spark through her.
“Virgil,” she gasped and clutched at his shoulders.
“You’re so soft. Slippery,” he noted as his touch increased in pressure and discovered dampness. He spread it all around in a way that stole her breath.
Ben had sometimes touched her, but it had never felt like this. She had never panted and held still, yearning for more.
Virgil’s mouth nuzzled against her neck, sending shivers down her shoulder and into the tips of her breasts. His fingertip probed and she briefly clenched, wary of discomfort, but there was so much lubrication, his finger easily slid in. “Okay?”
She wasn’t sure. Well, she was very sure she shouldn’t allow this to happen. It felt wicked, but it didn’t hurt. It actually felt intriguing, stoking her desire for him to continue.
He kissed her again, moving his finger inside her as though he was making love to her. Sex with Ben had never felt this good. Her sex was heavy and the slide of his finger made the sensations grow more acute the longer he did it. She especially liked the way his thumb was rubbing circles in time with his finger as he moved—
“Oh!”
The most exquisite sensation shot through her. She saw his teeth flash in possibly the first real smile she’d ever seen on him. Maybe there was a hint of cruelty in it, because he withdrew his finger and she sobbed in anguish.
“Can you take two?”
Her breath left her as his two fingers filled her, making her flesh feel taut and full and so sensitized she could only grip fistfuls of his sleeves and try to remember to breathe. When his thumb started up with the circling, she felt swollen and hot, and there was an ache in her loins like she’d never experienced.
“Virgil.” She lifted her mouth and sucked at his lips as she kissed him, pleading for something, rocking her hips, aware she was behaving without any inhibition, but in this moment, she truly didn’t care. All she wanted in this world was for him to keep pushing his fingers into her like that.
His tongue plunged into her mouth, and she sucked blatantly on it, spreading her thighs for a deeper pleasuring, moaning with delight as the sensations intensified. Her breasts felt hard and her skin was flushing hot and cold. Her entire body was tense with reaching for something she couldn’t name. This was the way she had often felt when it was nearly over, when she was wishing for it to go on and on. She clamped down on his touch, silently urging him to keep doing this because it felt so very, verygood.
“I wish this was my mouth,” he groaned against her cheek. “I want to see your pussy. I want to lick you while I do this.” He pushed his fingers deep.
That, coupled with his flagrant words, caused something to happen within her. Her muscles clamped down on his fingers of their own accord. Her whole being felt as though it narrowed to a pinprick before expanding. Stars exploded through her, more than the sky could contain.
Dimly she was aware of his hand still working at her while utter euphoria overtook her, making her shudder under the force of it. Sensations crashed and ebbed over her in waves. Her breath broke and she couldn’t catch it. Her flesh clasped and quivered where his touch continued sliding in and out of her, playing out the joyous feelings as though stroking an instrument to continue its sweetest notes.
Marigold thought she might be dying. She was equally sure she was happy to.
…
Virgil didn’t make it to the john. He got as far as the log pile and hoped to hell no one saw him as he yanked open his fly and jerked himself with the hand that was still wet from Marigold’s pussy.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned as a powerful orgasm nearly ripped out his spine. “Fuck,” he panted several more times, bucking his hips into his fist as though he had her bent her over the table before him, the way he’d been aching to have her.
When he’d milked himself dry, he kicked dust across the stain he left in the dirt, as though it was that easy to erase his stupidity. Sheworkedfor him. He kept his arm braced on the log, needing the support. It took several minutes to gather enough strength to straighten and tuck himself back into his drawers and button up.
