Page 61 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“What about…” She trailed her hands down to explore his testicles. They were fuzzed with hair and drawn tight. “Does that feel good, too?”
His reply was an unintelligible moan. His hands cupped her face while he kissed her deeply, tongue stroking against hers, lips wide.
She was so lost in their kiss and the feel of him pushing into her hand, she didn’t realize he had burrowed under her apron to release the buttons down the front of her dress. His tickling touch crept in, gentle and hot as he cupped her breast through her chemise.
She gasped, startled by how sensitive she was to such a light caress, how it made prickling tingles race across her shoulders and into her spine.
“Can we get some of this out of the way?” He picked up the neck ruffle of her apron. “I want to suck your nipples.”
She drew back slightly. “Why?”
He froze. “He didn’t even give you that?”
She was beginning to realize Ben had been a terrible lover. Frankly, that other woman was welcome to him if it meant she could have Virgil. Marigold dipped her head as he tugged her apron over it.
He brushed away the muslin of her underthings, sending swirls of cool air across her chest.
“I wish I could see you,” he whispered, whiskers teasing her collarbone so her nipples stung more than ever. He bent his knees and angled so she could continue to fondle him as he nuzzled his lips down the swell of her breast. When his mouth found her nipple, his tongue swept out to lick, sharpening the sensation of cool night air. Then he closed his mouth over the tip and a tugging heat speared into her sex. Such a needy ache arrived there, she moaned.
Marigold set her free arm across his shoulders, trying to balance while stroking him with her fist. His hips thrust into her touch, and he sucked harder on her, making her clench on emptiness and wish fervently for this thickness to invade her yearning flesh.
Suddenly, his arm locked around her waist and he buried a strangled moan against her breast. His erection pulsed and throbbed while heat poured into her palm and scorched her wrist. He seemed to shake uncontrollably before he exhaled and relaxed.
He stood and gathered her in, holding her close while pressing her into the logs as though he was drunk and needed help standing.
“Did you—?” It was so dark, she could only guess what had just happened, but she had a very good idea. Ridiculously, she was disappointed at not being able to see. She’d always wondered what happened during a man’s moment of crisis.
Virgil’s heart was pounding hard enough she could feel it against her breast. His skin was damp, his breaths still uneven.
“Yeah. Took me by surprise. Damn, that felt good, Marigold.” He drew back and guided her hand into his own. He had what she presumed was the tail of his shirt over his splayed fingers. He dried her hand and wrist, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a lazy kiss that amplified all the twinges and tickles and yearnings in her.
She was happy she’d given him that, she was. If this was Ben, she would have thought this was how she was supposed to feel, all sensitive and needing to cling. Thankfully, the dark hid how her hot cheeks must be flushed with desire and embarrassment at how hungry she was for more kissing and fondling and, yes,fucking.
“You want me to make you come, too?” he asked in a murmured voice that was indulgent and accompanied by a fondle of her breast.
“Yes, please.”
She felt his smile against her throat. “So polite. You can tell me what you like, you know. What you want me to do.”
She wanted him to make love to her, but she couldn’t ask him to do that. They couldn’t. He had said they should talk, not that he wanted to marry her.
“Do you want to touch me the way you did before?” she asked into the space between them, voice thin with pained shyness.
She seemed to have an unseemly appetite for relations. She wishedmeto submit toherdesires.
“I can definitely do that.” Virgil was gathering up the short skirt of her gown, sliding his hand along the drawstring of her bloomers, searching out the slit. “Or I can do what I wanted to the other day. Will you let me?”
“W-what?” She remembered exactly what he’d said. It sounded positively sinful.
“I want to lick your pussy.” His fingertips invaded past the overlapped cotton and muslin, finding the fine hairs that she knew were wet because she could feel how she’d dampened the edges of the fabric.
He groaned as his fingers pressed into her swollen folds. He worked his fingers all over, spreading the juices, making her weak with wanton desire.
“Rub your nipples while I do it,” he suggested, lowering his head to suck at one while he pushed a thick finger inside her. “Move any way you like that feels good.”
The dual points of erotic sensation had her releasing a shuddering moan, unable to form proper words.
He made a satisfied noise, adding drily, “Try not to wake the children.”
