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Authors: Jess Michaels
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teasing flirtation or friendly discussion. He wanted her.
And Vivien wanted him equally.
She leaned forward and whispered, “Should I apologize for affecting you so?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I like being off-kilter.”
“Good,” she said as she moved to the seat next to him and leaned up for a kiss. “Because it’s devilishly fun to set you that way.”
His lips brushed hers and all her words vanished in an instant, replaced by sensation so powerful that her knees went liquid and her heart raced to an alarming rate.
He glided his arms around her, cradling her in an embrace that was gentle, emotional and yet possessive at the same time. She felt his passion for her, but also a shadow of those deeper feelings he had once confessed to her. His love.
That word had sent her flying away from him once. And it was something she could not face today any more than she could three years before, especially since she intended to leave London forever by the end of a span of a few short months.
But she didn’t want to pull away from him. She wanted to feel his strength and his desire and his warmth. She wanted to be close to him…just not so close that either of them would get hurt. Right now this moment was so charged, she could scarcely think of what could allow her both desires.
She drew back, ready to distance herself, and suddenly it became clear. With a wicked smile, she placed her hand on the hard, thrusting outline of his cock, pressing the front of his trousers in a wild demand to be freed and inside her. He grunted out pleasure and rested his head back against the carriage seat as she began to rub him through the cloth.
He reached for her, but she dodged his silent demand and continued her torture a moment more before she began to unfasten his breeches. His member bobbed free and she looked down at him.
She had been with many lovers, but she had always been most impressed with Benedict’s cock. Some men reveled in their girth and length, believing that those facts alone were what pleased a woman. Benedict had both in abundance and yet always worked to find the right stroke, touch the right place, use that tool for the best ends possible.
She stroked down over him, skin on skin now that his breeches were no longer in the way and he let out a garbled sound of pleasure and surprise as he reached for her once again.
Dodging a second time, she laughed. “No, no. You do not direct me, Benedict. You should recall that if nothing else.”
His eyes lit up with challenge and for a brief moment, Vivien wondered if she had made a mistake by awakening his contrary side. But then she refocused on matters at…or in …hand and leaned over his cock.
“I am going to take what I want now, Mr. Greystone,” she said, letting her hot breath gust over his sensitive flesh. “And you are going to enjoy it.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she dropped her mouth over his cock and instead of words, only a long, garbled moan escaped his lips. He settled back against the seat and surrendered.
She smiled against him and he hissed at the movement. But the hiss disappeared when she began to stroke over him. Even after three years and intervening lovers, she remembered each movement he liked best. She swirled her tongue around him in a slow, clockwise circle, then reversed the movement until he gripped at the carriage seat with both hands. She glided him into her mouth until the head of his cock bumped the back of her throat, then retreated until he nearly left her mouth entirely.
And she did all these things in slow, smooth motion, torturing him with the pleasure, reminding him that in this, at least, she could take control.
He growled her name and dug his fingers into her hair in an animal display of passion, gently forcing her to change her rhythm. Vivien groaned against him and it wasn’t for show. Benedict was a sensible man, not prone to outbursts of violence or domination, but in the bedroom, when he
And Vivien wanted him equally.
She leaned forward and whispered, “Should I apologize for affecting you so?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I like being off-kilter.”
“Good,” she said as she moved to the seat next to him and leaned up for a kiss. “Because it’s devilishly fun to set you that way.”
His lips brushed hers and all her words vanished in an instant, replaced by sensation so powerful that her knees went liquid and her heart raced to an alarming rate.
He glided his arms around her, cradling her in an embrace that was gentle, emotional and yet possessive at the same time. She felt his passion for her, but also a shadow of those deeper feelings he had once confessed to her. His love.
That word had sent her flying away from him once. And it was something she could not face today any more than she could three years before, especially since she intended to leave London forever by the end of a span of a few short months.
But she didn’t want to pull away from him. She wanted to feel his strength and his desire and his warmth. She wanted to be close to him…just not so close that either of them would get hurt. Right now this moment was so charged, she could scarcely think of what could allow her both desires.
She drew back, ready to distance herself, and suddenly it became clear. With a wicked smile, she placed her hand on the hard, thrusting outline of his cock, pressing the front of his trousers in a wild demand to be freed and inside her. He grunted out pleasure and rested his head back against the carriage seat as she began to rub him through the cloth.
He reached for her, but she dodged his silent demand and continued her torture a moment more before she began to unfasten his breeches. His member bobbed free and she looked down at him.
She had been with many lovers, but she had always been most impressed with Benedict’s cock. Some men reveled in their girth and length, believing that those facts alone were what pleased a woman. Benedict had both in abundance and yet always worked to find the right stroke, touch the right place, use that tool for the best ends possible.
She stroked down over him, skin on skin now that his breeches were no longer in the way and he let out a garbled sound of pleasure and surprise as he reached for her once again.
Dodging a second time, she laughed. “No, no. You do not direct me, Benedict. You should recall that if nothing else.”
His eyes lit up with challenge and for a brief moment, Vivien wondered if she had made a mistake by awakening his contrary side. But then she refocused on matters at…or in …hand and leaned over his cock.
“I am going to take what I want now, Mr. Greystone,” she said, letting her hot breath gust over his sensitive flesh. “And you are going to enjoy it.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she dropped her mouth over his cock and instead of words, only a long, garbled moan escaped his lips. He settled back against the seat and surrendered.
She smiled against him and he hissed at the movement. But the hiss disappeared when she began to stroke over him. Even after three years and intervening lovers, she remembered each movement he liked best. She swirled her tongue around him in a slow, clockwise circle, then reversed the movement until he gripped at the carriage seat with both hands. She glided him into her mouth until the head of his cock bumped the back of her throat, then retreated until he nearly left her mouth entirely.
And she did all these things in slow, smooth motion, torturing him with the pleasure, reminding him that in this, at least, she could take control.
He growled her name and dug his fingers into her hair in an animal display of passion, gently forcing her to change her rhythm. Vivien groaned against him and it wasn’t for show. Benedict was a sensible man, not prone to outbursts of violence or domination, but in the bedroom, when he
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