Folly Read Free Page A

resistance. She clenched tighter and tighter
as his strokes became short and fast. It became difficult to push through,
deliriously difficult.
    Her eyes flew open. Her cunt contracted around him with a
mind-numbing clench. She arched up into him with a wordless sob. Gouged at his
shoulders. Thrashed against him. Wept as bliss took her.
    He smothered her cries with his mouth, taking them, drinking
them into his soul. Not because he was worried someone would hear and come upon
them here in the dark reaches of the Carlisle-Grant garden. He was not. But she
might be. If she were in her right mind, not flown with passion, she might want
to preserve the shreds of her dignity.
    She seized around him again, wailed into his mouth.
    Then again, perhaps not.
    Still, it was what a gentleman did to protect a woman, when
he was balls-deep in her weeping cunt, in a rose-strewn folly. It was what a
gentleman did.
    After she came, her cunt loosened, just a tad, enough to
ease his passage. Enough to make it possible for him to fuck her faster and
harder. She came again as he worked away inside her. And again. Each time, her
cries rose higher and higher, her riotous orgasms became more frantic.
    When his cock started to swell, when his balls pulled tight
and close to his body and the urge to spill came upon him, he thought briefly
about pulling out—he’d always been careful before. But she did something with
her muscles, some circular, sucking motion that cleared his mind of all notions
beyond sinking deep and hard into her tight body and soaking her womb with his
seed.
    And ah. Ah.
    His orgasm was magnificent. He felt it to his toes, that hot
rush of come. Every cell in his body rejoiced and exploded with awareness, with
ecstasy, with bone-deep relief.
    It was magnificent.
    She was magnificent.
    Yes, he thought. It had been far too long.

Chapter Two
     
    Eleanor lay on the cushions of the folly, holding her lover.
He had collapsed upon her once he’d come. She’d felt the hot stream of his
ejaculation filling her and, though she’d been in the throes of an amazing
orgasm, a great wash of relief had suffused her.
    He’d done it. Planted hope inside her.
    Gently, she stroked his silky hair. Heavens. He was beautiful.
Wonderful. His seduction had been gentle and kind. He’d been patient with her.
And their coupling, well, it had been like nothing she’d ever known. It had
been wonderful.
    And now… Now she knew. Now she knew what her friends were
talking about when they spoke of desire. Passion. Coming.
    Yes. He was a wonderful lover.
    A pity they could never do this again. A pity she could
never know his identity. He could certainly never learn hers.
    He lifted his head and kissed her. His lips were velvety,
his essence delicious. She knew he intended it to be a brief buss, but she
pulled him closer and urged it into something else.
    When it ended, they were both panting. He stared at her
through the night, through their masks. And though he was incognito, it was as
though she knew him. All the way to his soul.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Oh yes.” She smiled. “That was perfect.”
    “It was, wasn’t it?”
    He had no idea. It was the best lovemaking she had ever
known. She would clutch the memory to her breast for the rest of her life.
    Best leave now, before something ruined it.
    She wiggled beneath him and he rolled over to the side.
“Sorry.”
    She put her palm to his cheek. “I loved it.”
    “I just collapsed on top of you. Rather ungentlemanly.”
    “I loved it. You are so solid.”
    He chuckled. “Is that good?”
    “Very.” Ulster had been slender and bony and cold. He, this
nameless man, was warm and vibrant and solid . She liked it very much.
Too much. She sighed. “I must go.” She sat up and rearranged her skirts. He did
the same, tucking his penis back into his trousers and refastening the placket.
They sat there, side by side, in silence.
    “I’d like to see you again.” His words were so soft