The Accidental Bride Read Free Page A

warped time and perception.
    Not sure whether she was in heaven or hell, and suspecting it was both, she rocked and squirmed against the wood, hands clutching her buttocks as if that might assuage the fire. Her clit throbbed in time to the pulsation of heat in her buttocks.
    God, yes, she was coming! Her vagina clenched, rocking the egg more, making things worse … better … worse … Fuck alone knew!
    ‘No, no, you know better than that.’ He dropped the leather for a moment, and prised her hands away from her bum. ‘Hold on to the table.’ Gently, he drew her hands forward, and reaching out, she obeyed him, grasping the far edge.
    He didn’t speak again, but the leather spoke for him, flashing down again, hitting her like a chunk of the very wood she was lying against. So hard. So merciless. Pummelling. Pounding. He whole rear was in flames after one, or was it two blows? She’d lost the ability to count. Holding the table as if it were the last spar of a wrecked ship that had gone down, she hurled her pelvis to and fro, grinding her crotch against its resistance, still not sure if she was climaxing even while she burned. Her bottom felt as if it had been savaged, yet, wildly, she lifted it. Enticing him.
Give me more
, her sizzling, walloped flesh seemed to be saying.
Do your worst, you demon, fuck you, I can take it!
    How long had he been spanking her? Part of her mind suggested hours, a thousand long hours, but the one last little bit of her consciousness that was still able to recordsuch things told her he’d laid on only five blows and it had taken less than a minute.
    ‘Oh my darling …’ His voice cracked and she heard the leather slapper fall on the stone flags, somewhere at their feet. He flung his body over hers, his thighs and the fly of his trousers cruel against the agony in her buttocks. He slid his hands along her arms, lacing his fingers with hers at the edge of the table, circling his hips, stirring her pain, yet pressing her against the table’s edge to give delicious pressure to her clit, working it, massaging it. She cried out, high and clear, her soaring voice nothing to do with the torture in her bum, and everything to do with a fresh orgasm that melted beauty in her loins, circling and knotting around the obstruction of the egg. He completed it by reaching beneath her to stroke between her legs.
    ‘Oh God …Oh hell …’ She surged again, writhing beneath him, arching and pushing against him. She didn’t need the table edge now; he was doing the work, rubbing her clit with his fingers, working it with a rough, tender magic.
    ‘I love you,’ he gasped, and she broke apart into a million happy pieces. How she’d wanted to hear those words, even when she’d told herself that they didn’t matter, and it was actions that mattered more, and loving deeds. He still didn’t speak them randomly, spilling them meaninglessly at every opportunity. When her lover said ‘I love you’ it was always with momentum, always fresh and as precious as the first time.
    ‘I love you,’ she answered, rubbing her painful bottom against his groin, actions complementing words again. ‘I want you,’ she added, barely any breath to get it out as her body gathered, ready to shine again.
    ‘Here? Now?’ he asked, as if she were offering to grant him a magnificent privilege. He was still her master, but she was his mistress now, his equal. They were matched creatures, sex deities of the night.
    ‘Hell yes!’ she cried, widening her stance to invite him in. ‘Bloody well have me! But you’d better get that fucking egg out of me first. You’re a big man, lover, there isn’t room for both of you!’
    He laughed; the sound was pure happiness. Levering himself away from her, he reached down and plucked at the string. At another time, he might have withdrawn the egg slowly, teasingly, but the need that flashed between them was too great to dally. She growled like a she-wolf as it popped from her body,