When Love Comes Calling: Two Short Stories Read Free Page A

was yes, yes to all that they desired. Here, in this little marble fortress, far away from tea and cakes and gossip, she would give them both what they wanted.
     
    Sylvie couldn’t speak for the lust choking her. It had her by the throat and she couldn’t breathe much less talk. His hands on her, rough and arousing at first, were now gentle and oh, so much more devastating. She could feel his erection pressing against her bottom, and the contact made her tense until she was so sensitive she could feel the air move against her skin like a caress. The cool marble against her breasts soothed her while his hands, so hot, gently removed her drawers. He did it slowly, reaching around her to untie them. When they were loose, he slipped his hands inside, onto her hips, and pushed them down. His palms ran down her hips to her thighs as the garment slid down her legs.
    “Step out of them, Sylvie,” he ordered, his voice soft but insistent. She obeyed, and he kicked them away.
    He stepped back, keeping his hands on her hips. She felt his gaze on her naked backside like a brand. This wasn’t like the other times, not at all. He was going so slow, looking at her, touching her. She’d never had a man do this. Her husband had been thirty-six years older than she. He had come to her at night, apologized, and then taken her quickly and neatly, before thanking her and going to his bed. When she’d actually initiated sex it had been in code. She would ask him to stop by her room for a glass of port before retiring. She’d taken to wearing a wine red negligee, but Bartlebyrne hadn’t gotten the joke. There was no passion, no love between them, only a gentle friendship, and an almost paternal protectiveness on his part. With her young coachman, it had been dark, and he’d been very rough. He’d thrown her skirts up, yanked her drawers down and shoved his cock in her. After a few thrusts she’d come—it had been so long, and she was so lonely. But he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t even slowed, just kept going until he grunted and slammed painfully into her. She’d frantically tried to remove him, not wanting him to come inside her. For a week she’d been insane with worry that she might be pregnant. When her courses came she swore she wouldn’t do it again. And now here she was.
    She was about to stop him when he touched her. His fingers traveled lightly over the cheek on her buttocks, and then one followed the center line there down to her wet, throbbing entrance. Her words were stolen from her.
    “So wet, Sylvie,” he murmured, almost to himself. “For me. Is this for me? Have you been this wet for weeks, darling, just as I’ve been so hard? If I’d known how much you wanted it, I would have acted sooner.” His finger slowly breached her, pushing insistently inside and Sylvie cried out at the sheer bliss of his entrance, at the rough pad of his finger rubbing along her sensitive inner walls. “Yes, yes, cry for it, darling, tell me how good it feels. God, I can’t wait to fuck you, Sylvie. Can’t wait for you to swallow my cock here. And here.” At his last words, the thumb of his hand rubbed over the tight entrance on her bottom, and Sylvie moaned.
    “No, Edmund,” her voice was trembling, conquered. She didn’t know that voice, had never heard it. It sounded as if she waited on the brink for something, something only he could give her, and she wanted to beg for it. That voice was made to beg. Edmund’s arm came around her waist, pushing her dress higher, and he pulled her tight against him. She could once again feel his hard cock pressed to her buttocks, as his hand covered her breast and squeezed. His finger pulled out and thrust into her, and Sylvie writhed against the wall. It was all so good, it felt so good. The empty aching loneliness inside her felt full at last, and she wanted to cry at the unfairness of it, because she had to stop him.
    “No, no, Edmund,” she sobbed. “We can’t, I can’t.” He froze,