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“I’ve gone a long, long while without relief, sweet woman,” Corbet says, tracing the shell of my ear with his lips. “I thought the pleasures of the flesh were for weaker men. And then I saw you and years of denial caught up with me. I can think of nothing but getting my bare cock as deep inside you as possible.”
A tremor wracks me, lust curling deep in my belly. For this man. I want not only to release him from his obvious pain, but I want to feel him planted deep within me. Want to be his savior for those precious moments, watching him turn from man to animal in the name of relieving the male hunger he’s been plagued with.
I cannot lose my head, though.
I cannot give my virginity to this man. This king. He will not take me as his wife and no other man will either, without my virtue intact.
“No,” I breathe, shaking my head, although my hand continues its journey up and down his steel rod, growing bolder and bolder with each pass.
Corbet bashes a fist into the side of the mountain, bares his teeth.
And that same fist falls to my breasts, his knuckles teasing my nipples through the thin material of my dress, stiffening them further. “There will be pleasure for you in a good hard rut, woman. I won’t be the only one finding satisfaction.”
“I might be a virgin, but even I know that’s a lie that men often tell women.”
By accident, I’ve issued a challenge and it makes his eyes bright. I’ve made a mistake in doing so, because this is not a man who takes a dare lightly. “Do you question my honor?”
“It’s not a question of honor, it’s a question of skill.”
Lord, why can’t I seem to stop digging my own grave?
When I expect him to react with affront, however, he only nods with conviction. “By demanding better from me, you prove what I already knew. You were made for a fucking king.”
Without taking his eyes off mine, he slowly unties the bodice of my dress, freeing the laces that keep my bosom plumped in my neckline. But with the loss of support, the material of my dress sags and reveals my large breasts clothed only in moonlight.
“Dear God, beautiful Gwen,” he says gruffly, going down on his knees, taking my breasts in his large hands and kneading them reverently. “You are without equal. Sent to me from God himself.”
Without his erection to caress, I no longer know what to do with my hands, but they spear into Corbet’s hair when he guides a nipple to his mouth and molests it with his tongue. Raking it up and back until I’m whimpering. Eyes glittering up at me, he sucks the stiff peak past his lips and pulls on it deeply, his hands gathering the hem of my skirts, revealing more and more of my legs. But I can’t seem to form the word stop. Not when he’s creating this…this magnificent tug between my legs that promises something magical.
Something I’ve never known.
“I will see to your pleasure first, woman,” Corbet rasps, his mouth sliding across to my opposite breast, wrapping his warrior’s mouth around my puckered nipple and groaning, suckling it atop his tongue, before letting it go reluctantly. “Then we will discuss mine.”
I’m far more naïve than I realized, because I think he means to drive me to a climax with his mouth on my breasts. It takes the cool night air kissing me between the thighs to realize there is more. Oh, so much more.
With my skirts wrapped around one fist, Corbet pulls down my underthings with the other and makes a hoarse sound, pressing his face to my naked womanhood. His broad shoulders pin me to the stone side of the mountain, my hands scrabbling on either side of my hips for some kind of anchor. Or support. But there is nothing, so when his tongue delves between my folds, there is nothing to grasp but my own hair. Nothing to do but sob at the incredible fuss of awakening nerves, the coiling of hunger in my belly.
“Corbet,” I push through my teeth. “You mustn’t…”
What?
Mustn’t perform this act I didn’t even know existed?
Mustn’t stop?
Yes, the second option. Definitely the second option, I decide definitively, when his tongue meets a very sensitive spot at the apex of my valley, his breath hot, his throat making rough, hungry sounds as he worries it, lapping at it, pressing firmly and batting it. He presses my bunched skirts to my chest and I take them without a word, my neck losing power when he uses his newly freed hands to palm my bare buttocks, yanking me forward toward his mouth and licking, licking, licking until I’m sure my legs are going to collapse.
