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She nodded, unable to speak.
“If you believe you cannot take me anymore, release the cushions and I will stop. Understand?”
“Yes—” A soft cry exploded from her as he sank into her farther.
He bent forward, his body covering hers, his weight supported on his right elbow. She trembled as she felt herself stretching. He pushed in inexorably despite her moaning, seating himself to the hilt. She couldn’t prevent her sharp intake of breath or her whimper of feminine distress. He was so thick. His hips recoiled, and he plunged in to the hilt, his heavy balls pressing against her knot of pleasure. Her entire body jerked under the lash of sensations. She dug her fingers into the cushions, and helpless cries broke from her throat as he repeated his motions.
He kept his rhythm slow but hard and heavy, and her arousal grew so intense her thighs shook. The muscles of her vagina burned, tension throbbed in her loins, and delightful sensations began to spiral. She craved more and tried to thrust back on him but couldn’t. He tightened his hands on her hips, controlling her movements. He wrenched low moans from her with each excruciating inward plunge, and she clenched the cushions until her knuckles whitened. In frustration, she released one of her hands and reached it around to grasp his buttocks, her nails pressing into his flesh.
“Marcellus.” She wailed in frustration when he stopped.
“Remember, if you release the cushions, I will stop,” he growled in her ear, his voice rough with arousal.
“I need more,” she panted but gripped the cushions with both hands.
“You’re too tight for what you are demanding. You cannot take me roughly.”
“Yes, I can,” she gasped, lust tearing at her.
“Emmeline, you can—”
“Yes, I can!” she bit out, pressing back into his hardness, trying to end the delicious torture. A helpless sound of desire hissed from her as his balls slapped against her knot of pleasure, shooting shards of delight through her bloodstream. “I want to feel alive, Marcellus. I want your touch to burn away the grief, the horror, and the loneliness I have felt these past months. It has been unbearable, and I need you so much—”
Her cry ended on a wail of pleasure as he plunged into her. She groaned as lust, and slight discomfort clawed at her. Without waiting for her to adjust, he slammed his hips home again. Emily clasped the cushions as he started a hard ride. He powered into her clenched core with mindless fervor. The bite of pain that edged the maelstrom of sensations only drove her higher and had her crying for more.
The doubts she’d had burned away under the tide of ecstasy that swept through her. The hurt and the loneliness fled, and all she felt was Marcellus’s thickness shuttling in and out of her with bruising force. Sharp fists of pleasure pounded at her, consuming her. Sensations gathered within, drawing her closer to rapture. She held on to the cushions. Her entire body trembled as heat exploded in her womb and moisture dripped from her.
Emily screamed as white-hot hunger flared through her, and she splintered. Her keening cry echoed in the library as another wave slammed into her. She clamped down on him so tightly with her orgasm that he growled low in his throat, his movements restricted. He did not stop, riding her even harder through her release. Distantly she heard him groan and felt the hot splash of his seed inside her.
They collapsed on the sofa with his hard weight pinning her. She whimpered as he gently withdrew from her, and then squeaked as he lifted and twisted with her so that she sat on him. She pressed her knees into the sofa bracketing his hips, and she twined her hands around his neck. The raw intensity of his stare shook her.
He pressed a soft kiss against her lips. “You won’t be getting much sleep tonight, Emmeline.”
“I don’t need sleep.” She nipped his lips, and her heart lurched at the sensuality of his smile.
The silver in his eyes darkened as he took over the kiss, rekindling desire in her body. He moved her and slowly seated her on his length, which had risen once more. She had the fleeting thought to protest that it was too soon, they should at least rest, but the pleasure consumed her. Despite being wet from his seed, she still strained to take him. She moaned into the kiss, shivering as he pulled her all the way onto him. He snaked his hand between them and pinched her clitoris. Her stomach clenched in a tight coil of desire as he slowly milked her.
She moaned harshly as arousal spiked in her blood.
“Ride me, Emmeline,” he growled. “Fuck me with your tightness. Take me.”
She gasped, getting impossibly wetter at his explicit command. The hours blurred together as he took her over and over, stroking and touching every inch of her. She reveled in the raw sexuality of how they came together, her guilt buried under the consuming lashes of pleasure.
Rain drummed insistently against the windowpane, and swollen clouds blotched the sun that valiantly tried to light inside Rosemead Park. Several hours had passed since Marcellus drove in the dreary weather from Oxfordshire to their estate in York. He felt as though the somberness of the day reflected his mood. The purr of the Daimler as it responded to his touch and smooth navigation had not soothed him. He felt edgy and restless. His body still hungered for Emmeline’s despite making love with her through the night.
He sat slouched in the high wing-back chair in his brother’s chambers, warming himself in front of a roaring fire. He broodingly watched Max painfully shave, hands trembling with strain to hold on to the blade. Marcellus made no offer to assist, knowing the anger he would be met with. Fierce pride clutched at him as he observed Max. He was not broken. Marcellus knew it and only needed Max to discover it fully.
“You were very hard on her last night,” Max said, sliding the blade across his throat, his voice soft, concerned. He angled the mirror in his left hand, and Marcellus met his eyes in it.
“Did you not feel every sensation? Did it not draw you from the pain and loneliness for the night, from the nightmares?” Marcellus asked him.
There was a tense pause before Max lowered the mirror breaking the connection.
“You know it did. Do not pretend the only reason you took Emily was to give me relief. I can feel your desire for her just as how you feel mine,” Max growled softly.
Marcellus grimaced at the truth. He knew he’d been hard on her, taking her six times, but she had matched him stroke for stroke. Every time he closed his eyes, or his mind was not occupied, he remembered how Emmeline looked throughout the night as he took her. Her mass of raven hair sweat dampened, her face flushed, eyes darkened with passion, the arch of her hips, the thrust of her breasts, h
er thighs spread and quivering as his cock pushed through her tight cunt. God, she had been impossibly snug. If he had not witnessed Max taking her, Marcellus would have thought her a virgin. He loved how she had cried, shattered with lust, her voice husky, pleading, begging, and then demanding. She had then wilted, almost boneless, her breathing even as she slept in his arms. He had slipped from her quietly as the dawn crested, not wanting to see any recrimination in her eyes. For he knew she would regret their night of untamed loving.
