Page 17 of Surrender to Sin

Molten amber eyes met hers, and she cried out as he fitted the head of his cock to her pussy entrance and thrust deep and hard. The brutal movement ground against the dildo in her backside, stretching and filling her to an intoxicating point just below pain, the burn of the double penetration somehow heightening the shocking pleasure.

“Come for me, darling. I want to feel your tight cunt milk my cock,” he growled, and she climaxed with a low scream, a violent, full body orgasm that broke her apart and yet mended her at the same time.

But he didn’t pause, just continued the deliciously rough lunge and withdrawal in tandem with the rocking of the carriage, grinding the base of his cock against her tender clit and sending her tumbling into ecstasy again and again. Only after her third orgasm did Sin pull out of her body and come himself, long, warm spurts of creamy seed that thoroughly coated her mound and lower belly.

“Fuck, Gracie,” he gasped, falling back against the corner of the carriage. If Grace had possessed the energy, she might have grinned at the stunned surprise in his eyes, the utter satiation. Not to mention her own glow at the nickname. No one had ever called her Gracie, and from his lips it turned her old fashioned name into something playful. Sensual. Special.

“Shall I…um…” she ventured as the silence lengthened, only broken by uneven breaths and fabric rustling as Sin leisurely righted his clothing.

“No. I’m savoring the view. If I were an artist I would paint you just so…sapphire eyes shining, pink and perspiring cheeks, legs spread wide to show your swollen, pleasured cunt and the dildo embedded in your ass, my come marking your skin. Christ. I’d call it ‘Wicked Angel or The Only Way to Travel.’”

Grace blushed, feeling more beautiful in her disheveled state than she ever had in watered silk and jewelry. “I’m not sure they’ll let me into the Gardens in my current state, though.”

“Good point. And if another man saw you like this, I would have to…”

“Yes?” she said softly when his words trailed off, hope twining around her thudding heart. Say it. Say you don’t want our affair to end, even if this plan works. “You would have to what?”

“Never mind,” Sin replied, frowning. “Now, let’s get you tidied up.”

Head bowed because she couldn’t mask her acute disappointment, Grace sat still as he procured a large linen handkerchief and wiped all traces of his seed from her body, then withdrew the jade dildo from her backside and dropped it into a small storage pouch cleverly hidden between the squabs and side of the carriage. No sooner had Sin discarded the handkerchief, the carriage came to a shuddering halt.

A glance out the window confirmed they had indeed arrived at Vauxhall Gardens, and nerves and sadness twinged in her belly.

This was it then. The beginning of the end.

…

Even though he’d been here countless times, Vauxhall Gardens remained one of Sin’s favorite places in London. It was loud, frenetic, and colorful, as only an open air venue that served thousands of people could be. But the haphazard blend of traditional activities like music and dancing, and fascinatingly modern like gas balloon flights, plus the Palladian, Gothic, and exotic architecture, always soothed his senses for some unknown reason.

Sin handed two crowns to the lad at the gate to cover the entry fee of three shillings and sixpence each, then tucking Grace’s arm securely through his, continued down the Grand Walk. God knew his senses needed soothing after the heady visit to the toy room and the subsequent carriage ride. Merely the most intense, powerful, exquisite fuck of his life. The way Grace’s wet cunt gripped him while the jade dildo stimulated the underside of his cock through the thinnest of walls…Hell, it was no wonder he’d ejaculated what felt like a half gallon of come onto her stomach.

What he hadn’t expected was the utter recoil against another man witnessing her post-orgasmic state, or being the reason she lay so flushed and panting and boneless. Which was ridiculous. As soon as they shoved Baxter off the prospective marital cart, Grace would leave and meet someone new. A no doubt bloody perfect, respectable, conservative man of impeccable lineage approved by her family and whom she would love, a man who would marry her, share her bed, fill her over and over until her belly swelled with child…

Fuck.

“Oh my word,” Grace breathed, and he looked down with a scowl at the astonishment in her eyes.

“What? You’ve been here before, surely,” he replied in a too-clipped tone, even more irritated at the idiotic direction his thoughts had taken.

She shook her head. “No, not ever. Carrington thought it far too vulgar. Especially the fact that it is open to everyone, not just the wellborn. And before that, on the odd occasions my father and stepmother brought me to London, it was only to visit relatives.”

“Your late husband was a carbuncle on the ass of the world. Much like Baxter. Well then, allow me to be your tour guide for the evening. What would you like to see first? The art gallery has some fine works by Hogarth and Hayman. Or we could stroll by the orchestra and listen to music. Although it might pay to have supper first before everything is devoured. This is your chance to enjoy ham sliced so thin you could read a book through it.”

Grace smiled. “Supper it is. I must admit, I’d dearly love some sweets—”

“Sin. Sin, dear boy! Over here!”

At the familiar raucous and rather slurred hail, he glanced over to the supper boxes and raised a hand in greeting to their future king. But before he could say a word, Grace tugged hard on his arm.

“That is the Prince of Wales,” she whispered, her eyes like saucers. “You really know him?”

“I do. Come and meet him.”

“What? No! We can’t just march into the royal box.”

“On the contrary, darling. Prinny will think it unpardonably rude if we don’t. Besides, we need the loosest tongue in England on our side tonight, correct?”

To his surprise, Grace hesitated. “Well…”