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She tried to slip from under him, but he, not being done with her, kept her body pinned to the sofa.
"Please," she gasped between her struggles.
Was she presently overcome with guilt? It was too late now. He reached between her legs. She tried to close them and push his hand away, but he persisted until he had reached that nub of flesh between her folds, still deliciously swollen and wet. She quivered. It was as he thought.
"No…" she moaned, but despite her protest, a radiance shown from her eyes.
With one hand, she attempted to yank his out from between her thighs while her other hand continued to push at his chest. Her squirming only caused his blood to heat further. Still wanting another kiss, he lowered his head. When her efforts gained her no traction, she shoved at his chin.
He grabbed the offending hand and pinned it to the sofa. "Do you not wish to spend again and more gloriously then before?" he asked.
"I must not." She spoke as if trying to convince herself.
He fondled her, but she became more vigorous in her struggles.
Why did she wish to stop now? Now that his cock was hard as flint and yearned for release?
"I promise you an ecstasy your body has never before known," he murmured against her lips, recalling how sweet and yielding they had been.
"No! I-I have sinned enough.”
Her despair ought to have stayed him, but a faint hesitation hung about her words. He felt sorry for her remorse, but if she had not wished to be unfaithful, she should never have come to Château Follet. It was true she had resisted his seduction at first, but she had eventually succumbed. And spent. She had never spent for her husband before but had done so now at the hands of a stranger, a circumstance Leopold now found vexing. A surprising jealousy flared within him.
"It is of no consequence now,” he said. “You have made of your husband a cuckold already."
She slapped him across the face with her free hand, taking him by surprise. Was he the offender? After she had so willingly submitted herself?
He grabbed her second hand and crushed his mouth atop hers, muffling her scream. In her attempts to throw him off, she unwittingly pressed her body to his crotch several times, tempting the hardness there. Dispensing with his earlier tenderness, he probed her mouth roughly. The blood pounded in his head, drowning out his conscience. She was, after all, his wife. She should not be giving away what was rightfully his. As her husband, he was merely claiming his prerogative.
Her strength was no match for his. She kicked her legs, pressing her feet into the sofa to provide some leverage to free herself from beneath his weight, but his pelvis kept her pinned. He ground himself into her as his mouth continued to assault hers, his tongue probing into her moist depths. A part of him did wish to make her regret coming to the Château, but he was mostly overcome with a desire to possess her, to prove that she was his and no other’s.
She twisted her head to escape his brutal kisses. Sensing she would not relent, he knew of one way to wear down her resistance. He let go of one hand and reached again between her legs.
His touch sent her into a frenzy. She pushed at his face. But the effect of his fondling was immediate, quieting her vigor.
“Please, sir,” she pleaded, her protest akin to the soft mew of a kitten.
“I promise your body will know the divinest pleasure,” he said, teasing and tempting the seat of her desire.
She shook her head weakly. “It is enough. Please.”
But she had ceased to claw him and her body trembled beneath his. He plied her clitoris, leaving her panting anew.
“You are ready to spend again,” he noted, his head swimming with the scent of her arousal.
“No.”
He almost laughed at the feeble rebuff. He slid a finger into her slit. With a loud gasp, she grabbed his upper arm. The look upon her countenance called to his cock. He sank a second digit into her. She groaned. Her lashes fluttered. He curled his fingers and gently stroked.
“Dear God,” she whispered, her eyes wide behind her mask, which sat askew as a result of their scuffle.
Her arousal was ripe, sensual, exciting. He wondered that he had not had the patience before to discover the beauty in her pleasure.
Trudie dug her fingers into his arm as his digits fondled her with a little more vigor. The wet heat of her cunnie was marvelous. If they were in the proper way of Château Follet, he would make her beg to spend. He withdrew his fingers and straightened to undo the buttons of his fall. His cock sprang free, stiff and ready. She stared at it, frightened, as if it were a weapon that could hurt her.
"I will be gent
—" he began.
