“If I do what?” Playfully I lean farther forward, my mouth hovering near the dripping head. I let the blanket fall from my body, revealing my breasts. And then I place one of my hands against his inner thigh.
Beresford cries out, and his cock jerks, pulsing spasmodically. Thick jets of white cum fly onto my face and breasts. Instead of jerking away, I welcome the shower of his release. Driven by pure instinct, I take his cock in both my hands and comfort it with long strokes, similar to the way he soothed me with the pressure of his mouth after my orgasm.
With a groan of gratitude he leans into the pressure, thrusting through the tunnel of my hands as he finishes.
Uncertain, but driven by another primal impulse, I take the head of his cock into my mouth.
It’s a perfect fit—wet and hot, shiny and salty-sweet. I polish him eagerly with my tongue, a hum of pleasure in my throat.
“Fuck,” he gasps, his hands plunging into my hair. I love the way he tugs on it just hard enough to communicate his abject need, but without causing me pain.
I suckle and lick his cock head for a few more seconds before he stops me.
“I’m too sensitive right now,” he says. “But next time, you can take me between these exquisite lips.”
“Very well.” Reluctantly I cease licking him.
He throws his big body down beside me and releases a huge sigh. “You didn’t listen, Sybil. You didn’t follow the rules.”
“Technicallyyoudidn’t follow the rules.”
“You touched me.”
“Only on yourthigh.”
He chuckles ruefully. “True, and it was more than I could bear.” He rolls toward me, one massive arm tucked beneath his head. “But know this—I expect you to listen next time. When we agree on something, we must both understand what it means. No revising the agreement, no twisting of words, no machinations to avoid the consequences.”
My mind is too bliss-drunk to really grasp what he’s saying, but I nod.
He pushes the rest of the blanket off me, revealing my body. He smooths his hand along my breast, my waist, and my hip. “What beautiful skin you have. Like silk.”
“And what blue eyes you have, like the sky.”
He laughs, and the sound is so hearty, so relaxed, so joyful that I can’t help laughing too. I shift closer to him, and he keeps playing with me idly, thumbing my nipple, stroking my shoulder, then tucking his fingers comfortably between my thighs.
To my own surprise, I feel the flutters of arousal starting to intensify again, so I roll my hips and open my legs once more. Beresford gives me a lazy smile and keeps petting me, rippling his fingers across my pussy lips. Now and then he pops a finger inside me up to the knuckle.
The casual, careless touches are just as exciting as what he did to me with his mouth. “This feels lovely,” I tell him, my voice thin with breathless pleasure. “I never imagined that sex could be good in so many different ways.”
“There are many more ways to enjoy each other,” he replies. “It might take a lifetime to explore them all. That’s why I’d like you to marry me.”
My world flips upside down, and I’m left hanging over a vast, sparkling void, clinging to the edge of reality with my fingernails. Beneath me is a realm of dazzling possibility, the polar opposite of the life I expected to have.
I thought Anne, Mama, and I might have to endure another wretched winter. If we managed to survive it, we’d face an ever-worsening struggle to stay in the house, until we finally admitted that we couldn’t keep it any longer. Once we lost our home, we would move to the sooty, smelly city, and I’d labor at some menial job alongside my sister, all while trying to hide my ability from people who would be far less accepting of its effects.
Since Beresford entered my life, I’ve entertained thoughts of marrying him—but I never believed any of those dreams could come true. I never actually thought he would care for me enough to pose this question.
His fingers twitch against my pussy, and heat pools there, while delicious tingles travel into my body. The connection between us is undeniable, and it’s more than sexual attraction—at least Ithinkit is. We’ve talked about deeper things… like secrets. Like the past he wants to keep hidden.
“You’re not married, are you?” I ask.
Confusion furrows his brow. “If I were married, I wouldn’t be asking you to marry me.”
“I heard a rumor that you had a wife.”
“And I heard a rumor that you’re a witch. Why should either of us give credence to such nonsense?”
“Nonsense. Of course.” I vent a hollow laugh.
