She urged him closer, his cock partially inside her, the same, by-now-familiar stretching of her body to accommodate him making heat glide through her veins. He felt impossibly wonderful, filling her, claiming her. She grasped his hip with herfree hand, roughly pulling him so that his cock surged into her some more. And then she wriggled on the desk, bringing her bottom to the edge of the table so that she could welcome him completely, wrapping her legs around his waist in shameless invitation.
“Yes,” he hissed, kissing her everywhere—lips, cheek, chin, ear, throat. Again and again, his mouth a hot benediction falling over her flesh. “Yes, sweetheart. Take my cock. Take what I give you.”
She rocked against him, and he sank into her to the hilt, his cock lodged where it belonged, deep inside her. They stayed thus for a moment, bodies entwined, connected, as close as two people could be.
And then he straightened, dragging her skirts away with one hand and using the other to brace himself against the table. His head was bent, gaze intent upon the place where they were joined as he slid almost completely from her and then back inside her again.
“You’re so perfect. I love the way your cunt feels, wrapped around me, so snug, so hot, so wet.”
More praise. She lost all restraint, her channel tightening on his, wetness gushing from her in an abundance that would have been embarrassing had his reaction been any different.
“Oh fuck. You’re so… I can’t… My love…”
He said something more, but it was in his native tongue, and Eleanora couldn’t understand the words. He sounded as if he were in ecstasy and pain all at once, and she knew the feeling, because she was coming on him, and he began to plow into her with more fervent thrusts, slamming deep and then withdrawing, only to slide inside her again. The table tilted, balancing on two legs and then thumping to all four, then back to two.
She reached for any surface to keep from tumbling backward, coming on him as he drove into her wildly, as if it were the first time and the last time they would ever make love. Her hand snagged in smooth cloth, and she clutched it, another peak hitting her as he surged forward, his cock buried so deeply in her that sensation made black stars speckle her vision. A mindless yank, and the curtains came tumbling down around them.
Later, she would concern herself with how she would explain the mess they had made to the servants. Now, she was too consumed in Nando. Now, she was wanton and wicked, her breasts heavy and full, nipples abrading her stays with every thrust she matched him for, her hips dancing from the table as it wavered and crashed about.
He thrust in and out of her wetness, groaning, praising her.
“You look so beautiful.” He sank deep, then withdrew. “Such a good girl, coming all over my cock again and again. I’m drowning in you.”
“Yes,” she whimpered, matching his movements, hands splayed on the table, hips mindlessly working, bringing him into her over and over, her entire body sensitized beyond all control. “Fuck me, Nando. Fill me with your seed. I need it. I needyou. Please.”
A confession of sorts. Perhaps she would regret it later. But her mind was not functioning as it ought, drenched as it was in filthy, debauched pleasure. She was more desperate than she had ever been, drawn to the height of something bigger than she was. Something bigger than the both of them.
He tugged at her hair, pulling her head back, holding her gaze. “Say it again.”
She had said so much. Her wits scrambled, trying to recall the words that had only just left her lips. How was she to think with his big cock filling her?
“I…” He sank into her quickly, deeply. “Oh.”
He withdrew, the glide of his thick erection something close to pure bliss. “Say it.”
“Fuck me.”
He slammed into her, the table shuddering beneath them.
“Not that.” He found her mouth with his, kissing her harshly, deliciously, his tongue mating with hers before he lifted his head again. “Tell me to come inside you. To fill you with my seed. Tell me you need me.”
“Come inside me,” she begged without hesitation, wanting to do anything to please him, to please them both. “I need you. Fill me up with your seed. Make me with child.”
She didn’t know where the last request came from. In all the years she had been working so steadfastly as a paid companion, she had never dreamed of children of her own. It had been elusive, something that would never be hers. And she hadn’t thought about children with Nando either. But the words left her, coming from some place of validity, from some part of her she hadn’t ever acknowledged.
The effect upon him was instant.
He hastened his pace, his strokes deep, hard, and fast. Not hurried but frenzied as he sank his cock into her again and again. Until, with a choked sound, he buried himself inside her and stiffened, his spend spurting into her, hot and wet and so delicious that she trembled, pressing her breasts shamelessly into his chest, her mouth seeking his. They kissed as the last spurt of his seed left him, warmth blossoming inside her like a summer bloom.
Nando collapsed against her, still nestled deep, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, never wanting him to part from her. Even as she knew that one day, he inevitably would. Because there was one lesson Mama had taught her that Eleanora had never forgotten—men always left.
He loved fucking.
Ye gods, did helovefucking.
However, Nando had discovered there was something he loved more than fucking. Several things, actually. One of them was his wife. Another of them was having said wife on his lap, as he did now, in his arms, with Benvolio curled on her. The cat sleepily purred as she rubbed the soft white patch of fur under his chin where he loved to be petted most. They had been spending their evenings thus for the last few nights.
Just after dinner, they would retire to the salon that she had yet to decorate and make her own, the hearth cheerily crackling, Benvolio twining about their ankles in an attempt to kill them, as Nando teasingly claimed. They would settle upon the same obliging Grecian couch and talk.
