Her breathing quickened. Ann had little real experience of flirtation or sex aside from that almost forgotten romance with Lord Crispin Wake all those years ago and her forgettable tryst with Clarence from the train. How was she supposed toplay the sophisticated London woman when she was, in fact, not sophisticated at all and the vast majority of her sexual knowledge came from books?
“All will be right in the end,” the man said to her under his breath. Ann wished she could run to that reflecting pool beside a cluster of trees and void the contents of her stomach. She was so nervous and confused about this ritual. This ritual intended to leave her pregnant.
“The Rutlord will see to your comfort,” said her escort, and they drew nearer to where Edmund sat. “Take a seat upon his thighs, and he will help you through the ordeal.”
Ann stopped walking, and her stomach truly dropped for the first time that night. She’d been anxious before, but that was nothing to this. She was about to sit upon her husband? Presumably as other men took his place between her legs?
She should have been horrified, mortally offended, and stormed from that townhouse in disgust. Instead, she felt her breathing quicken and her quim grow wet as she thought of him witnessing her hard use. Seeing other men fill her and take his place.
No wonder Edmund hadn’t been coming home to the estate; Shropshire had nothing like this.
Despite limited experience with her husband’s nude body, she knew it was him, knew those strips of muscle that ran up his sides and that firm chest. The stag mask — its expression unchanging no matter what she said or did — helped herseparate the man who had married and left her from this Buck seated on the throne.
“Seat yourself upon his thighs,” repeated her escort.
Ann stood before Edmund, unsure of how to proceed. Suddenly, they possessed too many limbs between them, and this entire night seemed like a farce.
Then Edmund took her hand.
As she settled herself on his legs, Ann tried to remain sitting upright so as not to make her husband uncomfortable.
“This won’t do,” he said, then slid an arm about her waist to draw her back against that enormous chest she so admired.
All the air in Ann’s lungs exited in a huff. The feeling of being held by Edmund, skin to skin, for the first time was shocking. No, more than shocking: it was delicious to feel his hot skin pressed against her own, his cock nestled against her arse, his arm banded about her waist. She must be imagining his manhood had swollen slightly. Despite herself, Ann closed her eyes and savored the sensation she’d been longing for since sometime in the last decade.
She jolted when she felt a hand touch her thigh.
“If you’ll permit me, Madam. I must assess your readiness for the ritual,” said her escort as the other two men looked on.
“See now, we’ve never done that before,” said Edmund behind her, the rumble of his deep voice transferring to her body and making her nipples hard. Ann’s joints seemed to melt in her husband’s hold, leaving her a collection of assorted bones within skin. She’d just wanted a baby to fill her lonely days, not to react so strongly to a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with her!
“That was under your watch, Rutlord. I’m in command of the Forest tonight.”
Ann thought she heard some muttering about something called the High Buckthorn behind Edmund’s mask, but she couldn’t be sure because she was adjusting to the feeling of being sat upon his legs.
She felt gangly as a colt, her body so much smaller than that of her husband. Ann didn’t know where to put her hands, how to balance. At the feel of the hand on her leg, she tried to open for him, but she just slipped on Edmund’s lap.
“Lean back against me,” Edmund said from within that papier-mâché mask. Somehow, the muffling of his voice by that mask allowed her to forget that it washer husbandwho held her.
Finally surrendering to his powerful arms, Ann slumped back against that broad chest and her center of gravity shifted. Edmund’s arm was like a sash across her body, as if a sash could also be a beam holding up an entire house. His other hand came to her knee.
“Open for my brother.”
Ann jerked in his hold, somehow thinking Edmund referred to Crispin, dead these many years. She felt suddenly cold, all erotic longing shoved into some root cellar.
“Not him,” said Edmund, stroking the skin on her thigh ever so softly. “You’re mine.”
Her body suddenly ran from cold to hot. What did he mean by that statement? He’d not bothered to claim her in the course of their long marriage. Ann was puzzling over his words when he spoke again.
“Open these pretty legs,” he said, helping her balance as she brought her legs to the outside of his. He thought her legs pretty?
She was naked and spread on her husband’s lap, in full view of three other men. One stood before her, his cock longer than before. Two watching from the side had their thick pieces in hand, slowly stroking as they stared between her legs.
Looking down, Ann saw her auburn bush and the shadow of her most private parts exposed. She moved her hand down to cover herself on instinct.
“There, now,” said Edmund as he slid his hand over hers and drew it up to rest on her lower belly. His big hand caged it, and the sight of him so close to her quim made her breaths come quicker.
“Are you well?”
