“Yes,” she rasped, watching their hands move together as she took in and expelled air. His thumb shifted almost imperceptibly, stroking her skin just below the navel. Her lids grew heavy as she surrendered to his control.
“We’re going to put a baby in you tonight. Would you like that?”
Blood rushed to her nub at his crude words, and far from being offended, she wanted him to keep talking, keep narrating. His voice got her hotter than the sight of those naked cocks, hard and ready for her.
“Yes, I want a baby,” she said, trying to disguise the lust in her voice.Your baby, she thought before shaking her head and focusing on what she could reasonably hope for.
“We’ll put him right here,” said Edmund, stroking that thumb over the place that complained so painfully each month she did not fall pregnant. Was his voice breathy, or was that just the mask?
“Do you promise?” she asked softly, fearful that this night of debauchery alone wouldn’t make her a mother. What if Edmund considered this night enough to discharge his duty to her and sent her back with empty arms and an empty womb, never to fulfil the greatest wish of her heart?
It couldn’t be true, but she felt as though he pulled her closer. “I promise.”
“Shall I examine the lady to make sure she’s prepared for the Bucks?” asked the man before her that Edmund had called the High Buckthorn.
Ann felt Edmund’s papier-mâché snout against her cheek, and a sense of support filled her. He was beside her, even if he couldn’t bring himself to be within her.
“Yes,” she said, spreading her legs further apart to expose herself to the man’s gaze.
At first, he merely let his hand trail up her thigh. Ann watched as his hand dipped below hers and Edmund’s, joined on her belly.
And then she felt him, felt a light touch on her inner lips that had her shuddering in Edmund’s firm hold.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“It feels so good,” she murmured back.
The High Buckthorn brought a finger to her straining nub, and Ann moaned while Edmund’s powerful arms contained her jolt at the sensation.
“Do you like him touching you?” asked Edmund. His voice was strained, as if he, too, was aroused.
His voice combined with the other man’s careful touches to allow Ann to imagine that it was Edmund stroking between herthighs, pleasuring her so quickly she thought she might explode at any moment.
“Yes,” said Ann in a high voice.
“She’s not ready,” said the High Buckthorn, withdrawing from her quim. Ann wanted to scream.
“Not ready?” asked Ann faintly, tears rushing to her eyes.
“What do you mean?” asked Edmund, his voice tight and loud as the rumbles transferred to her.
“Insufficiently wet,” the man said. “Too tight.”
“Edmund,” she whimpered. “Do something. I can’t…”
“Do you trust me?” he asked, sounding as if he was just as distraught as she by the turn of events. That couldn’t be possible, but she appreciated his consideration.
Did she trust him? Abandoning her after their hasty marriage had made her silently rail against him for years, but she trusted him. He’d stepped in and married her on the off chance that Crispin had put a baby in her during their brief romance. Edmund had disappointed her greatly, but he was an honorable man.
“I do,” she said, failing to recognize how those words echoed the vows they’d made all those years ago, under duress.
“I’m going to touch you,” he said, bringing their hands lower on her belly together. He’d reached the place her hair began and drew their fingers over it.
She wondered what he was thinking, what that little pelt felt like under his big fingers as they guided hers down and down. She wanted to tilt her pelvis to meet his touch sooner, but he held her so firmly that she was helpless, like a kitten in her mama’s mouth.
“Are you going to get wet for me?” he asked in a low rumble within that mask, as if three other men weren’t standing by and stroking their cocks as the Wakes learned how to be married.
“What?” she wheezed as she felt their fingers trip over the top of her cleft.
