“Your little pussy can take it. In fact, I think it wants to be fed some of my cream.”
Her cheeks turned rosy. “That’s naughty.”
“It is, and the delightful squeeze of your cunny tells me you don’t mind.” He tucked a silken strand behind her ear. “Now I’d like to stuff you as full of cream as a profiterole, but we must think of the consequences. You’d better take your ride like a good lass before I have to pull out. This ride may not last long.”
She took him at his word. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, her knees framing his hips, she began to ride. She rose and fell, impaling herself on his prick. She grew bolder, circling her hips, grinding on the way down, finding the motions that made her moan and his breath hiss through his lips.
Watching her, he was entranced. By the firm jiggle of her tits as she speared herself on his weapon. By the way she pouted on an upstroke and bit her lip in pleasure on the downstroke. Her gaze grew unfocused as she reached the finish line again, her back arching and fingers tangling in his chest hair, her dew anointing his staff.
Grasping her hips, he took over. Guided her back down on his cock, at an angle that brought her pearl against his hard shaft. With each pass, he grazed the most sensitive part of her body. He held onto her sweet bottom, spreading and massaging those firm cheeks as he thrust his hips up.
She whimpered as he pounded into her. Moving a hand to her breast, he rolled the tip between finger and thumb, tugging gently. The answering clench of her passage was almost his undoing. But he didn’t want to go over the edge without taking her there once more. He leaned his head up, capturing her nipple between his lips and sucked.
She moaned his name as spasms rocked her slender body.
With a growl, he rolled her off him. He gripped his cock, jerking it rapidly. To his everlasting delight, she fondled his balls as he frigged himself and kissed him passionately. The heat boiled over, climbing his shaft, exploding like a geyser into their shared touch as he buried his shouts in her mouth.
Afterward, they lay in a sweaty tangle of limbs. He had sufficient energy to pull a coverlet over them, tucking her head against his shoulder.
As his heartbeat slowed, he heard her say, “Wick?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for the brooch. I’m sorry I was ungracious about it earlier. It’s the most beautiful gift anyone has given me.”
At her whispered admission, his chest warmed with pride. He kissed her hair.
“My pleasure, angel,” he murmured.
“And thank you for the riding lesson as well. I think my seat is improving, don’t you?” she mused. “That’s two different mounts I’ve tried.”
“You’re a natural. Now go to sleep. And if you’re a good lass, I’ll give you another ride in the morning.”
He felt her lips curve against his shoulder, and he fell asleep smiling.
28
The next day,the Kents picked up Beatrice and Wick in a glossy carriage. They were going to visit Tessa’s friend, whose shop was located in a dodgy area of London. As both Tessa and Wick had brought along armed guards, Bea wasn’t too worried about safety.
They arrived at a busy thoroughfare in Whitechapel. From the carriage window, Bea saw people milling everywhere and shops jammed shoulder to shoulder. Their destination stood out due to its sign: “Doolittle’s Emporium of Wonders” was painted in large gilt letters above the storefront window. Through the glass, Bea saw a puzzling plethora of merchandise, with no apparent rhyme or reason to the variety of the goods.
“I thought your friend was a horological expert?” she asked Tessa, who sat across from her.
“He is,” Tessa assured her.
Bea peered at the storefront. “I don’t see any watches or clocks in the window.”
“Alfred keeps the valuable goods behind the counter. Come along,” Tessa said as she alighted with the help of her husband. “We want to catch him before his nap.”
“Nap? It’s only ten o’clock in the morning,” Bea whispered to Wick. “Who is this Alfred?”
“I’m certain Mrs. Kent knows what she’s doing,” he whispered back before handing her down.
As her feet touched the ground, Bea caught sight of a small figure at the end of the street, and her hand tightened around Wick’s.
“What’s the matter, sweeting?” he asked.
“There’s a boy at the end of the street,” she blurted. “I saw him yesterday, outside your office.”
