But she faltered when a drop of seed oozed from his tip. Reaching between her thighs, he fingered her dewy slit, smiling when she whimpered.
“The wetness makes everything feel even better, doesn’t it?” he murmured.
When she rubbed her thumb over his flaring dome, he thanked his lucky stars that she was a quick study.
“Do you like that?” she asked, her voice sultry.
He thrust into her fist, letting her feel every pulsing inch of appreciation. “What do you think?”
“I think that is a yes.” She looked adorably pleased with herself.
Soon she was using both hands, her torturously gentle pumping bringing him to the edge…and keeping him there. He knew she wasn’t doing it on purpose, but she was prolonging his orgasm, building his lust to an almost unbearable degree without taking him over. His chest heaving, he watched his glossy cockhead push through the hole of her fist again and again. Suddenly, she used her other hand to tenderly cup his balls, and primal need took over.
Pushing her back onto the table, he aligned his cock with her slit and thrust it against her plush folds. Bliss sizzled through his veins at the bare contact.
She gasped. “Conrad, we shouldn’t?—”
“I won’t go inside, love,” he promised. “I just want to feel this sweet pussy against my cock. Doesn’t this feel nice?”
When she bit her lip, he gripped his cock, thumping the tip against her bud.
“Yes.” She writhed, her eyes glazed. “Don’t stop.”
He thrust against her pussy, making sure his shaft grazed her needy little pearl. Her dew lubricated the friction, and soon they were panting, straining against each other. He bucked his hips, reveling in the lewd, wet sounds made by his pistoning cock.
One of his favorite scenes flitted through his head. He hooked her knees over his shoulders, exposing more of her cunny. Gripping her bottom, he plowed her furrow with bestial abandon. She arched, coming again with a breathless cry that triggered his own release. He drove against her, exploding with a roar, mashing his balls against her pussy until every drop of pleasure was wrung from him.
Panting, he dropped his forehead to hers.
“Was that wicked enough for you?” he murmured.
Her impish smile was the stuff of fantasies.
“I suppose it was.” Brushing her lips against his jaw, she added in a whisper, “For now.”
Chapter Nineteen
The opening gala was a smashing success.
With Letty beside her, Gigi surveyed the packed pump room, which served as an elegant assembly area. The chandelier sparkled, and the circle of Roman deities on the upper floor turned beneficent smiles upon the guests. The crowd was a mix of villagers and visitors from London, and many were whirling to the strains of a local quartet. Letty had also hired a dozen waiters for the event. Dressed in crisp black uniforms and white gloves, they circulated with trays of drinks and assisted at buffet tables, which included delicacies provided by the Leaning House, the Briarbush Inn, and Mr. Khan.
“Thank heavens for Mr. Godwin,” Letty said in an undertone. “I don’t know how we would have managed without his help. We cannot keep the champagne fountain filled quickly enough, and the spa is shipshape, inside and out.”
After their steamy billiards game, Gigi and Conrad had relaxed in front of the fire, enjoying refreshments and a cozy chat. She’d told him about the problems at the spa, to which he’d replied, “I’ll take care of it.” As they’d gone on to discuss other things, she hadn’t thought much about it. Until a day later, when a cart bearing crates of champagne had arrived at the bath’s doorstep.
“There’s enough to float a battleship!” Letty had nearly done a jig.
Soon thereafter, workers had started arriving. According to Cobbins, the team of ratcatchers from London was famous. They’d brought a pack of compact, white-and-brown dogs—“Descendants of Billy, the greatest ratting terrier of all time!” Cobbins had breathed in awe. He and his canine Bobby had trailed the team, picking up tricks. Within a day, the vermin had vanished.
Meanwhile, at the back of the spa, a half-dozen gardeners had assisted Owen. Apparently, the fellows worked with Joseph Paxton, the esteemed designer of the Crystal Palace and notable landscaper. The leader of the group had praised Owen’s design, declaring it “a triumph of balance between nature and man.” He’d invited Owen to stop by the firm when he was in London, and Gigi had been thrilled to see the rare smile that lit up her brother’s gaunt features.
Everything was going smoothly, in no small part because of Conrad. Gigi hadn’t had a chance to thank him in person yet, but his generosity had prompted her to take the next step. She’d sent him a note via Kenny (who’d finagled ongoing lessons from Conrad and thought he walked on water). In her message, she’d asked if Conrad would like to meet her family at the gala. A part of her fretted that it was too soon, but his reply had reassured her:
Say the word, sweetheart. I am ready when you are.
Gigi had strategized the best way to make the introductions. Good thing she was a schemer.
She turned to Letty. “Should we review how you will introduce Mr. Godwin to my parents?”
