“The only thing?”
“Yes.”
It was true. It was all she wanted in this moment. To lose herself in her own body and his, in their mouths and loins, in their releases. She wanted to erase herself and her feelings in a tumult of physical sensation.
She got hold of her nightdress and wiggled and pulled and got it up over her head.
“Bed me, George.”
She wedged herself up against him as tightly as she could and grasped his cock through his fall and began kissing his neck.
For several long seconds, he was motionless even as he grew under her hand.
“George. Give me what I want.”
“I want a normal life,” he got out.
She stiffened in his arms. Her mouth came away from his neck but she couldn’t look at him.
“Are you saying I’m not normal?”
“No, of course not.”
She was about to cry and she was tired of crying. “You don’t want me?”
“Yes, Phee.” He put a hand on her cheek and moved his head back and away so he could look at her face. “I do, sweetheart.”
“Then show me you do.”
“Can’t I show you some other way right now?”
She shook her head. “I want you to take me.” She fumbled at his fall, trying to undo his buttons.
A growl and his hands were pushing her hands away. She had a moment when she feared he was going to get out of the bed and leave her. But no, he was undoing his fall and dragging her by her hips into the center of the bed and kneeling between her legs.
He did not take off his shirt or his trousers. He did not kiss her or fondle her breasts. He did not rub his member over her cleft and her own little nub, teasing her.
He took his cock in hand and put it at her entrance and plunged into her with one unsparing thrust. He gave her what she wanted, what she had asked for.
She watched his dark eyes as he pounded away at her. He was lost in lust, forcing her body into its own desperate and savage place.
This was what she wanted.
His name came to her lips time and again.George, she wanted to call out. But she didn’t speak. There was no place for names here, and this was no time to make him into her husband or her lover or even her friend. This was cock and quim and nothing else.
His pace was frenzied. His thrusts were deep. She felt her own release building, irrevocable, inevitable, inexorable. But still even when the moment came, she did not grab at him or say his name. She stayed apart, her breath in short bursts as her lower body gripped him over and over again.
His release came soon after, a few more thrusts, his head back and his eyes closed for the first time since he had entered her, and she could feel him pulsing inside her as he stilled.
He did not scream. And he did not linger inside her. He withdrew, still hard, and buttoned his fall before he got off the bed. He went to her bowl and pitcher. She could not read his face as he came back to the bed with a cloth in his hand.
She thought he would hand the cloth to her and she reached for it. But instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and took the cold, wet cloth to where her legs were still spread, where his own warm seed and her fluids were coming out of her. He cleaned her tenderly, a gentle swipe of the cloth on the lips of her cleft, a light press against her entrance. Such a contrast to the brutal coupling they had shared just minutes ago.
He met her eyes. “Breakfast is in an hour,” he said and got up and left the room.
She pulled up the covers. After a time, Dawson came in and opened the drapes.
“Will you wear the dress we selected yesterday, my lady? Breakfast is in half an hour, I heard.”
