A Knight of Passion(6)
Riana splayed her hands on his chest, fingers digging into his flesh. Satisfaction shot though him. Touching him pleased her. He eased inside. Her tight walls closed around him, until he was sheathed to the hilt. Bryant lowered himself onto her. The feel of her soft breasts flattened beneath him was an aphrodisiac far beyond any he’d ever experienced.
He pulled out, the tip of his rod playing at her entrance before finally easing back inside in a slow, agonising thrust that nearly drove him out of his mind. He pulled out again and she arched into the thrust this time, forcing him deeper. Bryant groaned. He would spend himself in moments. In, then out again, pressure built. Her hands slid around his back and down to his arse. She squeezed his cheeks as he entered her again. She groaned and pleasure ricocheted through him.
“By God,” he rasped. “You are a witch.”
She abruptly shoved him back. He rolled off her, dazed. His heart pounded. She slid from the bed. Surely she wasn’t leaving. No yet, not before he’d fully possessed her.
She dropped to her knees and levelled her dark eyes on him. “A witch must have her talisman.”
His heart galloped. Her head bobbed out of sight for an instant before she stood, a small wooden box in hand. His cock throbbed, the need to feel her walls around it nearly driving him mad. But his curiosity was piqued and he forced patience as she set the box on the foot of the bed, opened the lid, and produced a life-sized, lacquered wood version of a man’s cock.
Sir Bryant stared. He’d heard of such instruments, but had scarcely believed in their existence. What in God’s name did the wench intend to do with the thing?
She set the box on the floor then, the phallus in hand, crawled onto the bed beside him. She bent her head and kissed him, soft and slow as if she knew full well she was driving him out of his mind. Bryant grasped her shoulders and yanked her to him, deepening the kiss. She sighed against his lips, then allowed his tongue inside again, sparring, but holding back just enough to drive him closer to the edge.
Riana pulled away. His head swam and, when she tugged him into a sitting position at the foot of the bed, then sidled up to him arse first, he flinched. She reached back and spread her arse cheeks, then positioned herself so that his cock fitted into the crack as she carefully released her cheeks around him. The pressure closed in around the sensitive underside of his shaft and Bryant grasped her hips, thrusting upwards into the crack. He slid downwards and, when the crown reached the lower edge, she shifted. The tip of his cock entered the tiny rosette.
Bryant froze. By God, she didn’t mean to—Riana reached back and grasped his shaft at the root. Slowly, she eased back onto him, stretching the opening against the intrusion of his engorged cock. She gasped, and all thought was shoved aside by the lust that flooded him. He couldn’t move as she inched him inside, numbing his senses to all but the exquisite feel of her tight arse around him. At last, she settled hilt-deep onto him and took a deep breath he felt clear to his balls.
She didn’t move, and he started to ask what was wrong then realised her attention was on the painting hanging over the bed. He started to look up, but his gaze snagged on her fingers as they closed around the phallus on the bed beside them. His heart raced. Sweet Mary, she didn’t intend… The phallus disappeared in front of her and he leaned his chest against her slim back to look over her shoulder. A jolt went through him at sight of her rubbing the wooden tip against her sex. She shifted and he grasped her waist as she pulsed in several quick bursts that rocked her against his root in agonising pleasure. A growl rumbled from his chest.
He watched the phallus slide through the slick folds, then disappear inside her channel. She gasped and he pictured the thick wood buried hilt-deep inside her cream-filled sheath. His cock hardened to near pain. Bryant gritted his teeth when she shifted, and he realised she was easing the wooden rod out. She lifted and fell. Her speed increased as she jammed the device in and out.
Desire streaked through him. By God, the wench was f*cking her cunt—while he f*cked her arse. His balls tightened. With skilled precision, she rocked forward, easing away from his shaft. Bryant’s squeezed her hips convulsively as she stopped just short of his cock slipping out. When she rocked back onto him, he drove deep.
“My lord,” she breathed, and his belly tightened with the knowledge that his thrust had driven the phallus deeper.
Forward, then back, he started a rhythm. Lust shot through him at the mental picture of the thick rod reappearing then disappearing within her sheath each time he rammed his cock into her. Her head fell back and gooseflesh tightened his chest muscles where her hair tickled his taut skin. She undulated against his thrusts, allowing him deeper, longer access and, with her forward motion, he knew the wooden cock was being stuffed ever deeper. She cupped a breast, and he could stand it no longer. He quickened his thrusts, unable to halt the need that built like a raging storm.