Page 59 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Ye like that, Ellie? Being treated like a whore? Ye’d like me to flip up yer skirts and take ye here in the alleyway, like that man is taking Lottie?”
His words—his hands—his breath on her skin…Ellie couldn’t stop her moan.
“Yes.”
* * *
Oh Christ.Oh fook. Oh fooking Christ Almighty.
Fawkes couldn’t resist.
She’d come to his home, he’d made herbeg. She’d turned up again, and he’d forced her to strip. Now she was here and he’d dragged her into the alleyway, degraded her in the worst way possible, andshe’d still said yes.
What kind of bastard would he be if he didn’t give her what she wanted so badly?
Ye’re thinking with yer cock.
Well, aye, that was the point.
He twisted, pushing her into the opposite wall. Her palms rose to catch herself against the bricks, and even the sight of her clean gloves against the grime of this alley didn’t deter him. Her throat felt so damned delicate beneath his hold, and while part of him wanted to sink into her, toclaim her, the other part was busy being humbled by her trust.
To be honest, most of ye wants to sink into her, et cetera.
Aye, that was the truth.
Fawkes fumbled for the buttons of his trousers, half-hidden under his heavy coat. Christ, who in the everloving hell fooked outdoors in December?
“Ye want this?” he panted, his other hand scrambling through her skirts. “Ye want my cock in yer sweet cunny? Ye want me to push into ye, without caring if ye’re—” His words cut off with a groan when he reached her arse and realized two things:
She wasn’t wearing anything under this gown.
She was already dripping for him.
“Foooook.” The word was long and low, a drawn-out groan, as he slid his fingers along her seam. She sucked in a breath and arched her back, thrusting her hips back toward him.
She really was desperate, wasn’t she?
His other hand squeezed around his cock, feeling moisture beading at the tip even as the cold air teased his sensitive skin.
She pressed her cheek against the brick wall and spread her legs.
“Ellie,” he breathed, amazed she wanted him—him!—this badly.
She wants yer seed.
Aye, and he was going to give it to her, God forgive him.
He scrambled, lifting her skirts even as he stepped forward, trapping her hips, nestling his cock against the cleft of her arse. When he rubbed along it, her lips parted on a little stuttering moan.
“Ye like that?”
“Please, Fawkes,” she whimpered, rocking her hips back to cradle him.
He slid his free hand down her inner thigh, until it rested above her knee, and lifted. Now her knee was cocked, pressed against the bricks, leaving no obstacles between him and her opening.
When he slid in, her dark eyes fluttered closed.
“That’s it, Ellie. That’s it. Take my cock, the way ye want it.” He slid out just slightly, then in again. “Ye fooking like that? Aye?” Another thrust, infinitesimal, causing her to whimper. “Ye came all the way to Limehouse to be fooked in an alleyway by a criminal.”
