Page 24 of The Widower Without a Will
His own need had abated in the task of worshipping her on his knees, but as he rose back to his feet, his cock flooded with intense desire.As ifhewere an appendage ofit, designed only to get him inside her hot vagina.
Mrs.Bellamy met his gaze with those dark, hungry eyes once more.“Do you think me ready for you?”
“Perhaps some pomade de pimpernel would help,” he admitted.“I have one for my hands, if you would like it.”
It was in a drawer in the table beside the sofa.Mrs.Bellamy sniffed it before she lay back on the cushions and, spreading her legs, massaged it inside her body.
The sunlight barely reached this dark corner of the study, yet Martin couldn’t look away from the display of her quim, like a case of jewels against the backdrop of her widow’s weeds.
She commanded, “Take off your trousers.”
He did—his trousers, his stockings, his boots, and his coat, so that all he wore in the name of modesty was his long white shirt.
His conscience reminded him this was a bad idea.He would not want his children to do this.He would not want another man to take advantage of Mrs.Bellamy in such a way.
She caught his hand in her fingers.“Lord Preston.”
He liked her fingers so very much.“Surely you mustn’t call me that now.”
“What name should I use?Your Christian name?”
Lolly was the last person to have called him Martin.But she was his wife, not just his lover, and a woman of the same rank, besides.If he gave Mrs.Bellamy leave to use that name—that was something entirely different from letting lust rule for an afternoon.“Preston,” he said.“It’s what my friends call me.”
“Preston.”She kissed his fingertips.“May I touch you?”
Confused—they were already holding hands, after all—he nodded, and she wrapped her palm lightly around his shaft.How heavenly it was—or was it evil because it was such a wonderful temptation?
Martin would already reap the consequences of this afternoon.He might as well give in completely.
“Would you think me very wicked if I kissed it?”she asked, her mouth already close to his cock.He had no breath with which to reply.He shook his head.
She did more than kiss it.She took it in her hot, wet mouth and worshipped it the way he had just done her quim: with long, smooth motions; with fast flicks across its tip; with her hand teasing one part and her tongue another.But she only plunged him into the pool of ecstasy without giving him a chance to swim: soon, she withdrew her mouth and gazed up at him.“I want to have you inside me.Do you want that, too?”
Oh, how badly he did.“Yes.”
“Then take me.”Lying back, she spread her legs once more.Her quim was slick from the pomade and her own desire.“We are two old adults.We won’t get confused.”
She didn’t want anything from him but this.And he—Martin didn’t know what he wanted other than to complete this moment.There was no more time for doubts, only time for doing.
He climbed onto the sofa so that his knees balanced on either side of the cushions.Her ankles wrapped around his torso, bringing him close, and Martin leaned down to kiss her mouth once more.Compared to everything else they had done, it now felt innocent, this tender exchange of desire.A reminder that this was not just a woman with a quim, but Mrs.Bellamy—a woman he admired, who he hoped in turn admired him.
And then her hand was on his cock again, guiding it to her entrance.He slid in slowly, watching her for signs of discomfort.Halfway in, he lost conscious thought, overwhelmed almost to a swoon by the sensation of being swathed in another body.His hips acted of their own accord.She met his movement beat for beat.This was not tender: this was animalistic rutting, their breaths getting shorter, their bodies getting frantic, their thoughts replaced by instinct.Martin curled over Mrs.Bellamy, his mouth buried in the hair coming loose from her thick braid, and gave himself over to the great blankness of fucking.
“Oh Preston,” she whispered in his ear, “yes, just like that.”
He didn’t like the new name, but he came anyway, in an amazing eruption of bliss that he had entirely forgotten was possible.
Wrapped around her in recovery, he returned to himself to find a man who had fucked the poor widow in his care, and he wondered if he would ever forgive himself.
Marthahopedherheartwas not about to burst.Her pulse was racing so fast that it tapped against the skin of her wrist and neck.She wondered if Lord Preston could feel it as he draped over her, spent.
She hadn’t had a vigorous fuck like that in years, and she wasn’t sure her heart could still withstand it.So she lay quietly, eyes closed, hand on Lord Preston’s back, to let her breath return to her lungs.
What a thrilling thing it was, to be the object of desire ofone’sobject of desire.She could hardly believe that after these days of pushing her away, he had kissed her again.Kissed her and shoved her against bookshelves and made her forget her own name with the delights of his tongue!
If her heartdidburst, then so be it, for she was happy.
Eventually, Lord Preston stirred, shifting his weight so he could sit at the end of the sofa instead of curling his whole body around hers.Stripped to only his white linen shirt, he looked both younger—his thighs were remarkably thick and strong!—and more vulnerable.Martha’s instinct was to wrap her arms around his neck again, but she resisted.
