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Franny

Franny watched with wide eyes as Rupert advanced on her, his lips pulled back, teeth bared. In the dim lodge, the only light coming from the grime covered windows, he looked feral . Her insides melted, puddling between her thighs. Dear Lord, he was a contradiction. Prim and proper…and primitive.

He reached her. One hand wrapped around the side of her neck, and the other palmed her breast. Taking hold of her, control of her. He was always so determined to be in control. In this instance, she was fully a devotee. His hand squeezed lightly on her neck. Her pulse pounded against his palm.

She stared into his dark, barrel-aged whisky eyes. They burned into her, into her belly, as potent as the drink itself. And then she realized something horrifying. She had never kissed her husband.

“Rupert?” she whispered.

“Mmm?” he growled.

“Will you finally kiss me?”

They stood frozen in silence for a breath. And then his mouth crashed down on hers. It was messy. It was unpracticed. It was raw.

It was everything.

She slid her hands up around his neck and shock stole through her as her breasts crushed between them. She gripped his shoulders, and he devoured her—with his mouth, with his hands, with his body.

Her nails dug into him and held on for dear life. His hand at her nape pressed her into him, angling her head and deepening the kiss, lashing with his tongue. Punishing.

He groaned, and the deep untamed sound settled heavily in her core. His free hand roamed her body, up over the curve of her breast, and her body trembled against him. Then it snaked around her back, his fingertips coasting over each indent of her spine until he met up with his other hand and gripped either side of her face. His fingers wrapped around her jaw, pressing into her jawline, into the skin beneath her ears, to the point it ached. Unrelenting.

She slid her tongue against his, trying her utmost to keep up, to keep pace with him. She grasped large fistfuls of his hair, then pulled him close, greedy. She didn’t want to fall behind. She didn’t want to miss a moment.

His hands fell away, now trailing down her sides, highlighting each ridge of her ribs. She shivered. His touch was deliberate. Like he was cataloguing every inch of her. Rupert’s palms slid down to cup her arse, where he squeezed, pulled her closer to him. Melding them together. Demanding. Grinding her against where he was hard. A dance started up in her chest. It was exhilarating being wanted like this.

He abruptly stepped away, cool air slapping harshly against her naked skin. She could still feel his hands on her, the phantom press of his fingertips digging into her skin. The loss of his heat, his touch, was almost crippling.

Her chest heaved in rhythm with his, and they both struggled to regain breath. They stared at each other, unmoving, unspeaking, the only sign of life in the derelict lodge their choppy breaths ringing around the dark outbuilding. And in the space of a blink, his eyes flattened, emotion vanishing from his expression. Doused.

No! Do not leave me, Rupert.

He took a step backward, curls bouncing as he shook his head. All tension and heat melted off his face, replaced by sagging shame. His mouth opened. To apologize, no doubt. But she wasn’t about to let him. She was cutting Puppet Perty’s strings. She was taking control.

Franny advanced on him.

She attacked the buttons of his breeches. She took hold, and she wasn’t letting go.

Clack. His mouth snapped shut.

After the last button popped free, she dropped to her knees, peeling his wet breeches down his legs. He stood stock-still, motionless except for stepping out of his clothing. She gripped his thighs, began to rise. His thick cock bobbed. And she dropped back down. Her mouth watered, some instinct deep inside her, some innate desire—the same one she had felt last night—tempted her to lean forward. To linger, to lick.

She glanced up at Rupert, her lips curling up in a half-smile. She fell back on her heels and gripped his cock, stroking him just as he had the night before. His eyes widened briefly before his lids sank low.

She slowly dragged her hand from root to tip, the feel of soft skin over hard steel fascinating. He thickened further as she stroked, hardened before her eyes, the tip a purplish hue, a bead of something building. Fascinating .

Franny wanted to explore everything with this man. The pulse between her thighs intensified. With each run of her hand, the feel of his hardness sliding beneath her palm, the heat in her core grew. Dear God, she wanted that hardness inside her.

“H-How do you know to do this?”

His strained voice startled her, and she looked up. She bit her lip, holding back her grin. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction to her answer.

“I watched you last night.”

A blotchy, beet-red blush rapidly covered his face, and he sputtered. “You-You saw me. Last night. When I was…”

She rolled her lips in but couldn’t prevent a small, satisfied smirk. She nodded. And then, because curiosity finally won out, she leaned forward and darted out her tongue, lapping up the small bead of liquid glistening on the tip of his cock. Salt, musk, man. Her eyes fell shut on a groan as a powerful pang shot through her core. His cock jumped in her palm.

“No need to be embarrassed, Rupert,” she said softly, her lips coasting over the head of him as she spoke, pulling a moan from him. “Would it make you…feel better…to know how desperate it made me to watch you? How intense a craving it ignited.” She wetted her lips and then dragged them down the side of him. Dear God . His scent, his taste, sparked something in her core that was near unbearable.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath exploding from him. He stared, mesmerized, his nearly black gaze locked on her.

“Would it ease your mind if you knew I touched myself while watching you? That I imagined—”

“Franny” he gritted out. “You must stop.” Too bad he wasn’t in the least bit convincing.

She sat back but continued to stroke him languidly. “Why, Rupert? Why must I stop?”

The muscles in his neck clenched, his hard rectangular jaw ticking.

“Because. This is too—”

“I want you in my mouth? Is that done?”

A strangled choking noise emerged from him.

“It is done,” he bit out, his eyes shut tight. “But it is not done by wives. By ladies. ”

Her brows came together. She didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t want someone else doing that to Rupert.

“Have you ever…” she asked.

“No.”

Franny worried her lip. So, no direction or helpful advice there. Oh well, she would just have to learn as she went. She leaned forward, but his hand pressed gently on her head, stopping her.

“Franny, please rise,” he said, his voice pleading. She wasn’t sure if he was pleading with her or himself. “This is not something a marchioness would lower herself to do.”

Annoyance barreled through her; vexation mixing with the lust heating her blood. God, not this again. She was so tired of his rules. Of his rigid thoughts of what a lady must be. Well, it was time for Priggish Perty to get the giant stick out of his arse.

“I can very well do as I please,” she snapped. “And if it pleases me to put your cock in my mouth, mark my words, I will do just that!”

She leaned forward and slipped him into her mouth. He thought to forbid her? To dictate to her? She growled around him and rolled her tongue under his length. A deep groan rumbled from him. She took more, slowly sliding farther down his cock with each pass.

Oh, this was delicious. Her eyes fluttered shut. It lit her up inside, her core molten. His cock slid in and out of her mouth, stretching her lips wide, just like it would if he were to…

She moaned, but it was drowned out by his groan. Her attention flew to his face. He watched her, eyes mere slits peering through a soft frill of lashes, mouth parted, breath ricocheting. Ricocheting like her pulse in her neck. In her core.

Franny held his gaze and took him deeper. He groaned, rich and rough. And then his hand fisted in her hair and wrenched her off him.

She stared up at him, sucking in a much-needed breath of air. What would Perfect Perty do? Will you run, Rupert? Or will you retaliate?

His fist tightened, and he pulled her up. A sharp sting skittered across her nerves in a maddening pain-pleasure dance. Her hands scrambled up him for purchase as she attempted to evade the pull against her scalp. He let go, and her heartbeat deserted her at the sight of pure hunger on his shadowed face, at how he stared down at her, deranged curls falling heavy over his brow.

She shivered, took an instinctive step back. He followed. And there was something in his eyes…that hinted no matter where she went, he’d follow. He’d find her. Her limbs trembled. He’d never been able to catch her growing up. But she had a feeling this time, if she ran. He would.

His nostrils flared with each step until he stopped directly before her. She didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know what came next. Rupert towered over her, unhinged. A delicious combination of excitement and fear vibrated through her. Whatever came next, she wanted it.

He tipped up her chin and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, and her heart stuttered. A deep growl ripped from him, and she flew backward into the wall. Her breath shot from her lungs. Her body rebounded, and before she could even regain her senses, he was on her. Hard, heated male surrounded her, engulfed her.

She didn’t have time to think, her reaction pure instinct. She was under attack. So she fought. She struggled against him, despite her insides melting, despite the fire surging through her. Her body was a riot of confusion.

He gripped her wrists, and she found herself pinned, wrists above her head, one of his hands holding them motionless. She panted heavily, staring at the stranger looking back at her. She thrashed, but it had no effect.

Except for his cock jumping against her.

Her eyes flew wide. He liked it. He liked her fight, her struggle. Her core fluttered. Oh. Yes. How she had always wanted to fight this man, beat the pomposity right out of him. But in this, she wanted him to win. For the first time, Franny wanted to lose.

He groaned into her neck, and then cold air hit her body and a heavy thud echoed through the lodge as he dropped to his knees. His hands gripped her hips, trapped her against the wall. He leaned forward, running his nose over the crease where her hip met her thigh, and she squirmed, the sensation tickling her senses, igniting a deep ache between her legs.

His mouth dusted over her curls, and he inhaled. A shuddered breath left her. Oh dear God. She could barely breathe, barely hold herself up. Her knees had deserted her. The only reason she was standing was because he held her prisoner against the rough wood wall.

One hand curved around to her arse, fingers squeezing at the same time a primitive grunt left him. “Mine,” he rasped.

Her heart swelled. She had never— never —been the kind of person someone wanted as theirs.

And then he was sliding his hand down the back of her thigh and flinging it over his shoulder. He paused, his entire frame heaving with the force of his ragged breaths, gaze locked between her legs. Her fingernails dug into the rough boards at her back, and she shifted under the weight of his stare, all of a sudden feeling very exposed. His gaze flicked up to hers, and she stilled. He noticed. A wicked grin curled his lips.

“I am going to devour you,” he growled.

And then his mouth fell on her like a starved man, and her entire body ignited. A cry tore from her throat, mixing with his deep, pained groan. Like he felt it, too. It felt too good. The pleasure of lips and tongue between her thighs was like nothing she could have ever imagined. Pure, agonizing pleasure. His fingers dug tighter into her thigh and hip as he buried himself between her thighs. So tight she’d probably bruise. She hoped she would. She needed more of his marks to erase the ones from her past.

Her head lolled from side to side as his tongue slid over her, did things that had her core throbbing, tightening. She rocked against him, and he moaned into her. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the vibration on her sensitive flesh. She dropped her hands to his head, delving into those wild curls, holding him even tighter to her. And she could have sworn he purred against her core. She couldn’t get enough. Her heart hammered in her chest, that precipice of bliss right there. So close.

The lodge was nothing but lurid wet sounds, her cries and moans, and his deep grunts. It was so far from civilized, and she loved it. Loved what it represented. His animalistic need for her. And maybe it was that fact, or maybe it was the way he thrust his tongue inside where she was so desperate for him, but the pressure building inside her was too big, too potent, too much . She fell over the edge, bliss crashing down over her. She cried out, her body shaking violently, her fingers yanking his curls, to the point she was sure she was hurting him. But she was beyond caring, beyond able to form a coherent thought.

Her tremors slowed, and her lethargic limbs fell away from his hair. Her sharp pants sliced through the lodge. That had been incredible. But her intimate muscles clenched, her body demanding more, empty. She wanted everything. She needed…

“More, Rupert,” she begged.

He delivered. Fingertips dug into the flesh of her arse, and she was propelled into the air. Her back slammed against the wall at the same time he drove into her.

Yes. Her head fell back. Oh God. Stretched so wide by him. So full of him. No pain this time. Just the most exquisite stretch.

She wrapped her legs around him, locking her ankles and tangling her arms around his neck. His hips crashed into her, impaling her, hitting her in a place that had her body quivering. Again, please. He moved in earnest, pounding into her. Relentless.

She used the wall for leverage, tried to meet him thrust for thrust. She didn’t understand the feeling coursing through her, the indescribable feeling of being full of him. It made her feel whole .

“Fuck, Franny. The number of times—”

He buried his head in her neck, and she leaned into him. The number of times, what, Rupert?

The pleasure he’d wrung from her earlier was rapidly building again, snaking its way through her. Every slick thrust, every grunt he breathed into her neck, had her heart swelling to near painful proportions. Being with him like this, both of them broken down to nothing but raw need, she’d never felt more alive, more free, more connected to someone.

She was helpless against his onslaught. He leaned back, and her gaze locked onto his. His black eyes glittered, fanatical in their need. For her.

“I have dreamed of this,” he gritted out, baring his teeth. Savage. Uncontrolled. “Of fucking you until you break.”

Lord in heaven.

And while she held his gaze, while he drove into her, pleasure took her in its tantalizing grip. And destroyed her. Her core went up in flames, swallowing her in an inferno of ecstasy. Her head fell back, spine bowing so tightly she feared she might snap. Break. Like he wanted. His roared release filled her ears, drowning out her own cry.

He collapsed against her, their labored breathing filling the room. She rested her head against his neck and closed her eyes, breathing in deep. Earthy. Salty-sweet. God, he smelled like an ocean breeze.

And she was swept away.