Lynne Connolly - Counterfeit Countess

Not that she cared. Neither did he. “That’s the way, sweetheart.

Scream for me. Cry out, so everyone knows what we’re about, because I don’t intend to keep it a secret. London will know the Earl of Graywood is unfashionably in love with his wife and fucks her senseless every night. Then he makes love to her and soothes her with sighs and pretty words.” He kissed her shoulder, so tenderly she hardly felt the caress. “I want you every way, Faith. Fiercely and softly, facing each other and spooning close. Head to foot, you sitting on me, riding me to oblivion, me on top, driving into you so hard you won’t be able to close your legs for a week.”

“Oh God, John. Take me now, for pity’s sake.”

With a rough laugh, he prolonged his torture no longer, for she was ready, more than ready. His cock nuzzled her entrance, then he pushed, and entered her with a completeness that left her in no doubt of his readiness for her. “I wanted to do this to you from the moment I saw you in the doorway of the church. Quite desperately so the vicar nearly had to marry us in our bridal chamber.” Her responsive laugh turned into a moan as he slid one arm around her waist and dragged her against him. “Lean forward, my love. I’m going to take you hard and deep. You’ll come so much you’ll see stars.”

He gave her no mercy, even when she begged for it, reminding her, “If you want me to stop, I will, but hold on if you can. You will come, Faith, and often. This is only the first time today. Can you feel me, deep inside you? Do you want me to stop?”

“No!”

He thrust deep, then withdrew nearly all the way and hammered into her again, turning the action into a series of ramming thrusts that took her breath, then her senses. The smooth wood under her hands, the slight roughness of the embroidered bedcover against her waist, all registered. She feared she would never feel them again without a reminder of this sublime lovemaking. No, he was right, fucking. He took her, forcing her to come. When he felt the first helpless spasm of her body, he called her name, words of encouragement flowing from his tongue in a litany of desire.

“John, I don’t think I can bear any more.” She gasped the words, lightning shooting through her, sensations she had no words for, so out of her experience were they. Even his close attention in the last few weeks was as nothing compared to this. “You will always feel me there. Remember this, Faith, how your new husband took you so relentlessly.”

“I will. Forever.” She knew she would. Responding to a flurry of quick jabs, she leaned forward more and pushed out her backside to impel him deeper. Her astonishment and doubt of a moment ago forgotten, replaced by hungry lust. “I want more.”

He gave it to her, chasing another climax and she revelled in the sensations coursing through her. Every part of her body seemed sensitive, every gasp and drop of sweat intensified as they correspondingly heated and cooled her. Her thighs hit the bed with every drive, until the rhythm they set sent fire through her, prickling to the tips of her fingers and each hair on her head.

This time they came together, the gush of his seed inside her punctuated by the staccato clench of her channel around him and their mutual hoarse cries of fulfilment.

He fell half over her, his body protective, warming her, probably too much. Not that she cared. “Forever, Faith. I love you.”

“I love you, my husband. Now we’ve done the fucking, can we get to the lovemaking?”

The household also heard his sudden yell of laughter and everyone smiled, even the dour dowager Countess when she thought nobody could see her.

Things had worked out rather well, after all.