Grace Goodwin - The Virgins - Complete Boxed Set

It was just like the dream, but better. I cried out, the sound mixing with the night birds. His mouth covered mine, taking my pleasure into him. He wasn’t stifling it. I felt as if he was keeping it for himself. Not that I wanted anyone else to hear, to know I was kissing the new boarder behind the chicken coop.

No, not just kissing, for his hand was there .

Cassie

“So wet, Cassie. Is all this for me?” he whispered.

I didn’t know if the wetness coating my thighs was for him, but it certainly was because of him. I’d never behaved like this before. Never let a man other than Charles touch me beyond a simple handshake. Certainly, I’d never let a man take the liberties I was allowing Mr. Maddox. Of course, I’d never, ever felt like I did when he was touching me.

No. This was insane! I was thinking about him as if he’d actually kissed me, put his hands on me before, but he hadn’t. I’d never even laid eyes on him before dinner. It had been a dream—just the same dream for four nights—but they were so real, so similar. So wonderful.

And now, I discovered that being touched by the real Mr. Maddox was so much better.

“I’m not the first man to touch you, am I, Cassie?” His breath fanned my neck, had me angling my head for him.

“No. My husband, Charles.” When I felt Mr. Maddox stiffen, I continued. “He died three years ago.”

“He didn’t make you feel like this though, did he?”

I shook my head, licked my lips. “No,” I replied.

“I’m the only one who can make you burn, Cassie. We’re marked mates. Your husband may have taken you first, but your body knows the truth. No one else will touch you now, no one but me.”

“No one,” I repeated when he removed his fingers then thrust them back inside me.

“This pussy belongs to me,” he growled. “You belong to me. Every little cry, every soft curve of your body, every drop of welcome creaming my fingers belongs to me. Say it, Cassie.”

“I… don’t understand this.”

He grunted in disapproval as he curled his fingers over some magical place inside me. “There is nothing to understand, mate. I found you. You’re mine.”

“Yours? But you don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

He withdrew his fingers again, then pushed them deeper as if to emphasize the point. His movements were just a bit rougher than he’d been before and I wiggled against his hand, shifted up onto my toes, overwhelmed by his dominion over my body. I couldn’t think with his fingers conquering me, his mouth covering mine.

He crushed my lips beneath his, his tongue invading as if he had the right to every secret, every fantasy as his fingers pumped in and out of my pussy in a rhythm that stole my breath. I could hear the wet sounds of my desire and I should have been mortified, but it felt too good. I wanted more. I needed—more. Something.

Tearing my lips from his, I fought to regain some sense of sanity with his fingers still filling me and my arms stretched above my head, as if I were some pagan offering and he the god. “I don’t understand this. Why… why ?”

“My name is Maddox. Say it.” His fingers withdrew to slip over my folds, circled that eager bundle of nerves, no longer plundering my deepest core. I wanted him to do more and I whimpered. I wanted the fire and sweet release I’d experienced in my dreams.

“Maddox.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” The protest left my lips before I could consider my answer.

“I refuse to mate you up against a house for chickens. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find out how sweet you taste.”

Before I could question, he released my hands and dropped to his knees before me. One hand held up my dress, exposing me to his gaze.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He brushed the knuckles of his free hand over the soft curls, then put his hand on my inner thigh, forcing my legs farther apart.

“Maddox,” I hissed. “What… what are you doing?” I glanced left and right, for once a little worried.

His grin made me forget all my concerns. “Your husband never put his mouth on you, then, did he?”

I shook my head. “Why would he—”

A quick flick of his tongue over my swollen flesh had me biting my lip, the question all but forgotten.

“A man puts his mouth here, mate, because it brings you pleasure. And because I want to have your taste on my tongue the rest of the night.”

Deft fingers palmed my thighs, but it was his thumbs that parted my woman’s flesh. Leaning forward, he breathed in my scent, then practically dove in, licking me like I was the finest treat.

My hands moved from the wall to his dark hair, tangling in the long, thick strands.

“Oh God,” I whispered, my eyes falling closed.

This was so wicked, so carnal. I had Maddox, albeit a complete stranger, kneeling before me and licking my… oh God.

“Shh, keep all those sounds quiet and just for me.”

I whimpered as his tongue flicked the bundle of nerves that I would sometimes rub to fulfillment. But every time I lay in bed, touching myself, it had not been like this.

Fingers slipped back inside me, mimicking what his cock did to me in the dream the night before. “You’re going to come for me, Cassie. Now.”

Once, twice, he flicked his tongue, curled his fingers. My head arched back and my hips thrust toward his face. “Yes!” I gasped as my release struck me. It was like the tornado I’d heard about that had struck the nearest town last summer. Wild, tumultuous winds that no one could survive. I was lost, caught on the feelings that Maddox wrung from my body in such a decadent way.

I could feel my inner walls rippling around his fingers. His fingers continued to pump in and out of me, but his pace had slowed, his licking subsiding to tender kisses on my intimate flesh.

My skin was damp with sweat, my body soft and pliant. I could collapse to the ground in a puddle if not for Maddox’s hands on my hips. Slowly, I opened my eyes and grinned. Grinned down at the face that was so new to me and yet so familiar. When he saw my smile, he grinned, too. I should have been embarrassed by the evidence of my arousal glistening on his lips and chin, but if I felt so good because of him, I wasn’t going to worry.

Letting go of his hair, I sighed, tried to calm my racing heart.

“Maddox—”

“Cassie!”

It wasn’t Maddox’s voice that called my name. It was Mr. Anderson and I froze in place like a frightened rabbit, too scared to move or make a sound.

Maddox’s fingers stilled but did not move from between my thighs.

“Cassie!” Mr. Anderson called again. I could picture him standing on the back stoop looking for me, squinting out across the prairie, trying to catch a glimpse of me, straining to hear my reply. I wasn’t on the prairie. I was pressed against the chicken coop, my dress hiked up to my waist, my drawers on the ground as a man knelt before me.

“I’ll be right there!” I yelled, a bit too loudly, but I did not want to chance my employer becoming curious or coming out of the house to look for me. “I must do the dishes,” I added, for Maddox.

His fingers slipped from me, leaving me empty and I moaned. His hair was so dark, like midnight, was long and thick. I itched to run my fingers through it once again, to revel in how soft it was. Now was not the time, for Mr. Anderson might call again if I did not hurry, would perhaps even come looking for me. The idea of having him discover Maddox on his knees before me, my slick essence coating his fingers and face, had the cooling effect of a bucket of water from the creek at spring thaw tossed over my head.