Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr by Elizabeth Amber Read Free Book Online

Jane with satisfactory haste. And through Jane’s children, dreams long in the making would be realized.
    “Let me fuck you, Izzy. Please,” her companion begged.
    A sense of feminine supremacy sent a charge of lust sizzling through Izabel’s veins. She delighted in his pent-up frustration.
    Tugging his hair, she pressed his lips to rub across hers. The taste of the wine she’d provided was tart and cool on his tongue. Pulling away, she whispered to him in the darkness.
    “You may fuck me in good time. But for now, allow me to—” She let the words hang in the air between them. He caught her meaning, and his eyes lit with anticipation.
    Her smooth lady’s hands slid down his body, shaping his ribs and then his thighs until she knelt in a pool of silk and lace before him. His shaft twitched and pulsed, tenting his robe just below its sash. A small circle of pre-cum dampened the satin.
    Her lips twisted. While a woman’s desire was easily concealed, a man’s was always so pathetically obvious. The power in this act was hers. His desire for her allowed her to control him.
    Gently she parted the fabric.
    His ruddy crown bobbed forward, its slitted eye leering at her. His shaft wasn’t especially large, though it had felt so the first time it had come inside her. She’d been so young then, her body untried.
    Since that day, she’d delighted in trying many things with him. And with others. It was her nature to revel in pleasures of the flesh. Unlike his former milquetoast English wife.
    The odor of male musk strengthened as she widened the opening at the front of his robe. Leaning forward, she ran plump, dry lips along his length. Burying her nose in the thicket of hair at his root, she inhaled the slight sourness, a comfortable and familiar smell peculiar to him. She pulled back to swirl her tongue around the under ridge of his crown and then flicked his seeping slit, enjoying his groan, enjoying the salty taste of cum and unwashed flesh.
    He rested fingertips on her shoulders and braced his legs. As though from a distance, she watched her hands weigh and fondle his testicles and then grasp his length and guide it forward. Her salivary glands squirted, preparing the cavern of her mouth for the task ahead.
    At the first wet stroke, the muscles of his thighs tensed and jerked. The firm O of her lips undulated his crest and then slid to his root. He moaned as her fists, mouth, and tongue worked in unison, coaxing him in the strong, milking way he liked best.
    Though her mind roamed elsewhere as she drove him toward his release, she was truly eager to please him. In the end, it was she who’d benefit from his desire.
    For this act upon his flesh, he would do anything she asked of him.
    For this and other private pleasures she bestowed, he would betray his own children, turn a blind eye to her plans for them.
    For this, he had allowed her to kill his wife.
    She had never understood why he’d married that dry English vacca in the first place. The marriage had caused him to abandon her—his dearest stepsister—in Tivoli so he could share a home with his erstwhile wife in London.
    When he’d no longer been readily available to fuck her, Izabel had been furious. She had married herself to an elder in her church, who’d been so agreeable as to keel over and leave her a wealthy widow within the year. Nevertheless, for all the nights she’d been forced to spend beneath the old rutting buzzard, she blamed her stepbrother and his marriage. Even now, his betrayal stung.
    A firm squeeze to his testicles caused him to buck, stuffing his cock deep. A pinch to the tender skin of his inner thigh reminded him the pace was hers to set. He yelped at the light punishment and clenched his buttocks, trying to remain compliant.
    His letters to her during his marriage had often complained of his wife’s deficiencies in the bedchamber, of his disappointment that his efforts with her had sired only two children, and both of them girls.