Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 32223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Well, after she left, perhaps another man in my place would have gone out and sewn his seed wildly, wantonly and heedlessly. But not me. No, not out of chivalry or some sense of properness. It’s because sitting right here in my castle was pure, unfiltered, unbridled temptation.
Iona.
I didn’t run out to bed whoever I wished because there was no one else I wished for, even if I never wanted to admit to myself that it was her I wanted. But it was, and that truth has completely broken free of the wall I’ve put it behind. And now it’s just sitting there, right in the front of my mind. She’s the forbidden fruit that I should do everything I can to keep away from, and instead?
Instead I’ve gone and made plans to make her my bride.
I growl, my blood boiling, my muscles clenched, and my cock throbbing hard as I whirl, disrobing as I march over to the still steaming hot tub. I grunt as I sink into the hot water, the heat soothing my sore muscles from the hunt. I lay back, my eyes closed as I try and clear my mind of the sinfully wicked thoughts of the girl less than half my age who’s just been sitting here bare, pert little ass in this very spot.
Breathe, I command myself, sucking in air and trying to force a calm over myself before I storm down to her quarters, kick down the door, and tear her clothes from her sweet little body.
Breathe, damnit.
And I breathe, deep, long breaths, until slowly, the roaring fury inside begins to simmer down.
…And then, I hear it.
It.
And like a candle thrown upon the pyre, suddenly, the flames roar back to life. Because “it” is a sound I’ve heard before—some time ago, when I most certainly should not have heard it. It’s something about the acoustics, or the way the castle was built, I suppose. Iona’s quarters are a floor below and to the side of my bath chambers. And this time, like that time before, I can hear it.
I can hear her.
Softly, faintly, but it’s there if I’m still. And I still myself as my ears strain for more and as my cock slowly begins to thicken and rise beneath the water. Because what I’m hearing are Iona’s moans.
The gasps. The rhythmic whimpering going “pant pant pant,” and “yes.” I groan as I listen, my cock thickening to steel, swelling up until my swollen glans is poking up through the water. I groan again, clenching my teeth and trying to resist temptation, knowing how sinful and utterly wrong this is. But I can still hear it, the sound of her moaning so softy once more, and whatever calm I’ve brought on myself with the breathing is broken in two.
The sounds I’m hearing are the sounds of my sweet, innocent little Iona pleasuring herself in her own quarters.
I growl, imagining that tight, supple, perfect body undulating atop her bed, my bathrobe wide open and her delicate hands touching what I’ve quite literally dreamed about. I imagine her fingers stroking through her soft pink cunt, her skin still hot from my bath. And just like that, I give in.
I grunt as I wrap a hand around my cock, and slowly, I begin to stroke. A groan of pleasure tumbles from my lips as I drop my head against the back of the tub. Iona just keeps whimpering, these soft staccato little cries of pleasure, and I move exactly to the sound of her, matching her cries stroke for stroke as I imagine pushing her creamy thighs wide apart and sliding my fat cock deep in her little cunt.
She gets louder, and faster, her little truncated squeals of pleasure murmuring through the walls somehow into my bath chamber as I jerk and stroke my big cock over and over again. I wonder for a moment what it is she’s thinking about. The ego in me wants to say me, of course—that she’s touching herself after the scorching look between us when I walked in on her more unclothed and barer than I’ve ever seen her before. But I know that can’t be it. I growl, my teeth baring as the thought crosses my mind that it’s some other man on her mind. Perhaps one of those frilly little French boys she must have met in Paris.
I snarl furiously, possessively, and I’m about to stop completely and storm away from the sounds of her, when I hear it.
“Oh, Lachlan!”
My mind goes blank, a white heat settling over me as the fire burns through every muscle in my body. My hand moves faster, and faster, my cock bigger, and more swollen, and harder than it’s ever been before as I sink into a Zen state.
“Lachlan!”
My name tumbles from her lips again, and when it’s followed by a gasping cry, I know she’s come.