Читать книгу Diamonds in the Rough - Portia Da Costa - Страница 13

7

Seven Years Past

Ruffington Hall, Summer 1884

“Let’s go and take a splash in the river, eh, Della? Are you game?” Wilson had said, those silver-blue eyes of his glinting. “At least it’ll give you something new to draw.” He grinned, nodding at the portfolio she was carrying, that she always carried. She’d refused to show him her work, but knew he was determined to see it.

“What do you mean?” Adela ignored his remark about the portfolio, concentrating on Wilson’s challenge. She had a shrewd idea what he was really suggesting, with his “splash.” Wilson liked to be as shocking as he was clever. Already half in love with him, she couldn’t resist the challenge. She’d follow and to the devil with the consequences.

Low-hanging branches and ground-hugging brambles caught at her skirts as she trudged after Wilson through the wood, planning to catch hold of his dressing gown and slow him down if she could. She couldn’t imagine why he wore it, except to promote his image as an eccentric academic. For her own part—despite her mama’s frantic protests of impropriety—she’d left off her corset and her bustle and two of her petticoats. It was just too oppressive to be trussed up on a summer day, and being slight of build, she didn’t think anybody but her mother would be aware of the deficiency. Her white garden dress with its pretty green sash was so comfortable with fewer layers beneath, and it was much easier to sit without all that stupid paraphernalia beneath her skirt.

Not that white was ideal for an arboreal expedition. Mud quickly caked both her hem and her shoes, but the exhilaration of defying all chaperonage, and the dizzy, delicious feeling she always experienced in Wilson’s presence made it seem as if she were floating along the path behind him.

All she could think about was seeing him “splashing.” All she could hope was that he’d strip off his clothing to do it. She’d grown impatient with anatomy treatises and classical statuary. She wanted to draw a real man at last. And more...

“Slow down, Wilson. This path’s uneven and I’ll trip if we keep up this absurd pace. We don’t have to flee. Nobody noticed us leave, and I doubt that anyone’s missed us yet.”

Wilson stopped short and Adela cannoned into him. Just as she’d feared, she tripped and lost her footing.

Strong arms caught her and held her, quelling any unconscious urge to struggle. Wilson was wild and unpredictable, yet hugged close against his body like this, she still felt safe. His chest was warm and firm where she leaned against it, and on touching the fine lawn of his loose white shirt, she discovered he wore no undergarment beneath.

“Steady on, Della.” There was a laugh in his voice, and it dawned on Adela that her touch had been more voracious than she’d realized. Nothing less than a fervent exploration of his musculature.

She shot back, nearly tripping again, but this time he caught her chastely by the arms. Her heart beat wildly and she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Wilson’s smug, twinkling eyes made her want to thump him with her fists, and yet do other things, too. Sensations surged through her body, ones she knew that a proper young woman must never admit to feeling.

But I’m not proper, and I’m not like other young women.

Or perhaps all her sex felt the same? And every woman was hiding passion beneath her layers and layers of petticoats?

“What is it, Della?” His silvery eyes narrowed, as if he were monitoring her very thoughts with his analytical scrutiny, but just as she was about to protest about his staring at her, he smiled and gave her a friendly little shake. “Come on, old thing. The river awaits and I’m dying for a dip. It’s so hot!”

“If you’re so hot, why are you wearing your dressing gown?” Adela aimed the question at his back as he turned and set off along the path again. Wilson just laughed and continued on ahead.

Between the trees, the glitter of sun on water was their goal, and the air felt fresher, less vegetal and moldy.

“Here we are,” Wilson cried as they burst forth out of the trees and into a little dell that hugged the edge of the river. It was secret and idyllic, the sort of place where fairies might peep out from among the water plants. The sort of place where wonders might occur.

“How beautiful!” There was magic enough without the fairies, though. A palpable excitement in the air, despite the superficial tranquility, as if the flowing water itself was generating energy. “I never knew about this spot.” It was true; she’d explored the grounds of Ruffington Hall before, escaping Mama, but never found this place. Trust Wilson to know it was here.

“Yes, it’s special, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, and he sounded wistful. But when she turned to him, he was looking at her, a challenging expression on his face.

“Well, I think I shall do a little sketching,” Adela announced. She mustn’t let her cousin rattle her. Best to go calmly about her own business. But where to sit, wearing a gown of white, without getting mud or dust or plant stains upon it? She could hardly stand the whole time while she was drawing.

Wilson whipped off his dressing gown in a whirl of silk and set it down on the grass in a little patch of shade. “Better not to sit in full sunlight, Della. I’ve been reading some studies into the effect of sunlight on human tissue, and I believe long exposure may prove harmful to delicate complexions.” He patted the robe, making it flat for her. “Your skin is exceptionally smooth and fine, so you really should take the best care of it. I could formulate an emollient preparation for you, if you like?”

“Um...yes, thank you. That would be very kind....”

This was typical Wilson. A pretty compliment combined with scientific instruction. Or maybe he was just trying to butter her up? So he could take liberties.

Ah, but you want that, don’t you? The liberties...

The voice of wisdom jabbed at her. She knew what she wanted, and knew she was a fool to want it. Yet still she couldn’t suppress her yearning. She caught her breath when Wilson swiftly undid the buttons of his shirt, then whipped the thing off over his head.

“Right then, it’s a dip for me.” Flinging his shirt away, he revealed his bare chest and shoulders, so smooth and well shaped. Adela’s eyes skittered to the fastenings of his summer flannel trousers, and she wondered what lay beneath them. Was it drawers or just Wilson?

Her cousin laughed. As usual, he seemed to have guessed what she was thinking.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” Waggling his dark eyebrows at her, he threw himself down on the grass, just a foot or two away from her, and attacked the laces of his boots.

Adela applied herself to her portfolio, but even with the green bounty of the natural world around her, and a freshly sharpened pencil, the blank page remained unsullied. She was trying not to look at Wilson, and failing abjectly.

He flung away his boots and socks, then stood again. Turning directly toward her, in a blatant challenge, he slowly and teasingly unbuttoned his trousers and let them drop. Then laughed when Adela looked away.

Wilson was wearing drawers, but they were summer-weight ones, reaching only to his knees. Adela didn’t get much chance to admire their style, though, because before she could protest, he was slipping them off, too. She turned resolutely away from him and studied a small white flower growing a few inches from where she was sitting, a bloom of delicate beauty and frailty.

“Not interested in human anatomy, then?”

The temptation to look at him had the force of the fast-flowing stream beside them, and all its inevitability. Her neck ached from the effort of not swiveling in his direction. “I’m very interested in anatomy, just not yours, Wilson. I’m fully conversant with the male form. I’ve studied many great works of art.”

His laugh rang out, lusty and free. It was a happy sound, but it made her clench her teeth. She was always a source of amusement to him, and yet she couldn’t stop seeking his company.

“Oh, Della, Della, Della... Don’t you know that all the classical artists tend to err on the side of underestimation in certain male characteristics?”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

She was fighting, fighting, fighting now. Resisting what in her heart she knew she’d really come here for.

Fiddlesticks!

Trying not to seem at all concerned, she slowly turned in Wilson’s direction. Only to find that he was already at the riverbank and wading in, his back to her.

Drat the man!

His shoulders, his back and his bottom were glorious, though. Before the latter disappeared beneath the water, she admired the firm, tight musculature of his buttocks and the way it moved, propelling him forward. The white flower was forgotten, and she began drawing as fast as she could, her pencil flying, inspired. It was always like this when she found a subject that really enchanted her. She could work quickly, almost at lightning speed, the result forming not only on the paper, but etched into her memory as if on a photographic plate, ready to be retrieved at any time, reworked and adapted.

This was her great gift, and she knew that even if she never saw her cousin’s magnificent arse ever again, she would still be able to draw it over and over, whenever she wanted to.

It took but a few moments to complete the study. Naked Wilson, his firm backside, his well-shaped torso, his dark hair, silky and tousled down the back of his neck. Smiling, she flipped over the page and drew another impression, this time changing the angle, making the view more a profile. But she didn’t attempt to portray his genitalia. Somehow it didn’t seem right, in case she shortchanged him.

“Why don’t you come on in, Della? The water’s deliciously refreshing. A swim will do you good.” He half turned, smiling at her over his bare shoulder. “Can you swim?”

“Indeed I can. I’ve bathed in the sea and I found it most invigorating. And even with the heavy drag of my bathing dress, I quickly took to the strokes.”

Wilson cocked his head to one side. He looked impressed. “Well, then, you’ll find it even easier and much more pleasant if you swim naked.”

“Wilson, you really do and say the most absurd things. I can’t possibly take my clothes off in front of you. It’s completely improper and I don’t know why you would even suggest it.”

Even as she spoke the words, she almost choked on her own hypocrisy. She’d come here to see, think and do improper things. That was her nature. She’d already left off half her underpinnings, knowing full well it was daring and scandalous and would give Mama an apoplectic fit if she ever found out.

“I don’t think you care about propriety, Della,” said Wilson, his voice low and challenging as he spun around in the flowing stream and approached the bank again.

I should turn. I should turn.

But Adela didn’t. She watched the point where Wilson’s body met the water, holding steady as his loins breached the surface and all was exposed to her.

She blinked. Well, it didn’t seem as if that would go under one of those tiny fig leaves that adorned most classical statuary. Certainly not. His male appendage was sturdy, and had a cheeky, rather insolent look about it. Even as she stared, it gave a twitch, and she could swear it got plumper and longer.

Wilson gave a low chuckle as he stepped onto the bank. “I’m sorry. I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I? You were expecting a weapon of massive proportions.” Adela’s heart nearly stopped when he reached down and casually fondled himself...something that seemed to make his flesh expand even before her eyes. “But in my defense, the water is quite cold, and that always has the effect of making the male member shrink in order to protect itself.”

“It, um, looks perfectly adequate to me.” Her pencil settled on the paper, and almost of its own accord began sketching in the missing manly parts of her second drawing, before swiftly moving on to another depiction, this time of Wilson’s penis in magnificent isolation.

“Shall I pose for you?”

Adela’s heart thudded hard. Yes, indeed, she did want him to pose for her, but there were other things she wanted, too. Things that obsessed her more than ever now. Not only did she want to draw, she wanted to touch, to caress and to explore. She wanted to feel the reality of a man’s body, rather than just look at it and sketch it from a safe distance.

But if she told Wilson that, there would be no turning back. He was a man, and they were wont to make a yard of liberties out of an inch of compliance, because they couldn’t help themselves. Adela wasn’t sure if she wanted more than a foot.

And talking of inches, wasn’t he was bigger down there than before?

“Yes...please. Perhaps you could lie down over there?” She pointed to a patch of flattish turf a safe distance away. It was shaded by branches that dipped low, toward the river, and the play of light and shadow would afford an interesting texture.

That’s it. Concentrate on the technicalities. See him purely as a pleasing natural structure to be recorded.

Wilson shrugged and padded to the area she’d indicated. With a grace that nearly made her sigh aloud, he sank down and struck a pose, much like a modern Apollo taking his ease. Closing his eyes, he stretched back his arms, causing a stark tension in the muscles of his chest and abdomen. With one leg straight and one lifted, bent at the knee, he seemed to offer his manhood to her, its prominence magnified.

It’s just a pleasing natural structure.

Adela’s pencil raced again. She might never get another opportunity to draw a naked man from life. Even if she were lucky enough to find a husband soon, the gentleman in question might not want to lie around in the altogether to indulge her artistic whims.

Sketching almost without thinking, Adela frowned. No beaux were as yet on the horizon, and even if one hove into view, she wasn’t sure she wanted one who hadn’t got time to pose. From what she’d seen of her early marrying friends, marriage wasn’t the entirely desirable state that women were led to believe it was. Adela wasn’t at all excited by the idea of homemaking and entertaining and “supporting” her husband in all things. Or producing infant after infant. One or two would be a joy, and she was certainly very interested in the begetting side of the process, but her instincts were not at all maternal. Most people’s children were rather tiresome.

As all this was passing through part of her mind, another segment was recording and reproducing Wilson’s physique. And yet another portion was desperately wondering what his bare skin felt like to the touch, and how...how much bigger his penis was going to get. It was now eye-poppingly tumescent and pointing up at a robust angle.

“Yes, I’m afraid that can happen in the presence of beautiful women.”

He’d done that trick again. Read the thoughts and notions going through her mind.

“Can you not control it?” Adela’s pencil snapped. She was pressing on it too hard. Reaching into the portfolio and a little leather notch, she drew out a tiny knife and sharpened the point. The small activity was a respite. She had to concentrate in order not to cut her finger. While focusing on the blade she couldn’t look at Wilson’s burgeoning sex.

“Oh, I could if wanted to,” he replied airily. “I could apply myself to the never-ending conundrum that is pi, or tax my brain with one or two little theorems that are interesting me at the moment, and that would probably result in a gradual collapse of the offending organ....” The sharpening was finished, and Adela looked up again, to find him grinning at her. “But I don’t want to. It’s rather pleasant to be aroused.... I like being reminded that I’m male, and animal, and that I’m lusty.” Slowly, he ran a fingertip along his own length. “And I love the way it brings the roses to your cheeks.”

Adela drew in a breath, to calm herself. The sight of him fondling his own flesh did hot and peculiar things to her. She wanted him to do far more than simply touch. She wanted to know what happened if he just kept stroking and stroking. Having inveigled her way into her grandfather’s library—with Wilson’s help—and perused certain volumes, and listened to racy talk from certain wild girls at the ladies’ academy she’d attended...well, she was fully aware of what happened to men, and what they did with the result during the act of carnal congress.

But all that was purely theoretical. Actually observing the male phenomenon occur in front of her was making her quite giddy.

“Well, you might as well plunge back into the river to cool off, both yourself and your masculine appendage,” she said as briskly as she could, hoping to sound clinical and detached. “I’ve seen quite enough for now. I can draw whatever I need to from memory henceforward.”

“I rather like the idea of my erection being preserved forever in your mind’s eye. Every time I look at you from now on, I’ll be wondering if you’re thinking about my cock.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m drawing you as a life study, not thinking about your...your...”

“It’s called my cock, Della, and in the interest of art, and of science, I think you should touch it to ascertain its texture. It’ll assist you in your sketching.”

Would she even be able to sketch anything now? He’d got her all in a fluster. She’d come here with daring activities in mind, but faced with the moment of truth, she found her natural fears had resurfaced. Not sure what to do, she stole another glance at Wilson, trying not to let her eyes roam in a southerly direction.

Her cousin had that sympathetic expression on his face again. So unlike his usual blunt and arrogant imperiousness, the armor of his exceptional mind. He gave her a little smile that could be construed as an apology. As if he felt remorse for unsettling her.

“Yes, I think a dip is a good idea.” He rose, and Adela looked quickly away again. The way his cock bounced and swung made her face burn. “And for you, too, Della. If you like, I won’t look until you’re safely up to your chin in the water.”

“I’m not sure.” The water did look inviting, though, and it was such a warm day. Even in less underwear than usual, she felt oppressed, and envious of Wilson’s total lack of modesty and the way it allowed him to do whatever he wanted.

“You’ll enjoy it. Come on in.” Wilson was already wading back into the stream, and Adela felt a sense of loss as he moved away from her. Devil that he might be, she wanted to be close.

“Perhaps I can keep my chemise and drawers on.”

Wilson turned again, although fortunately, the organ that bothered her so much was now hidden beneath the surface. “Don’t be silly. You don’t want to go back to the house with soggy underpinnings, do you?”

Damn the man, he was back to goading again.

“Oh, very well, then!” Setting aside her portfolio, Adela swiftly unfastened the buttons of her boots, kicked them off and then sprang to her feet. Her heart pounding, she attacked the buttons down the front of her garments next, trying not to be hampered by the shaking of her fingers. With a nod, Wilson turned away as she shed the bodice of her dress.

“You can watch if you want. I don’t care!”

Why in heaven’s name did I say that?

“Very tempting, but I think you deserve some privacy, cousin. I’ve teased you far too much already.” With that, he waded out farther, his fine back disappearing beneath the water until only his head was showing. His shaggy black hair kissed the surface of the stream.

Infuriating beast!

Adela grappled with her clothing, muttering to herself. Wilson really was the most contrary creature she’d ever met, or could imagine meeting. He was so fickle, changing tack again and again, that she just didn’t know where she stood with him.

Buttons and ribbons and garters defied her. She tugged and wrenched. Wilson didn’t think that she dare unclothe herself before him, but she would show him. She would show him, indeed, show him everything. But she had to do it before her nerve failed her.

Though the day was warm, she shivered as she unveiled her skin. It was the strangest sensation to be naked in the open air. She’d only ever undressed to bathe before, in the privacy of her bedroom or the bathroom. Even when she’d swum in the sea, she’d disrobed in the safely of the bathing machine, and come out in a voluminous costume. Now, a light breeze flowed over her bare skin, like zephyr’s caress. Her nipples had already firmed, but the sense of exposure made them tingle in a way that was half pain, half pleasure.

Out in the water, she saw Wilson turn his head. Was he looking at her even though he’d said he wouldn’t? She wouldn’t be at all surprised.... But she resisted the urge to try and cover herself with arms and hands. Let him see! Let him know she wasn’t afraid of him! Padding across the turf, she made for the water’s edge, her body still in conflict, incompatible compulsions at war. But still she managed to keep her arms at her side.

“Good grief!”

The flowing river was cold, despite the warm sunny day. The chill hit her like a blow, but she waded forward, clamping her jaws together to stop her teeth chattering.

“I did warn you it was cold,” said Wilson, cutting through the water toward her as she sank to shoulder level, almost in a state of shock.

“I thought you were just claiming that to excuse the small size of your organ,” she retorted, her voice half choked by the frigidity of the water.

“Touché,” replied Wilson, up close now. Very close indeed. Adela glanced down and realized that the water was unexpectedly clear, like crystal, and she could see every detail of his body.

As he must be able to see every detail of hers. The devil, he’d known this all along. He was almost flaunting himself, swaying in the water, making his penis move slowly. It seemed to have acclimatized itself to the temperature and was quite sizable.

“Shall we swim a little...get out of our depth?”

I’m already way out of my depth.

Wilson reached out beneath the water and took her hand, leading her into the deepest part of the stream.

The flow was erratic, faster here, and for a moment she was afraid of something other than her randy cousin. When she’d indulged in sea bathing, it had been in a sheltered cove, noted for its lack of currents and breakers. This stretch of the river was actually far more active.

As if sensing her fears, Wilson tightened his hold on her hand, and immediately she felt safe again. Well, safe from drowning. Of other hazards, she wasn’t so sure.

They swam around for a while, Wilson setting her free when she found her confidence, and Adela was quickly exhilarated by the sensations and the freedom. Water against her skin was even more seductive than air. It was like being embraced by cool silk that flowed everywhere, tantalizing her most sensitive zones. Her very soul seemed to open like a flower, subtly stimulated, not only by the water, but by the presence of her handsome, provocative companion with his probing silvery eyes and his strong, masculine body. She knew she would have to face up to both when they eventually left the stream again.

Invigorating as the swim was, Adela knew she couldn’t stay in the river forever, so as she felt herself beginning to tire, she made for the bank. Not giving herself even a heartbeat’s hesitation, she climbed out of the water, trying to move as elegantly as she could.

Once on the shore again, she felt the cool breeze lick her skin, and began to shiver, her teeth chattering.

Oh, fiddle, how on earth am I going to dry myself? She’d have to use her petticoats, but then they would be damp when she put them on. Wonderful as her dip had been, second thoughts rushed in, in abundance.

The slosh of water as Wilson emerged, too, made her turn around, even though she’d not planned to. His eyes narrowed, and she knew he’d seen her shivering.

“Sit down on my dressing gown. I’ll dry you.”

“But—”

“No buts. Don’t be silly, woman.”

Adela did as she was told, and the moment she was settled, Wilson snatched up his white shirt and began rubbing her vigorously with it, massaging her skin and stimulating the flow of blood as well as drying her.

The sensation was delicious, warming to the senses and unexpectedly relaxing. Adela almost purred as her circulation heated and surged.

“Better?”

“Blissful!” She said it without thought. It was true, too, but a second later, dangerously revealing. Here she was, being handled by a man, with only a layer of fine cotton between his fingers and her body—and Wilson didn’t hold back; he was drying her everywhere. He rubbed the shirt over her breasts, the action slower and more circumspect, in respect of the more delicate nature of her anatomy there, but with his hands curved in a way that was cupping and caressing. Adela knew she should command him to stop, and tell him that she’d deal with those areas herself, thank you very much. But she couldn’t. She liked it. She liked it a lot. Coming up on her knees, pretending to investigate her bedraggled hair, and her half-collapsed chignon, she invited him to take further liberties.

Wilson doubled up the cloth of the shirt, slipped it between her thighs and began to rub it gently back and forth.

Adela grabbed his shoulder. Their eyes met. The shirt moved slowly, but he was silently asking the question, Shall I stop?

This was scandalous. Forbidden. Beyond daring. Yet so heavenly that Adela could not resist. She dug her nails into Wilson’s bare shoulder and let out a small, indistinct sound of assent.

The soft, slightly damp cloth molded to her sex, and she could feel his fingers through it. They sought and found her most sensitive spot, dividing her curls. He moved beside her to gain better purchase, his other hand settling on the small of her back. Adela bore down, rocking now, and moaning at the heavy, gathering sensation. She knew what it was. The books in her grandfather’s library said very little about a woman’s side of things, but her faster classmates at the ladies’ collegiate had seemed to know all of it, and their racy talk fired her to experiment. The pleasure she’d experienced had been intense and shocking, and even though the whispers at the collegiate had implied it was a wicked sin, and perverse, Adela didn’t think so. Something so lovely couldn’t be all that bad.

And it wasn’t bad now. It was wonderful. Even though she was taking the most enormous risk, letting her disreputable and infuriating cousin do it to her.

“Shall I stop?”

The words shocked her far more than Wilson’s touch ever could. “No,” she managed to reply, her voice cracking as she threw her arms around his neck, holding him in a death grip. Nothing was going to stop her reaching her goal, not even Wilson’s conscience and second thoughts. She nearly throttled him when he withdrew his hand, but it was only to toss away the now redundant shirt. A breath later, his bare hand replaced it in the niche between her thighs.

The exquisite artistry of Wilson’s fingertips rubbing and circling her clitoris was too much. She was too excited. Almost immediately her core began to ripple and clench, and, with breathless pleasure surging, she spent. Her arms tightened around him, and another time, she might have realized she was probably hurting him, but all she wanted now was to keep him and his divine hand closer than close. She buried her face in his neck to muffle her cry of release.

Her entire body was hot now, fired by her orgasm, but somehow what she’d felt still wasn’t enough. There had been other matters discussed at the collegiate, and despite the dangers, Adela would not be denied. She wanted more.

Falling back onto Wilson’s dressing gown, she hauled him down with her, feeling a triumphant rush of desire as his body pressed against hers. He was hard as iron, his member shoving against her belly.

This was uncharted territory, a world away from girlish dreams of romance, and her imaginings of what the matrimonial embrace might be like. This was darkness and danger on a brilliant summer’s day, and the rebel in her reached out for the risks...and for Wilson’s sturdy cock. He groaned as she folded her fingers around him. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, but it seemed to her that a man was sensitive in this particular area, and to treat him like a pump handle might be more painful than pleasurable. With a light grip and a slow stroke, she began to caress him, half her mind still amazed at what was happening.

“Oh, Della, Della, you have the touch of a courtesan,” he gasped, his hips pushing in time to her fondling. Adela faltered, doubting for a moment. Did she want to be compared to a light o’ love? And what did Wilson know about courtesans, anyway?

“Oh, don’t stop, darling girl, your caress feels wonderful. You have magical hands.... It must be the artist in you.”

Flatterer.

She was glad to please him, though. He’d certainly pleased her, and she was all for fair play, for gratitude expressed. But it was more than that. The way Wilson’s cock felt to her hand was intriguing, fascinating and delightful. It almost seemed like a discreet living entity of itself, rather than a part of him. It was the very essence of life, and of man.

He made strange noises. Rough groans and grunts, muttered words, some of them very crude, but raw and exciting. The very sound of his voice was a reciprocal caress, stirring her without even touching her.

“That’s it, Della...that’s it...bring me off....” The words were harsh, but she sensed he was still trying to contain himself and not shock her or grab at the pleasures her flesh represented to him. Did he think she was afraid? Did he think she was cold and indifferent, now that she’d had her release? Well, he was wrong. Her appetite had only just begun to stir.

Adela pushed her body against Wilson’s even as she played with his cock. She was on fire again, her belly alive with a gnawing hunger, and emptiness for which there was only one answer. It was madness to give in to the urge. Her rational mind knew that, but good sense and logic were being washed away by a force as inevitable as the flowing stream.

She took a firmer hold on Wilson’s erection and, parting her legs, drew him to her, wiggling around until she was right beneath him, open and ready.

“Della! What are you doing? We can’t do this!”

Adela’s eyes shot open and she looked up into Wilson’s. At their center they were black as night, giving lie to his words, just as his cock did. He wanted her, he hungered for her, but the learned man, versed in physiology and biology, was fighting to remain in control...and yet losing, in the same way her own wits were addled.

Yes, we can! I can’t bear it if we don’t!

She didn’t speak. She wasn’t capable of it. But she knew Wilson understood her completely.

“Oh, Della, Della,” he gasped again, moving into position. “I adore you, you are...you are... Oh, God, Della, you are perfect...so perfect.”

So are you! And so...big.

The head of Wilson’s cock seemed to know its way to the very quick of her, and pressing against her entrance, it felt huge and hot and rounded. Much too big to enter, surely? He pushed a little harder, and then, clearly feeling the resistance, attempted to pull back.

“No! Don’t you dare deny me!” As her hands clasped her cousin’s firm bottom, Adela was stunned by the sound of her own voice. It was that of an entirely different woman, an Amazon, an imperious goddess, not to be gainsaid or thwarted.

Above her, Wilson blinked, as if he was just as astounded as she, then dark fire blazed in his eyes, the devil answering her.

“Very well,” he growled, adjusting his position again, taking weight on his elbow and reaching down between them to nudge his cock to the sweetest spot with his fingers. His touch there again made Adela whimper, the sensation was so divinely lewd. She bucked her hips at him, interfering with his aim, yet unable to control her own body.

“Stay still! I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t care. Just do it! Just fuck me!”

Wilson’s body jolted as if the sound of the forbidden word on her lips was a lash of raw energy. His hips jerked, shoving the rounded tip of his cock against her, right at her entrance. Adela’s fingers tightened of their own accord on the firm rounds of his bottom, more to quell her own hesitation than to scotch his.