Portia Da Costa (10 page)

“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.

“Damn you, Della...I shouldn’t do this!”

Her answer was to hurl her hips upward, not giving him any second chance. Wilson roared and thrust hard, his cock breaching her.

Adela let out a yelp at the sharp jag of pain. It hurt. It did hurt. But somehow the discomfort was unimportant in the face of her goal, and the almost instantaneous sensation of being filled and stretched and made whole as Wilson slid home. If he tried to hesitate again, it only lasted the merest hint of an instant. Once he was in her, she knew the point of return was a thing of the past.

Gasping, she held on to him hard, clutching his bottom, wrapping her legs around him. There was no question what she needed to do; her body just did it, as if naturally formed for this act and imbued with an ancient knowledge of it. There was still a sliver of pain as she hitched her hips up, pushing herself at him, but it seemed distant somehow, as if another woman were feeling it.

The real Adela could only exult in the sensation of being possessed, savoring the fullness within, the knowledge that Wilson’s living body was inside hers.

They were both shaking, but whether it was from the cold water, excitement, fear, pleasure or happiness, Adela couldn’t tell. She just held on to Wilson for dear life, catching her breath, absorbing the fact that she was no longer a virgin, and in her heart of hearts elated at the fact.

“Have I hurt you? Are you in pain?” Wilson’s voice was raw. He hardly seemed able to force the words out, he sounded so taut.

“No,” lied Adela, and the truth was, for such a momentous act, the discomfort was indeed strangely fleeting. All she felt now was a delicious gathering of tension, like the feelings when she touched herself—or when Wilson had touched her—but subtly and thrillingly different. The urge to move was like a living thing, and she surged against him.

“Are you sure? You cried out.”

“I’m sure...yes, I’m sure.” She wanted to command him to get on with the job, but that seemed too crude. Instinct told her men were as susceptible in these moments as women were, and if she gave him the sharp edge of her tongue in desperation, it might spoil his enjoyment. Well, at least that was what she thought might happen. With no practical experience of these matters, she could only guess, only surmise.

“What about you? Do you feel all right?” The question popped out, sounding so prosaic. She’d never expected to be having a conversation in the middle of her first carnal embrace, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Yes.” His teeth were gritted.

“Very well...but...well, shouldn’t you be moving or something?”

Wilson let out a low, despairing growl, his body as tense as wire, and still virtually motionless, apart from a fine trembling. “For God’s sake, Della... I’m trying not to come. I don’t want it all to be over before we even start. I’d like you to have some pleasure in this, too.”

Adela frowned. The urge to caress him and kiss him and move against him was nearly killing her. She did adore Wilson, for all his foibles and high-handedness. She wanted to be a siren for him, a houri, a pleasure giver, too.

“But I’ve had some pleasure. I don’t mind.... You should have your turn.” Unable to contain herself, she clenched her inner muscles experimentally, embracing Wilson’s member, and gasping at the jolt of sensation it gave her, too.

“Oh, Della, Della...please...” he groaned against her ear, “That feels too good.... Oh, my dear, you’ll unman me if you do it again.”

She did it again, almost groaning herself at the gathering, gathering, gathering sensation it induced. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice, almost there.

“Della! No!” To her horror, he tried to push away from her, to withdraw, but like a lioness, she clung harder, baring her teeth as she jammed her loins against his.

Even as she pushed against him, she felt the change. From resistance to hunger. Not exactly acquiescence, but a sudden opening of a pent-up dam, the transformation from tentative boy into man, ravenous and dominating. He thrust and thrust, smooth and deep, clutching her for purchase just as she held on to him, his thick cock pushing in, right to the hilt in a way that made his body knock against the sensitive button of her clitoris.

She was so close, so close. She strived, rocked, arched, her fingers flexing as she dug her nails into Wilson’s buttocks. He grunted and winced, yet the action seemed to have a galvanic effect on him. His hips hammered, pounding, pounding.

Yes! Oh, yes!

But even as Adela clawed for the shimmering prize, the experience she could not have described in words, she was thwarted. With a great roar, Wilson wrenched himself away from her, his hips still working as he withdrew his cock, then thrust it against her hip, rubbing and jerking.

Shocked, Adela felt something warm and slippery against her skin. His seed, pumping out of him, anointing her. Emotions awhirl, she didn’t know whether to be distraught or relieved. She knew why he’d done it, but the gnawing frustration and emptiness she felt pushed away all rationales and good sense. All her primal urges screamed in outrage and churning desire, harshly denied.

Wilson seemed shell-shocked for a moment, then literally shook himself, tossing his curly head, blinking furiously. Sliding to one side, he thrust his fingers between Adela’s thighs, where he’d just been, and found her core.

“What are you doing?” she growled at him, trying to pull away, her heart in chaos.

“Finishing you. You didn’t spend....”

“I don’t need that!”

“You do!”

Still she tried to get away, but his fingers were too insistent, too clever, too surely focused on the zone of most exquisite sensation. With a sob, Adela subsided, grasping him again, arching and accepting on a primitive level what her rebellious spirit almost resented.

Gasping, she bent like a bow, pressing her sex to his hand. Her mouth went soft as he kissed her, his tongue thrusting into the warm interior just the way his cock had thrust into her body moments ago. He was trying to sweeten the experience, bring some tenderness to the act of finally dispatching her lust. She should be grateful, she knew that, but still, she hated him that moment as much as loved him.

Heat pooled in the pit of her belly, like syrup boiling and rolling. She might die, any second, if something didn’t happen. Then that second ticked, and the thing did happen. She opened her mouth to scream with pleasure, but Wilson kissed harder, containing the sound,
increasing
the pleasure.

Adela jerked and rocked and bucked, her mind a white haze, her sex fluttering, pulsing, grabbing at emptiness, at the void where Wilson’s cock should have been. Overcome, she called him a foul name she’d once heard a street urchin utter. She barely knew how she remembered it; it just came out, seemed right.

“I’m sorry,” said Wilson some little time later, when Adela was lying on his dressing gown, curled up tight and trying not to think too hard about anything. Frowning, she rubbed at his seed where it had dried on her skin.

“For what?” she asked in a small voice. Wilson had sounded vaguely cross, and the slight coldness had sliced at her. This wasn’t how she’d imagined the blissful aftermath of the sensual embrace might be. But then, of course, she’d always expected the embrace to come after marriage, and to have been shared with a husband who doted on her. Surely the expectation of most women?

“I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to give in to your blandishments.”

Adela shot up, sitting straight, then twisted toward him. All her uneasy languor had disintegrated. What on earth did he mean? She had a suspicion.

“What on earth are you talking about...‘blandishments’? You seemed more than pleased by my willingness not so long ago. What are you trying to imply, Wilson? That I’m a weak and fleshly woman who can’t control her own urges and I’ve...I’ve polluted you somehow?”

It was nonsense. She knew that. She knew he knew that. But inside her, sorrow for what was not had started to boil in a most peculiar way that destroyed her rationality.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, looking a bit red along his elegant cheekbones, and as confused as she. “I chose my words poorly. I didn’t mean...well, I don’t know what I meant. I only know I should have been more responsible and more continent.” He hauled his shaggy dark hair back from his brow and combed it with his fingers. “It’s not that I didn’t want you...or don’t want you, Della. It’s just that I should have resisted my urges, instead of encouraging yours. There might be consequences.”

She knew what he meant, even though he’d pulled out. It was entirely possible that a little bit of his seed was still inside her. Doing what it did... And she wasn’t going to show her naïveté by asking.

“Of course. I might be with child.”

“Indeed.”

Adela reached for her clothing, grabbing at her drawers. Somehow they’d got twisted up, and she wrenched at them, clenching her teeth. Then clenching them even harder when Wilson calmly took the garment out of her hand and untwisted it. Without a word, he passed it back, and she turned away from him and wriggled into it, fumbling with the fastenings. Fortunately, she managed to get her chemise on the right way round.

Wilson was getting into his clothes, too, but without warning, he snapped at her. “How could you be so idiotic, Della? I’m just a stupid, weak, lickerish man, desperate to know what shagging a woman feels like.... You must have known I wouldn’t be able to control myself. Yet still you threw yourself at me even when you knew you might become enceinte.”

Adela stood up to get into her dress, crushing a delicate little wildflower under her foot, along with certain silly, girlish, romantic notions she’d only just realized she was harboring.

Had she wanted to snare Wilson that way? Many of her friends from the collegiate were betrothed. Some were even already married after a single season. She wasn’t totally obsessed with the idea of becoming a bride, but she couldn’t deny it had crossed her mind. And when it had crossed, Wilson had always been the theoretical groom. Buttoning her bodice, she heard again his words in her head:
Desperate to know what shagging a woman feels like....

Like the mechanism of a clock ticking out the hour, it dawned on her.

She hadn’t been the only virgin in the dell.

Stupid tears welled in her eyes, and she dashed them away surreptitiously. What should have been a quiet time of peace, after the sharing of a precious mutual gift, had devolved into an ugly blame-slinging contest.