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  When he entered the ornate gold and pink-marbled bathing chamber, he went straight to his toiletry satchel and lifted the flap. What he sought was in a small amber jar with a corked lid. Taking this, he turned to leave, hoping he was correct on the assumption that no peepholes would be placed in the clothing closet. Let Alexei wonder what he was doing, he thought, with grim satisfaction.

  Before he entered the clothing closet, he steeled himself, expecting anything and everything from his spitfire, Orelan. When he did not immediately get cracked in the head, he nearly grinned. He would never mar Orelan’s exquisite beauty again so hurtfully, unless he was forced to, however a belt struck across her ripe ass seemed to have inspired some obedience...

  “What are you going to do to me, Wyndham?” Orelan gasped anxiously from his right.

  When he swiveled to face her, he found her wearing one of his brown hunting jackets with her spine pressed against the wall of the closet. Her slightly slanted golden-amber eyes were wide with flecks of glittering emotion in their depths as he studied her long legs, bared to mid-thigh in his hunting jacket. The backs of her calves were shapely curved, her kneecaps were dainty, and her small bare feet were arched gracefully with painted red toenails. The sight of her scarlet toenails stopped him for a moment, with an immediate and insistent fertile heat curling in his belly, as he lifted his head slowly and crooked an arrogant finger at her. “Come here,” he commanded gruffly.

  Orelan’s gaze flicked anxiously to the stool, and then back to him, and then down to the belt he still carried in the same hand as the small amber bottle. “You are so cruel. I hate you!” she whispered fiercely as she quickly came to stand before him with her head lowered.

  “As much as Alexei?” he asked grimly.

  Her head rose sharply, tossing her long mink-colored black hair backward like a liquid waterfall down her back. His fist tightened around the belt.

  “I . . .” she searched his face, moistening her peach-tinted lips with the tip of her tongue. “I do not know,” she finished in a whisper.

  His jaw clenched tight and he dropped the belt and jar onto the blue rug beneath their feet, just as he grabbed Orelan to him with both arms around her. His head descended aggressively as he imprisoned Orelan’s lips between the wedge made by his hand holding her head from behind and his lips working impatiently over her lips. Why did he always burn to kiss her? The surrendering impassioned sound that escaped from Orelan moments later enslaved him even more. She had stopped struggling and simply quickened beneath his taller frame, molding her rich and sinuous curves to his body. Bare breasts, naked belly, and exposed pelvis, until her hands crept over the tense muscles of his shoulders and her mouth yielded open against the wanton sweep of his tongue.

  “Oh mm,” she moaned around his tongue’s thickness sweeping her mouth with long impelling strokes. He continued to stubbornly stroke the deep recesses of her lush mouth, with thick mating thrusts of his tongue, until his arms around the heated satin of her naked body were the only things holding her upright. He understood by her eager and sensual motions against him that she did not fully realize his free hand was cupping her pussy, which was hot and undulating in his hand. The lambs-wool curls covering the split peach of her sex clung and curled around his fingers as he drew his first finger lightly along the burning welling crease beneath.

  “Dios,” she suddenly gasped, tearing her lips from his as she shoved his chest with a hard push, then lifted her hand swiftly to slap him.

  But he caught her wrist before she could connect and he grabbed her other wrist, piling them together into one of his hands, which he stretched over her head. He pushed her against the wall behind them with a muffled thud and anchored her wrists high against the wall. She struggled up onto her tiptoes, spitting fire at him. “Barbaro! Bastrdo! Never-never!”

  Wyndham gripped Orelan’s chin with his free hand and he took her spitting mouth beneath his lips once again. He forced her, and she tried not to kiss him, but he was relentless, until she whimpered deeply in surrender.

  “You will scream for me, spitfire, but not in defiance,” he promised in a low tenor, licking her kiss-swollen lips in a pagan and possessive manner. She mewled, a heated whimpering, against his mouth and he released her chin again to search out her tender fleshed peach with his hand. She was burning and moist against his fingertips as he stroked in between the velvet tissue of her pouted labia lips.

  “N-n!”

  When Orelan tried to wrestle her hips away from him, it merely seated his finger directly over the puckered jewel of her clitoris. It was a flushed ruby, red-hot and pulsing. He began to polish it with his finger, around and around.

  “Oh. Oh,” she moaned against his mouth, melting now back against the wall as he continued to stroke her dewy peach, concentrating with one finger over the ruby of her clitoris.

  “God, you feel so good,” he gasped involuntarily as he slid another finger, not working over her beading clitoris, into the slippery hot entrance of her vagina. “Jesus,” he hissed, prodding higher.

  “Wyndham!” Orelan careened, and he could feel her tight sheath dragging at his finger, as he pressed higher . . . higher. “Oh, dios-dios, amour!” she cried. Wyndham suddenly stilled his movements with an overwhelming surprise. A barrier? A maidenhead? “Oh dios, Wyndham! Do not stop, amour!” she cried, writhing over his hand and fingers, which had stilled.

  Wyndham shook himself from his shock and wrenched away from Orelan, who crumpled to the floor with her back pressed to the wall. “How could you be a widow . . . How?” he demanded angrily.

  But Orelan only moaned, cupping her sex and looking up at him with anguished passion in her golden eyes. Damnation, she’d been nearly at the brink, he thought raggedly, as he dropped down clumsily, because of his bad knee beside her.

  “Wyndham, what do you do to me?” she whimpered with an anguished and confused voice.

  “I make love to you,” he growled, roughly stripping the jacket down to her elbows at the same time turning her body to press her down onto the floor. He spread kisses over her heaving breasts, and then he moved down her delicate rib cage, to linger over her belly button.

  “Wyndham,” Orelan moaned, rising against him with her hands clutching in his hair.

  He moved lower drawing his tongue along her pelvic bone, tasting salt and light perspiration, feeling the warmth and creaminess. “Open your legs for me,” he commanded. It was awkward with his bad knee, but he managed with his leg braced straight behind him as Orelan’s thighs spread open to his command. Then he licked the musk and heat of her tender rosy flesh that was moist peach nectar on his tongue.

  “Oh dios, Wyndham!” Orelan cried, as her legs splayed passionately wider and he lifted her quaking thighs up over his broad shoulders, while she clutched his hair. “More, my puma!” she pleaded, breathless. She was all heat and all woman, she was abandon, wild, and invincible with incredibly passionate responses as he rapidly tongued her dripping peach. His lips closed tight around the moist and swollen ruby of her protruding clit, making her screamed ardently. Then he rolled the hot throbbing bud around by the tightened edge of his lips.

  “Ah-ah. Dios! W-Wyndham.”

  He held her gyrating hips down against the floor with his strength, so he could keep his mouth seated over the scorching inner recesses of her yielding pussy, while her legs arched over his back in complete surrender. It was then that he suckled her clit, up over the flatness of his tongue.

  “Wyndham! Wyndham! Wyndham! Madre dios.”

  Orelan’s thighs quaked over his shoulders, while her buttocks flexed tensely in his large hands and he felt her clitoris throb against his tongue. She squealed and rippled beneath him like passionate-hot-addicting-love. Her climax was possessive as his mind peeled a litany of ownership.

  She was his . . . his . . . his.

  Chapter Five

  Christ, he was turgid. He was so stiffly engorged it was painful, and he shook his head of yellow-gold hair, trying to regai
n control of his impassioned senses. Orelan had experienced the little faint, but she was waking now and stretching sinuously beneath his muscular frame.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered, growling through his clenched teeth.

  “Wyndham, what is it?” she exclaimed softly, while damn her, she rocked her hips, bringing her soft hands up to his tense jaw, expressively concerned, while succeeding only in plying her young and firmly pillowed bare breasts against his naked chest. Christ, she was quicksilver, changing her moods in an instant and her bare flesh moving against his body, raped his senses. Her tumid nipples ravaged sensations across the expanded muscles of his chest, while her small soft hands tried to sooth his tense jaw.

  “A man cannot do what I just did without consequences, spitfire,” he answered through his clenched teeth. If only he could force his injured leg to unlock, he would rise off her magnetizing nakedness.

  “Oh, si,” Orelan breathed softly, with awareness building in her sun-gold eyes. “You are so hard. Yes? Just as when you spanked my bottom.”

  “I was not aroused then, woman,” he denied harshly, in a strained and rumbling voice. “And if I could manage to move my leg, I would be off you.”

  “Oh, my Wyndham, is your leg this bad?” she asked, squirming beneath him, while groping her hand downward, until . . . !

  Wyndham hissed a tight inhale of breath as all his muscles locked, including the throbbing and rigid dick between his thighs, vicariously dribbling small increments of his seed. “That is not my leg, Orelan,” he finished hoarsely.

  “Oh, my Wyndham, of course I knew this,” Orelan hummed softly with treacherous innocence. “I may be the virgin, my puma, but I know of a man’s...” Then, she whispered hotly into his ear, “Pene,” while she fondled him through the fabric of his pants as though testing his size and length.

  “You are playing with fire, senorita,” he hissed through his gritted teeth even as he rocked his hips, spawning Orelan to clasp the outline of his cock tighter. “Stroke it,” he finished in a growling of denial and need combined.

  He was insane and he knew it. Orelan was a virgin, yet hardly innocent, as she played the tormenting and sultry siren beneath him. Then his throbbing prick was loose from his pants and gripped into her soft urgent hand.

  “Hold it tighter, spitfire,” he whispered tightly, finding her bobbing breast with his mouth. “Stroke it faster,” he finished on a rasp as his lips closed around her turgid nipple.

  “Oh si, Wyndham,” Orelan puffed breathlessly as she felt Wyndham’s incredible masculine power sliding in the tight grip of her hand. His thick organ was an unbendable rod of male flesh. Sleek and hot skin surrounded the thickening mass sliding over her palm as she stroked from the smooth satin head down to the base, where the bottom siding of her hand grazed against his warm male sacs.

  “Cup my balls, spitfire,” Wyndham uttered huskily, around the spiked protuberance of her nipple that he nipped so thrillingly with his teeth. Each love bite to the tender erection hit a nerve inside her that made her hips grind upward as her hand stroked his shaft more tightly. She was feverish again, only this time her inner core ached deeply with each solid and lengthily stroking of her hand over Wyndham’s thrusting male organ. A ram of masculine muscle, flesh, and bone. She caressed his swollen male sacs and milked his shaft harder as her thighs separated beneath her dark earthy yearnings.

  “Dios, Wyndham,” she cried passionately beneath the onslaught.

  “Orelan,” he hissed with a clipped groan as he held himself ridged on his forearms above her undulating body. His head was hung down and his face was buried between her jiggling breasts. She brought the head of his pene right into the lips of her sex as she stroked the length of the thick column faster. She did not know what she was doing, yet the tip of the head felt so hot and exciting, playing over the place Wyndham had lick the throbbing rapture from her with his naughty tongue.

  “Oh dios, yes!” She rubbed the fiery head deeper into the lips of her sex as instinct lifted her knees upward.

  “Yes,” Wyndham hissed, roughly plucking her nipple with the edges of his nipping teeth. The action sent a shock of raw pleasure into her sex as her head arched sharply backward and then... Then she screamed!

  “Damnation,” Wyndham swore gutturally. His raging prick was buried to the hilt inside Orelan’s crimped and convulsing vagina. “Christ!” he uttered again explosively, trying beyond human measures to remain rooted in place and impossibly still, because Orelan was weeping and clutching him frantically. His muscles bulged and quivered as he willed his nearly passion-blank mind back from the brink. Willing it to give up control with each hard shaking breath that he took.

  “It hurts. Hurts,” Orelan cried, writhing her hips beneath him.

  “Hold still, baby. Please, hold still,” Wyndham whispered, urgently cupping Orelan’s face with one hand, while he held his hips solid against her movements. He heaved another hard and aching breath. “Baby, please look at me. Look at me, Orelan,” he urged raggedly. Orelan’s beautiful face was ravaged with tears and confusion as her golden gaze tripped fearfully over his, while her fingernails dug painful gouges into the muscles of his back “I will not move,” he vowed stoutly.

  “Oh-h,” she gasped a panting breath that turned into a hiccup-sob.

  “Baby,” he whispered rubbing his forehead against her feverish temple. “Try to breathe, sweetheart, just a few slow breaths.” She managed, and her fingernails retreated from their painful digging. “It will be all right,” he murmured against her cheek. “I promise you.”

  “Si, Wyndham,” she breathed, finally hugging her arms partway around his back. Her knees, which were bent upward on either side of his hips, lost their tragic tenseness and folded inward to rest on his hips.

  He plucked her lips once, tenderly and softly, with his. “Does it still hurt so badly?” He did not allow her to answer as he dipped his head again, plucking her lips and sliding the flat tip of his tongue lazily over her bottom lip.

  “Oh mmm,” she purred as she followed his lips with her pouted mouth.

  “Can you feel me pulsating inside you?” he asked in a murmur around her lips.

  “Oh si,” she sighed and her inner muscles crimped, and then released around his cock.

  “A-God,” he groaned. “You little vixen.” He hung his head and he felt sweat drip down his jaw. “I cannot move, Orelan . . . my leg. I am going to perish.”

  Orelan laughed, and he groaned at the sensation along his cock. Christ, her inner muscles were strong, they were stubborn like she was. “But, my golden puma, I do not hurt for a little while now. But this, I have not said, because I love to kiss you.”

  “Will you get on top of me, Orelan?” he asked in a whisper against her ear.

  “On top?” she questioned, darting the tip of her tongue forward to catch a drop of sweat on his square chin.

  “It is the only way we can finish this before I expire, spitfire,” he growled. Then, he rolled their bodies, ignoring the sharp pain in his leg. Orelan squealed at the surprise move, and then she was straddling him as he lay on his back. He grasped the feminine flesh of her hips as she braced her hands upon his chest. She appeared bewildered, yet then slowly calculating in a purely feminine way. He could see her mind working in her gaze as she tested the feel of this new position, and then she realized what power in their joining she might have astride. She was vibrant and alive and beautiful beyond compare. Yet, he would not allow her everything.

  He was the man. Her man. But ultimately the conqueror. He rose to a sitting position holding Orelan’s satiny bare back. His bad leg was straight and his good one was bent with her settled in the cradle of his hips.

  “Yum, Wyndham,” she purred at the movement, which caused his dick to jab deeply inside her heat and fire, making him grit his teeth. “This feels very good, my golden puma.”

  She rubbed the hard and jutting spokes of her aroused nipples across his chest as he grasped the back of her head and pulled do
wnward to kiss her. At that moment with one arm braced behind him, he humped his hips upward, lifting her to fall as he pumped again. “Oh, Wyndham,” she gasped. It was not a cry of pain this time. She was with him all the way, gazing at him intently, as he lifted and dropped their bodies, teaching her the rhythms.

  “Oh, my Wyndham!” she cried passionately, tossing her head backward, arching her neck as he impaled her again. The heaviness of her supple breasts undulated with each strong thrust he took, bouncing her turgid pink nipples, as he ogled them with spellbinding lust. She arched her spine further, until his hands around her curving waist were the only things anchoring her. A nimble pagan offering, arched beneath his gaze, as her long sable hair pooled around his calves and he fucked her hard again. She screamed ardently, riding his pumping cock like a wild thing as she braced her hands on his ankles and humped her hips aggressively into his pounding rhythm.

  “Christ,” he groaned through his teeth, trying to hold onto his unbridled woman, since she was now fucking him like a wanton courtesan. Sweat plaster his scalp, dripping into his eyes, as he lowered his gaze to see the root of his cock disappearing in and out of Orelan’s writhing pussy.

  “Oh, Wyndham!” she screamed in torment and ecstasy combined. It was the call of an impassioned lover so close to their release, but unable to capture it.

  “Come to me,” he commanded harshly, forcefully lifting her from her spine-bending arching toward him.

  “Wyndham, Wyndham,” she mewled, clutching his shoulders as he lowered his back further down the wall behind him, until she was laying on his chest. The position rested her clitoris with splayed labia lips over the very root hold of his cock.

  “Now fuck me, little spitfire. Fuck me hard,” he ordered in a ragged base voice.

  Orelan moved on Wyndham as he commanded with her senses screaming for the same release he had given her earlier with his hot mouth. She was mindless, except for the desire nipping its talons at her so fiercely, as she rode her golden puma like a beastly stallion coupling heavily with its mare. Up and down his tall sweat-slicked body she rode, nipping at his chest, his nipples, and his strong neck, spearing herself on his engorged shaft over and over. The motion rubbed her desperate sex in such a way that she went faster, shuddering and panting in pleasure. Wyndham grasped her wriggling buttocks with his large hands, pushing and pulling her more rapidly over his thrusting shaft, as she screamed, scratching his shoulders. Her entire body quaked, yet the burning fire in her sex was riding the thick base of Wyndham’s pene with each pull and draw. “Oh, Dios! Dios,” she wailed.