A Certain Latitude Read Online Free PDF Page A

with it for years.”
    He grinned, regarded his cock with pride, and gave it a friendly little shake. “Yes. And I’ve let others do so too. I’m a generous man. Touch it. It won’t bite.”
    She ran a finger up its length and to her immense gratification saw him bite his lip and swallow.
    “Very nice,” he murmured. “Now show me your breasts and I’ll frig you again. You’re going to come for me.”
    Oh, God. She could swear her clitoris twitched at the thought. With shaking hands she undid the drawstring fastening of her gown, holding the neckline open as he fished her breasts out from her stays. Her nipples hardened in the cool air.
    “Ah,” he groaned. “Very pretty. I couldn’t quite decide how they were to look the other night.”
    “Which night?”
    He lowered his mouth to her breast and sucked while she squirmed in shocked delight, her hands on his head, fingers buried in his hair.
    “Now, pay attention, Miss Onslowe.” He shifted under her, returning one hand to her quim, the other to her aching nipples, twisting and pinching, a hair’s breadth from pain, while she gasped and heard herself make strange whimpering sounds. His fingers inside her did magic things, finding a spot that made her jump like a startled horse, while his thumb circled her clitoris, her tickler— oh, God, I can’t, I can’t —and then she could—oh, yes!—and he captured her mouth with his, while she shook and spasmed.
    He laughed into her mouth as she moaned into his— why wasn’t it like this before? I’m not even in love with this man. I think he’s quite a dreadful rogue, and crude, too —and he stilled his hand and then his tongue. He kissed the side of her mouth.
    “Oh,” she said.
    “ Oh ,” he mimicked her, but taking the sting from his mockery by stroking the side of her face.
    His hand, she couldn’t help noticing, was very wet—she had produced that, somehow, with his attentions—and she could smell it too. She drew back, startled, and he grinned at her, a mischievous grin, and touched his hand to her mouth.
    “Taste it.”
    “No!” She tried to sound outraged but another giggle spoiled it.
    “Come, I expected better from the fearless woman who strips off her stockings for strangers.”
    “Only for you, and you’re not a stranger.”
    “What am I then?”
    “I don’t know.” And she didn’t. He was someone she now knew intimately and yet not at all.
    His damp finger stroked her lips. “I’m the sort of stranger who is going to make you come again. I’m going to make you scream, you can try to make me scream, and in short, I shall fuck you silly, Miss Onslowe.”
    She giggled again. “We don’t want to disturb the chickens, Mr. Pendale.”
    “God forbid. I’ll have to stop your mouth.”
    Her lips parted and his finger slid inside her mouth, slow and foreign, tasting of her, strange and salty yet familiar, and he moaned. He liked having his finger sucked? How extraordinary.
    She reached for his cock, wrapping her fingers around him, feeling the skin beneath slide smooth over the impossibly hard surface.
    He sucked in his breath as if in pain, suddenly vulnerable.
    He groaned again. “Don’t. Don’t make me…I’ll…” But he didn’t move, staring at her hand on his cock, his lips parted, legs flexing beneath hers. Then, as if a sudden decision had been made, he grasped her bottom again and slid her atop, first bumping against her, and then with one smooth, heart-stopping slide, inside her.
    She gasped and grabbed his shoulder—too much, too fast, she’d forgotten—or had she ever known? All of this—his scent, his hands rough on her skin—and now he kissed her again, his mouth clever and searching against hers, and she was confused and dazed by the intensity, the shock of what they did. It was nothing like her first seduction, and even further from the elaborate fantasy she had choreographed last night. Mr. Pendale in the flesh—in her flesh, and she tried not to giggle