A Gentlewoman's Ravishment Read Online Free PDF

from breast, to mouth, to sex. I arch up from the couch, flexing myself like a bow to push every last inch of me against this magnificent man.
    Low in his throat, he growls in answer, as inflamed as I. In a rough action he parts my thighs, plunges his fingers into my niche, as if testing my readiness. Liking what he finds, he tears at the sash at the waist of his loose trousers, then wrenches them open, exposing his swollen, upthrust shaft.
    He allows me a few moments to view him, and savor his hard, ready state, then he moves at speed, yet sleekly, between my legs and pushes into me without preliminaries, or even a word.
    I’m overwhelmed, taken over, totally possessed. He seems to be thrusting into every particle of my being, owning it completely. Every long hard shove drives me down into the pillows, my body rocking from the force of them. He’s in my sex, my brain, my soul.
    After the first shock of his entry, I recover, revivified, and am transformed into a she-cat, roaring inwardly, and to my astonishment, outwardly too, wild in my hunger. Making those sounds again that no gentlewoman should ever utter, I growl my lust at him, meeting and matching his own, and grab at his body, holding on to him, bending and arching and pressing up to meet each deep, hard thrust. When I’m not moaning and crying for him, my lips rove his neck, tasting his sweat and nipping and biting at his flesh. He seems to like this, and redoubles his efforts, his powerful hips swinging like a reciprocating engine.
    Of course, such a conflagration cannot burn long. It’s too intense. With a shrill, stuttering cry, I spend again, my body clenching and grabbing at the hard length inside it. He comes too, his shout of passionate triumph blending with mine, then drowning it out, deep and savage as the call of a jungle predator.
    He collapses on me, his cock pulsing in my depths.
    For a while, I am barely sentient, simply a mass of simmering nerves, spread beneath him like a star, my limbs slack with utter repletion, my thoughts numbed by the echo of deep, sweet sensations. Eventually though, I begin to stir, and action creates the need for oxygen. It dawns upon me that I am squashed beneath the weight of a tall, muscular man, and I gasp. Immediately, he levers himself off me, and I feel his cock slide out of me, silky with his essence and mine too. A fierce pang of loss plucks at my heart with his passing.
    “Forgive me,” he murmurs low in my ear, barely audible.
    What, my kidnapper, my ruthless ravisher, feels remorse? It seems he does, because he begins to kiss me more tenderly now, focusing entirely on me, rather than slaking his own hunger. Still reeling from pleasure, I’m barely able to think or move, but he has phenomenal recuperative powers. Against my thigh, I feel him hardening again, as if his reserves of virility are inexhaustible.
    But it’s not his cock he begins to use on me, much as in some ways I’d like him to. As he delicately nibbles my lips, then scatters small, licking kisses over my face and throat, his warm hands start to travel once more. This time there’s no grabbing though, no hasty repositioning of my limbs, no cursory testing of my readiness. No, this time his entire attention is on my pleasure.
    He strokes my breasts lightly, tantalizingly, frustratingly, feathering the swollen nipples with just the tips of his fingers in a way that has me quickly stirring and shifting around on thebed. My hips do a dance of their own accord, trying to entice him to travel to my lower regions. But he continues to plague my breasts with the most delicate caresses.
    I want more! I will take more!
    Rolling onto one side, I press my crotch against the strong musculature of his thigh and begin to rub myself against him, working back and forth, up and down, from side to side. My clitoris throbs against his skin through the thin silk of his pantaloons, and as my lubrication soaks through, he makes a low sound in his throat.
    He likes my