Embraced Faulkner, Carolyn (ereader with dictionary .txt) 📖

and allowed him to scrunch down between her open legs, kissing his way slowly, reverently to her most sensitive spot. When he applied his wet, warm lips against her already swollen clit, she jumped, pressing herself further into his eager mouth. The sensation was too much to bear, but when Meg tried to scoot her butt away from him, he locked his hands onto her hips, holding her tightly but gently in place. Barrett was not about to let her get away from his loving mouth.

He could watch the level of her pleasure increase as the feelings passed plainly over her face, reveling in her responsiveness. When he had her close to peaking, he carefully pressed his middle finger against her opening and encountered the slight resistance he’d been expecting. Gently, inexorably, he forced her body to accept his intrusion, pushing until, all of a sudden, he was buried up to his last knuckle, and Meagan gave a

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sharp cry of pain. Barrett looked up at her, to make sure she was ok, and despite a few tears, she seemed fine.

Leaving his thick finger inside her but still, he returned to his former occupation, as Meagan writhed beneath his tender ministrations. “B-B-Barrett, sssssssstoooooop!” she sounded almost like she did when he tanned her fanny.

“No, my Angel,” his voice was at least an octave lower, husky with his own lust. “I want to feel your orgasm with my mouth and finger.” And he continued to suckle and worry that little nub with his lips and tongue.

Meg’s cries were keening wails, and she clutched the sheets by her hips convulsively. “I – I – c-c-can’t staaaaaaaannnnnnd it!”

she screamed.

He made no reply, instead introducing his index finger into her tight hole, forcing her to stretch to accommodate his intrusion, knowing how that would incite her nerve endings, licking and teasing relentlessly until he felt her entire body convulse around him. She bucked and writhed, cried and moaned his name over and over as he milked the orgasm from her body, gently plunging his fingers, rasping his tongue over and over her clit until he felt the last muscular clenches fade away.

Meg couldn’t think. She’d fragmented again. He’d broken her into a thousand tiny pieces, and none of them would ever fit back together again. She couldn’t even see or acknowledge him as he moved up beside her to kiss her cheek, but she knew she needed to be away from him. It was the only, overriding thought in her mind, and before he could react, she bolted from the bed and locked herself in the bathroom, finally letting go of the fragile hold she’d had to sob brokenly with her arms around herself, alone at the vanity.

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Chapter XII

arrett couldn’t believe that he was in bed alone with his bride locked in the bathroom on their wedding Bnight. Wasn’t that just too clichéd for the nineties?

It’s not like she was afraid of the sex. Just the orgasms. Great. He could be a crappy, selfish lover who indulged in “man-on-top-get-it-over-with-quick” for the next sixty or so years, or he could find a way to keep his wife from running away whenever he pleasured her.

He chose the latter, but then, there really was no choice.

“Meg?” he tapped politely on the bathroom door. “Meg, open the door, Honey.” Barrett was determined to try the civilized approach first. It was as if she hadn’t heard him, neither the quality nor the volume of her sobs changed, and it was drove him crazy. She was sobbing as if he’d done something terrible to her, and he knew he hadn’t, but each cry tore at his heart regardless.

“Meagan?” in a more firm, warning tone. “Open the door.”

He rattled the knob.

Still no response.

He looked for an easy way in, but the hinges were on the inside, as was the locking mechanism. He guessed he could go get a screwdriver, but dammit, he didn’t want to. He wanted his wife warm and willing in his arms, sated and eager to spend the night in

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sensual ecstasy. Instead, he was faced with a solid door and a sobbing mate.

One last try. “Meagan O’Reilly Costas, open this door right now.” Nothing.

Ok, no more Mr. Nice Husband. Civilized behavior had had it’s shot, now it was time to do what he’d wanted to do from the beginning – take a page from John Wayne’s book in “The Quiet Man” and bust down the door, which, to Meg’s amazement, he did.

Without missing a step, he picked her up and threw her over his broad shoulder. Meg struggled and kicked, earning her a sharp smack on her bare bottom. Despite the anger she could sense in him, he set her down on the bed as if she were made of fine china.

She immediately crawled to the far side and almost got away again until she felt strong, thick fingers encircle her ankle and pull her slowly back to him.

“Let

me

go!”

He said nothing, just held her captive in his arms while she fought him and herself, shaking and coming close to cursing him, then finally collapsed, exhausted and spent. His mouth tickled her ear as he whispered, “I can see we’re going to need to establish some rules for you, Darling, one of the most important of which is that you are not to run away from me at any time, but most importantly not after an orgasm.”

“I –“ she began, but he shhhh’d her into silence.

“Did

I

hurt

you?”

“Y-yes, when you – when your –“

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He nodded. “I know my finger hurt you,