“Yes,” she gasped against his mouth.
Her skin was sensitive, her breasts swollen with arousal, her cunt clenching in need. He worked her with his fingers widening her snug channel. The sensation of being stretched was so erotic Primrose quivered, and a low moan, raw and fractured, echoed from her lips as wetness gushed his hands.
Finally, Gabriel pulled his fingers from her, undoing the buttons so the front flap fell down and his engorged cock sprang free. His hands slid down and cupped her bottom and then positioned her over his length. Then slowly, so slowly, he pulled her onto his cock and began to penetrate her. So hot, pressing inside her, opening her, stretching her…
“Gabriel,” she moaned huskily, her fingers biting into his shoulder. Though she was wet and welcoming the tight stretch was almost painful.
He pushed in inexorably despite her whimpers, seating himself to the hilt. She held her breath as one of his hands left her buttocks and slipped around to her where they joined to her nub. His thumb flicked and then pressed hard, then rubbed, then pinched. Her eyes widened in shock at the brutal punch of pleasure. Fire and pleasure.
She leaned in, caught his lower lip between her teeth, and bit lightly, then licked the sting away. His rumble of approval vibrated through her.
“Fuck me with your sweet, tight pussy, my wicked little minx," he urged against her lips, gripping her buttocks tightly with his other hand.
It was all so wicked and wonderful. With a sigh of surrender, Primrose rode him, with short then deep rolls of her hips, her head thrown back in wanton abandon. His diabolical finger never stopped rubbing or pinching her knot of pleasure, driving her to heights of extreme bliss. Her nails dug into his shoulders as each stroke of his cock pushed her deeper toward a release so intense, so brutal it bordered on pain. The storm gathered inside her, and she wantonly chased it, sobbing his name, then screaming it. Throwing her head back, she let out a keening cry, her back arching as currents of pure pleasure jolted through her.
Lifting her in his arms, he walked with her impaled on his cock to their bedroom and tumbled with her onto the bed. His warm, masculine body covered her like a sensual blanket, and she wrapped her legs high around his hips, holding him deep inside her.
They kissed, his hips rolled, and pleasure lashed at her. Primrose wasn’t sure how long they made love for, but it felt like hours before she tumbled into a deep, exhausted sleep, a smile on her lips.
Chapter 7
Primrose wasn't altogether certain what made her surge awake. The room was slightly chilled. She slipped from the bed, padded barefoot acros
s the room to spark the fire in the hearth. Once she had coaxed the flames to life, she returned to the bed and slid beneath the coverlets, careful not to jostle Gabriel.
He slept in relaxed repose, his chest gently lifting with each even breath. She smiled, leaned over, pressed a kiss to his chest and froze. Gabriel was warm to the touch. With a frown, she assessed him keenly. His chest rose and fell evenly, he did not stir restlessly. She placed her hand on his chest, and satisfied his heart wasn't racing oddly, she removed the tangled blanket from around his legs and snuggled into his arms.
Tomorrow Gabriel would be forever hers. With a soft smile and a contented sigh, she slipped back into the welcome arms of sleep.
Later, Primrose jerked awake, disoriented, uncertain what had pulled her from rest. She pushed up on her elbows and glanced around, almost certainly an odd sound in the night had disturbed her sleep.
The fire had burned low once again, and their bedroom was cast in more shadows than light. A flash of blue light lit the room, the windowpane rattled at the crash of thunder, and the rain pattered on the roof. A garbled whimper had her shifting her gaze to Gabriel. He thrashed, and sweat glistened on his skin. Pushing back the blankets which she had pulled over her body sometime during the night, she inched closer to him.
“Gabriel?”
A gentle brush against his furrowed brows revealed that his skin was on fire. Worry jerked her heart in a fierce rhythm. He was fevered and muttering. She tried to shake him awake, but he did not budge, and fear filled her heart. Pushing from the bed, she hurriedly lit the lamp.
Dashing through the room, the small hallway, and into the kitchen, she collected a towel, and a basin, which she filled with water, moving as efficiently as possible. She made her way back to him, sat on the edge of the bed, and she sponged him down with the cold water. His thrashing ceased after several minutes of ministration, and his breathing calmed, yet still, he did not wake.
Several minutes passed before Primrose accepted something was dreadfully wrong. He muttered fitfully and thrashed about almost violently. There were moments of stillness which were more frightening than his erratic throes.
She was almost senseless with fear as she hurriedly dressed in a dark green serviceable gown. Her fingers trembled as she did up the rows of buttons at the front. They had no carriage, and there was no doctor in the village. Her course was clear, she had to summon his brother or father to their cottage. They had the means to see that Gabriel was attended immediately.
As if mocking her determination to seek help, lightning flashed across the sky, and seconds later, torrential rain gushed from the heavens, battering the roof of the cottage. Firming her lips, she laced her winter boots tightly. Then tugged on her gloves, fur hat, and coat which fluttered around her like a warm cape. A quick search did not reveal Gabriel to possess a raincoat at their cottage, and she hadn’t been able to afford one.
Primrose hurried over to him and pressed a kiss to his brow. “I’ll be back soon my love.” She grabbed a small oil lamp, lit it, and collected her parasol. Then she made her way to the front door and slipped outside into the bracing cold. She sucked a harsh icy breath into her lungs as she opened the parasol over her head, wishing she had a sturdy umbrella, instead of the fashionable puff she’d bought on impulse last year.
Primrose started her journey, heading toward the darkened woodlands which had short paths toward Sancrest Manor. She risked catching her death, but she pushed ahead, trudging through the snow and sludge. She lowered her head against the chilling rain and spurred toward her destination, grateful she had walked this path so many times. The darkness was frightful and overwhelming, but she allowed the memory of Gabriel's fevered and incoherent muttering to push her to move faster.
The gray wash of dawn arrived, allowing her to see the grand manor in the distance. A sob of relief left her dried, cracked lips. Her calves burned, and there was an ache in her side, all evidence of the punishing pace at which she'd pushed herself. Without removing her concentration from the manor house, she trudged on until she was at the imposing front door. There she lifted the knocker, slapping it against the oak door several times.
The door was flung open, and Mabry glowered at her.
“Please, fetch the viscount and the earl. Lord Gabriel is dreadfully ill and is in desperate need of a doctor.”
Everything after that moved with alarming speed. Within a few minutes it seemed as if the entire household had been roused and the countess had sent for the family’s doctor. The carriage was brought around, and Primrose was soon settled against its squab, with Gabriel’s brother, rumbling toward their cottage.
The earl too had accompanied them, but he had ridden on his horse. The viscount made no attempts at pleasantries, and Primrose was grateful for the silence, for she was too shattered with fear. How long had she left Gabriel? An hour? Two or three? Had he taken a worse turn? Or had his fever broken and her absence alarmed him?