“Fourteen! Good Lord, you started young.” When he tried to move his hand, she tightened her grip. “How many of these dalliances did you have while you were sowing your wild oats?”
“A few.”
She arched a brow. “Perhaps I should sow my own wild oats to catch up.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” he said softly.
“What makes you so sure?”
Her hand still gripped his, so he had a fairly good suspicion this was a test. But the answer was the same either way. “Because my oat-sowing was finished long before I met you. I would never have a dalliance now. I love you. And people who love each other don’t have affairs with other people, especially once they’ve vowed in a church to cling only to each other.”
That must have been the right answer, because she released his hand. As he moved it up to stimulate her where he knew women liked it most, she murmured, “Your oat-sowing does explain why you’re . . . so good at this.”
“Are we going to talk?” he whispered in her ear as his cock thickened. “Or swive? Because in less than an hour we’ll be changing horses, and I don’t think you want to be doing this then.”
“No more talking,” she said and kissed him boldly.
He fondled her, loving how it excited her. And once he could feel her warm wetness coating his fingers, he shifted her onto the seat next to him just long enough to unfasten his trousers and drawers and slip them down to his knees.
“All right, sweetling,” he said, “time for you to straddle me.”
“What?” she asked, her face filling with confusion.
“This will be easier if you ride me. You don’t even have to remove any clothes. Here, I’ll show you. You put this leg on this side and the other leg—”
“Oh. Straddle. I see now.”
She straddled him at the middle of his thighs, and his cock got bigger and bolder. He loved that she was such a quick study when it came to bedsport. She drove him wild with her enthusiasm.
“Now,” he said, “if you’ll just place your knees on the seat and rise up . . . Not too high! Don’t want you bumping your pretty head.” Or his other head, for that matter. “Good, good. Now come down on my . . . on my . . .” He refused to call it a “pencil” ever again.
“The fallen females call it a ‘cock.’”
His would begin to crow if she kept talking that way. “I think those fallen females of yours aren’t very reformed.”
“Why? What do you call it?”
“A cock.” He went a little insane when she adjusted him so she could come down on him. “And you must . . . never say that word . . . in polite company unless you’re talking about . . . chickens.”
“Ooh, a naughty word. So, let’s see . . . I come down on your cock . . .”
Just having the tip of it inside her was driving him to distraction. “Farther down, my love. More.” He threw back his head. “Oh, God, more. Yes. Exactly like that.”
“What now?”
“You move . . . up and down. As we did before, but in reverse.”
Her face brightened. “Oh, I see!” And she began to move, hesitantly at first, and then more enthusiastically as his measured thrusts gave her the rhythm of it. “Geoffrey . . . that is . . .”
“Incredible? Because that’s how it feels . . . to me.” His blood pumped through him, a potion giving him energy, making him feel fierce, reminding him he was alive, as heat surged in him.
And it was all due to her . . . his goddess Diana making him feel this rush of excitement. She rode him like an Amazon queen of old, who needed no crop but her luscious body to get him racing.
“Your cock is so . . . hard . . .” she whispered.
“As it should be.”
She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her breasts, making his cock even harder. He caressed her full breasts through her gown and shift as best he could, glad that she wasn’t wearing the type of corset that covered her nipples. “Next time we do this, sweetling . . . you’ll be naked so . . . I can see you . . . in all your glory.”