Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

“Do it,” she said again. “Please, god, don’t stop now.” She pulled on his massive shoulders, trying to bring him closer.

He came to her all too willingly, doing that and more, lifting her off her feet until she felt her back pressed up against the wall. From this position, no one could walk in and see them directly. It was too dark, and she was all but hidden behind a double stand of saddles.

Her heart softened for him. Even in their recklessness, he was protecting her, tending to her. Her hands softened, smoothing through his hair. “Kiss me. Please—”

He obliged, burying his tongue in her mouth, even as both his hands pulled up on the hem of her skirts. The freezing air hit her legs. Her thin wool stockings were no armor against the cold. And yet she didn’t feel cold at all, not in his arms. She was buzzing, floating. She was—

“Ah!”

“Shhh,” Warren said again, his massive hand coming up to cover her mouth, stifling her cry. His other hand was between her legs, his fingers delving into her wetness.

She shivered, back pressed against the wall, as his fingers dragged across her sex.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned in appreciation. “Look at you, drenched for me. Part your legs a bit. I’ve got big hands.”

Legs shaking, she did her best to widen her stance, which felt like a mistake when he inched back with his fingers, burying himself in her heat. She moaned into the hand over her mouth as he pressed in with one finger.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured. “So tight for me. You’d strangle my cock so beautifully.” Her eyes went wide, and he grinned. “Not today, lovely. No, this is all about you. Take the pleasure I give you. Feel it everywhere.”

She sank into the feel of him, letting her muscles relax as he pressed in with a second thick finger. He lifted up, the palm of his hand pressing against her sex with the most wonderful friction. She couldn’t contain her whimper.

He let her sink back down, pulling his fingers free. He found that little spot at the apex of her legs. She’d found it last night and nearly passed out from the sensations it brought her. That was nothing compared to feeling his hand there. He pressed down with his thumb and her whole body erupted in gooseflesh.

“Warren, please,” she whimpered, the words muffled by his hand.

“I need this hand for what comes next,” he teased. “Can you promise you’ll be good? Cry out too loudly, and you’ll call the stable hands down on us. I’m a possessive man, Madeline. I’m not sharing these sounds with anyone else. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Good girl.” He lifted his hand away from between her legs, raising it up between them. With his eyes on her, he curled his finger into his mouth, sucking the tip. “God, you taste like heaven. Taste,” he ordered, lifting his other finger to her lips.

She leaned back, eyes wide. “I—”

“You are a gift of creation,” he said, leaning closer. “Taste your sweetness. Know who you are.”

She nodded, feeling strange opening her mouth. He pressed in with the tip of his finger, brushing her slickness along her tongue. She closed her lips around him, tasting herself. It was an odd flavor, musty and sweet.

He pulled his finger free, kissing her deep, replacing that finger with his seeking tongue. But the kiss was over in seconds, and he was dropping to his knees, both hands back at her skirts. She gasped, nearly losing her balance as he exposed her to the hips.

“Hold this,” he said, his breath hot on her thighs.

Her hands dropped automatically, replacing his on her hips to hold up her skirts. Even on his knees, the man was massive. He had to crouch down.

“Warren,” she rasped, stifling her words as she really did topple. For he’d just grabbed one of her legs and slung it over his huge shoulder. “What are you—ohmygod—”

This was a sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt. John Warren was on his knees before her, his mouth sucking and teasing between her legs. It was too much to take in at once—his searching hands, his quick tongue, his hot breath. She was strangling on wordless sounds, her whole body strung tighter than a bow string, as he feasted. There was no other word for it. He was eating her, devouring her.

And she couldn’t get enough.

Heart hammering out of her chest, breath choked in her throat, she sank back against the wall, giving over to the feel of this powerful man swallowing her whole, daring to suck the essence of her spirit out through her legs.

The burning in her core was spreading outwards, tangling up her limbs, replacing her bones with something utterly new. She didn’t even realize it when her hands burrowed into his hair, holding on for dear life as he sucked and licked.

When he added his fingers, she understood Rosalie’s full meaning. Shatter. She was going to shatter. Like a crystal vase teetering on a table’s edge, she could see her fate looming before her—a great drop, a rush of flying, and then…nothing.

Only it wasn’t nothing. Warren shoved in hard with two fingers, curling them forward against the walls of her sex. At the same time, his mouth closed over that bud, his tongue flicking hard against it as he sucked.

And then she was shattering into…everything.

She bit hard into her bottom lip, head tipped back against the wall of the tack room. Without the ability to scream her pleasure, she broke so beautifully instead. Every part of herself shattered like so many pieces of fragile glass. And after the breaking, there was a rush of release. It flooded out of her, drenching her. Warren groaned in satisfaction, his sounds turning obscene as he all but drank from her.

We are goddesses, came Rosalie’s words.

I will worship you, Warren promised.

I would bury myself in you, Charles warned.

Panting, Warren pulled back, his eyes wild, his lips glossy with her release.

Her hands on his shoulders, Madeline bent down, kissing his lips, stealing her taste. “Show me,” she ordered through her broken breaths. “I want you and Charles to show me everything.”