Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology) (16 page)

I could not help my whimper of frustration as I searched
him out with my blind eyes. “Darcy,” I panted. “Where are…”

“Shh, my darling.”

His voice came from directly above me and I realised he was
settling himself between my legs.

“This is the best way, I promise.” His long hard thighs
nudged mine wide apart and the hairs on his hot body connected with my chest
and stomach. His dense weight pressed a portion of air from my lungs as he
lowered himself over me. “You can have this off now,” he murmured, lifting the
cravat up and over my forehead. “I want to see into your soul as we make love
for the first time.”

I blinked in the dim light of the room as my eyes adjusted.
Darcy was looking down at me, a strained expression sharpening his handsome
features and hollowing out his cheeks. I reached up, cupped his scratchy
jawline and smoothed my thumb over his soft bottom lip. I was still buzzing,
still humming; it was as if a piano key had vibrated between my legs sending
musical notes of the most beautiful resonance right to my core.

He propped up on his elbows and shifted his hips, taking
the majority of his weight off me.

I dragged in a chest full of air and felt the smooth round
head of his erection prodding at my entrance and kissing my unusually wet
womanhood. My muscles wanted to spasm at the thought of penetration but I
forced them to remember the delicious sensations of moments ago and cajoled
them into relaxing.

He slid into me, just an inch.

So wide. So hard.

I balled my hands into fists and pushed against his
shoulders, a sudden panic poured into my being. This would never work. We
wouldn’t fit, he was too big. If that was just the tip we were in serious
trouble.

He curled his hips under some more, entering me higher. The
delectable reaction to his earlier touch departed as swiftly as it had arrived?
This joining pained me, it nipped and it stung like a swarm of angry bees in
the flower garden.

“I beg you to forgive me,” he said, pressing his lips to
mine as he dropped the words into my mouth. “Hurting you is not my intention.”

I turned my head to the side, dragging my lips from his.
“No more,” I pleaded, pushing harder at his collarbones. “No. I can’t.” I
shoved again but it was no good, he was like trying to move a stubborn ox.

“I have to do this,” he said. “If I could bear this pain
for you I promise on my life I would. I would take it ten times, a hundred
times over to save you the torment.” He pushed in further still.

A whip of fire was released inside me, scorching my most
tender female flesh. “No,” I said. “It hurts too much.” My eyes were moistening.

“We’re nearly there,” he said, grabbing my chin with his
thumb and fingers and forcing me to face him. “Just… a… little… bit…” As he
spoke he pressed his weight harder onto me, keeping me secured on the slippery
bed sheets as he impaled me relentlessly. “Just… a… little… bit… more.”
Something inside of me was like a taut elastic band, waiting to snap. I
couldn’t stretch any further. He didn’t seem to care that I couldn’t
accommodate his enormous penis and he kept on pressing upwards into my trapped
body.

I stared up into his eyes, panic and pain mixing inside me,
but what I saw in his unblinking depths calmed and soothed me. He was
determined on his mission but I also saw love and tenderness pouring from him
like a reassuring caress. I believed he would have borne my pain if he could.

A single tear, filled with hurt and emotion, escaped the
outer corner of my left eye and trickled towards my ear. Out of all the
thoughts I had entertained about my wedding night hurting like this had not
been one of them. He ducked his head and caught the salty drip on the tip of
his tongue, murmured something soothing that I didn’t quite catch and hitched
his hips higher still.

Then suddenly I could house him. Whatever was stopping us
fitting together gave way, broke, flesh parted and he was sliding in easily.

I jerked in reflex and cried out with the scissor-like
pain.

His lips captured mine, hungry and firm. He swallowed my
subsequent cries in a passionate kiss, drowning them out with his own lusty
groans.

He rode to the hilt on a long, wet slide. Our private hairs
meshed and I could feel my internal walls clenching around him. I didn’t know
what had happened, and although I was smarting a wave of relief washed through
me. We did fit, it was tight, and an effort, but he was inside me, for the very
first time.

“The pain is over,” he said, pushing up onto straight arms
and looking down at our joined bodies. “It’s only like that the first time, I
promise.”

I dragged in a breath and tasted sweat in the air between us.
I followed his line of sight and looked down over his tense, glistening chest
and his taut stomach. My knees were bent and my legs fastened to his hips as we
connected like a key in a lock. He was buried deep inside me and I couldn’t see
any of his manhood. Only our hairs had tangled together. It was the most erotic
sight I had ever seen and a bubble of lust popped in my stomach. The sharpness
of moments ago was easing, and as he withdrew a little and smoothed back in I
felt as though he was stroking a hurt.

He looked back up at my face. “Am I still paining you?” he
asked, concern washing over his features.

I shook my head.

He dropped back onto his elbows and buried his face in my
neck. He began to rock in long graceful movements, our bodies settling into a
natural rhythm. I gasped and shot my arms down to his waist, pressed my hands
into the dips of his lean buttocks. The hardness of his pelvic bone had
connected with the place he’d expertly worked on earlier and the demanding buzz
had returned. Like a craving, an addiction, I needed more. I curled my legs
over his thighs, flexed my feet and trapped him in position.

He appeared encouraged by my response, withdrew then pushed
in again exerting even more pressure on my sensitive bud.

“It’s back…” I gasped.

“What is?” he breathed into my hair.

“That… that hungry feeling.” I shifted my hips a fraction
and the sensation intensified.

He lifted his head and leant his damp forehead against
mine. “That was the plan,” he whispered in a strained voice. “Now just enjoy… I
know I will be.”

I didn’t need that instruction. I tightened my hold on him
and braided us in a knot of flesh. He kissed me again, hard and urgent, his
tongue frantic as his earthy flavour filled my mouth. I moaned in a way I never
had before; in a way that would have deeply embarrassed me in the light of day.

The pressure was mounting as he continued his ride into my
depths. A maddening yearning took hold of my entire lower body. I couldn’t bear
the thought of him stopping the way he had before. I needed a conclusion, a
release. I felt crazy inside, I was melting. Darcy was consuming every one of
my thoughts and senses. A crescendo of emotion and physical abandonment was
about to unravel in the most glorious way.

I clenched my internal muscles around him. He groaned and
picked up the pace, thrusting and pounding to a wild new beat. The gentle edge
of his actions had deserted him. He was as intent on the climax of our volatile
union as I was.

I gave myself up to it. “Don’t stop,” I cried, dragging my
hand through his hair, down his neck and over his shoulder. “I beg you, don’t
stop.” I wanted to touch every bit of him at once.

He didn’t answer, instead he ground all the harder, his
tongue probing my mouth in time with his invasion down below. This frantic new
speed brought me as high as I could possibly go and suddenly the newly
discovered point between my legs burst into a bloom of throbbing ecstasy, toppling
me over the edge of the wall I had been climbing so frenetically. My internal
flesh began to pulsate, dragging every muscle upwards, downwards, left and
right. My breathing turned ragged around Darcy’s tongue and it was difficult to
catch enough air to sustain myself.

He stopped his energetic kissing, trapped my face between
his hands and stared into my eyes. In the pinnacle of my physical pleasure I
had no control of my expression. Nothing else existed in my world except the
joining of our bodies and my delicious response to his. I must have looked
reckless, wild, out of control. I didn’t care.

He continued to rock hard against me, studying my face. He
smoothed my messy hair back with his hands. I was vibrating around him,
clenching and gripping his hot, hard length. I lifted my legs and crossed my
ankles in the small of his back. I was panting hard. My breasts were squashed
up against his chest, my fingernails digging into him.

I tilted my hips, sent him deeper still and something
inside him seemed to snap, give way. He pulled out of me and then pounded back
in, shifting me right up the bed as he let out a primitive grunt. Then he
stilled with his neck arched and his face lifted.

Still pulsating with my own pleasure, I watched as his eyes
screwed tight shut, his lips pulled back and the cords on his neck stood out
like straining ropes holding a ship in a storm.

“Yes, Lord above, yes, yes,” he hissed between clenched
teeth.

Under my hands his muscles turned to marble.

“Oh, dear, sweet, Lizzie.”

He pulled out and then shoved back in, hard and fast. Then
he was throbbing within me and his head dropped heavily into my neck as if no
longer able to support itself.

I was aware of a hot, flooding sensation as he let out a
long tremble that shook his entire being and vibrated into mine. I nibbled his
ear lobe and tasted the saltiness of his sweat as he gave another long, profound
shudder.

Our hearts were pounding against one another, our breaths
rapid and noisy. “How are you?” he gasped, not bothering to lift his head from
where it had slipped into a stack of haphazardly piled pillows.

“Perfect,” I said, equally breathless and absorbing every
quiver his body produced.

“That makes me very happy to hear.” He finally stilled
though he was still breathing hard.

I pulled at my lip with my teeth and turned my head to a
darkened corner of the room. “Did I please you?” I asked.

“Elizabeth…” He raised his head and searched out my eyes. “You
could not have been more responsive nor more exquisite. Every tiny detail about
you is utterly perfect.” He paused to kiss me. “You more than pleased me, you
made me soar through the sky like an eagle.”

I smiled up at him. I could not have dared hope for a more
pleasing answer to my question.

He eased out of me creating a slippery, sliding sensation
which left me hollow and stretched. I was aware of hot dampness trickling from
my body onto the bed sheets and I pressed my thighs together.

He flopped down heavily and scooped me into his arms. I
nestled my head into the crook of his shoulder and rested my palm on his rising
and falling chest. “How did you know?” I asked quietly and running my fingers
through his damp chest hairs and around his nipple.

“I don’t understand,” he said, pulling in a deep drag of
air and then returning his breathing to a more sensible pace.

“How did you know where I needed to be touched?” I paused.
“When I didn’t even know it myself.”

“Elizabeth.” He crooked my chin up so I was looking into
his face. “You know enough of my nature to know any challenge I set upon myself
will be carried out to the very best of my abilities.” He dropped a tender kiss
to my lips. “And making our wedding night beautiful for you was possibly the
most determined plan I had ever set upon myself.”

My heart swelled with love and admiration for the gentleman
I had married.

“And I do hope you want lots of children, my dear,” he said
in a sincere voice as he traced a spiral pattern with his fingertip down my
neck to my breast.

“Why do you hope for that?”

“Because, Elizabeth, we are going to indulge in the act of
lovemaking every single night for the rest of our mortal lives.”

“Why, Mr Darcy you shock me.” I feigned wide-eyed surprise
and tipped my head back to look directly into his eyes. He started to speak but
I silenced him by sliding my finger to his lips and exerting a gentle pressure.
“You shock me so because you insinuate we are only going to join
once
a
night for the rest of our mortal lives… that surely cannot be adequate for a
man such as you.”

His black eyes softened to thick, lustrous velvet and the
corners of his mouth tilted into the most radiant smile I had ever seen him
produce. I captured his delight on my lips and thanked the Heavens above, right
there in bed, because I knew that I, Elizabeth Darcy, was the most fortunate
creature to have ever lived.

Six Sundays in a row his brooding gaze has scorched from
the twilight shadows of the ménage. Black eyes narrowed, expression sulky, he’s
visually devoured my body with a fierce intensity as I’ve struggled to maintain
my cool, professional image.

Standing alone as he was, away from the more sociable
parents, I initially assumed he was concentrating on his daughter’s dressage
skills, but before long I realized it was me, her tutor, he was fixating on
each week for a full hour and a half.

Now, as I turn my back to watch the trotting ride, I can
feel his greedy gaze devouring my jodhpur-encased rear. This knowledge thrills
me and I roll my hips for his enjoyment. I sashay
—
just a
little
—
as I move through the barky mulch explaining the
fineries of smooth transitions. I appreciate his attention, really I do.

I have a spare riding crop stuck into my left boot. It
leaves my hands free for adjusting stirrups, tightening girths and gesturing to
the letters around the school and is a quirky habit I’ve always had. As I’m stepping
toward his daughter the slightly pliable rod slaps against my thigh. It flicks
backward and forward in time with my pace like a musician’s metronome. “Here
you go, Emily,” I say, whipping it out and handing it up to her. “You need to
get used to holding a crop even if you’re not going to use it.” I smile at the
pretty ten-year-old as she nods and adjusts it into the grip of her reins.

I throw a glance at her father. His attention hits me full
on, steady and unwavering and drinking me up like a man dying of thirst. My
knees weaken, my ears buzz and my chest tightens. In my otherwise formal,
asexual world of dressage he’s a refreshing dose of pure, unadulterated testosterone.
He looks positively wild. A barely contained stallion cooperating with his
tamer
—
just.

I wish I’d brought a crate to sit on. Each week he affects
my blood flow more and more, reduces my concentration and sends my highly
regarded teaching skills into a scatter of nerves. He’s so tall, so broad and
so damn handsome.

Today he’s wrapped in a dense, black winter coat, one
gloved hand shoved deep into his pockets whilst the other circles a mug of
steaming liquid. Maybe I just imagine him watching me each week. I’ve never
even heard him speak. I only know he breathes because of the plume of cold air
steaming around his head like a bad boy’s halo. Excitement churns through me at
the thought of just how bad someone like him could be. What would happen if the
hunger pouring from his eyes demanded to be satisfied? What would happen if I
were the one to satisfy it? I clear my dry throat and return to explaining the
next exercise, try my hardest to focus whilst wrapped in thoughts of sating his
appetite.

The final lesson of the day draws to an end and I instruct
my six riders to dismount. They lead their horses into the chill of the winter
evening, past the dark hay barn and into the long row of amber-lit stalls. As
forecast it’s starting to snow and big, determined flakes float through the
weak lights of the yard and settle on the straw-littered cobbles.

It will take thirty minutes for the juniors to untack their
ponies, buckle New Zealand rugs and give the saddles a soaping. It’s a clever
ploy to add
stable
management
to the end of the last lesson. The
youngsters do what’s essentially my job and their waiting parents pay for the
privilege. I’ve added a free coffee machine in the viewing area and no one
seems to have cottoned on to my devious, but never the less, entrepreneurial
idea.

I decide to make the most of this free time and head into
the cavernous barn to load nets for the liveries. The sweet scent of hay fills
my nose like a wave of incense and I pause at the entrance to let my eyes
adjust to the inky darkness. Kids have been playing in here again, mounds of
bales have been arranged to form a staggered wall and what looks like a tall
castle turret. I smile. It’s what they should be doing, who cares if it’s not
the neatest barn in the world.

My feet are silent as I move to a half-used bale and bend
to unhook its tight orange string. It’s awkward and with my butt in the air I
fumble in the darkness, struggling to release the sharp cord of knots.

Suddenly I’m aware of a long, thin pressure on my left
buttock. Firm and solid it presses against the give of my flesh.

My breath snatches. I know exactly what it is.

It’s my own crop!

I don’t bother to straighten. Instead I twist my torso and
see a silhouette standing at my left shoulder. A man with broad, square
shoulders and a mop of wayward curls towers next to me. I should be indignant
at the personal, inappropriate touch from someone I don’t know, but instead I
feel a sudden knot of pleasure rock through my body. After all, I’ve been
fantasizing about this bloke for weeks.

The chilled skin on my buttock soars to hypersensitivity as
the crop continues to exert a confident pressure. A deep roll of excited
anticipation lurches in my stomach. He’s so close, only feet away. Lining my
crop up against me and touching me intimately but at the same time distantly.

He says nothing
—
neither do I.

After a moment of bending before him I shift my backside a
fraction, the smallest twitch of a movement, just to see what he’ll do.

The pressure releases, there’s a brief hiss in the cold air
and then a sting sears through my jodhpurs and onto the delicate skin of my
butt. A shard of lightening, a second of sweet torture. It heats my cold flesh
and buzzes my pain receptors to life.

A squeak of shock escapes my lips. I can’t believe he did
what I wanted him to do
—
I didn’t even know I wanted him to
do it. I curl my hands into the string I was struggling with. He hit me, he’s
never even spoken to me but he’s so self-assured he’s gone straight for a
kinky, sharp spank. My head floods with excitement. It’s been a long time since
I felt something new.

I let the heat travel and pool between my thighs, and to my
surprise it swells my hidden folds and a pleasurable hum settles in my clit. A
thought enters my head that if he treats the other cheek the buzz will
multiply. I stay bent over the hay bale, shift slightly and to my delight he
takes full advantage of the opportunity. He lines up the crop on my right
buttock. I hear it sail through the air and that brief nanosecond between
knowing it’s coming and the pain of the hit is the most delicious anticipation
I’ve ever known.

I revel in the heated discomfort, lap it up. He’s given it
so easily. The hum in my clit escalates to a hungry pull and I feel myself
turning full on. Who is this guy?

I straighten and face him. He can see my lusty expression
because the orange glow from the yard is flowing around me, but he’s as black
as night to my eyes. Only the rough curls of his hair and the shape of his tall
outline are visible. He is perfectly motionless, not even a twitch of the crop
which now hangs limp from his hand.

I want more. Much more. No man has ever touched me like
that and my desire is so sudden and all consuming that my head is no longer in
control of my body.

I neglect my fine leather crop, which I presume he’s
returning, and step backward into the deeper shadows of the barn. I climb over
scattered bales and disappear around the tall turret the children made. I lean against
the scratchy wall and beat down thoughts of rational, lucid behaviour; I don’t
want them interfering with my moment of revelation.

I wait in the dark silence. The biting cold now a welcome
blast to my fevered state. Will he follow me? Did I read it all wrong? 
Damn, what’s going on?

His bulky presence rounds on me, draws up at my side and
immediately invades my personal space. It’s so pitch black the whites of his
eyes are the only thing I can truly make out. That and the heat blazing off his
body like a roaring fire.

“Hi,” I whisper, my voice husky and needy.

He takes a step closer and I sense him staring down at me,
though how he can see I have no idea. After a few, painful, drawn out seconds,
just as I’m about to bolt, my mouth is caught. Hard and urgent his lips press
down and his tongue forces mine to part for his delicious invasion.

I melt, open up for him, thoughts of bolting fly from my
mind. He tastes of strong, black coffee, warm and intoxicating. A whirl of male
pheromones floods my senses and cranks up my lust level. I lean against him and
curl my hands over his shoulders. His coat is rough under my open palms. I want
it off, I want to feel him, make sure he’s real. I slip my fingers under his
collar and shove. He doesn’t seem to mind and the weighty garment drops with a
whoosh to the hay-filled floor. I return to his marble-hard shoulders and sense
a thick woollen jumper covering unnervingly powerful muscles. He could have hit
me so much harder. I shiver at the thought.

His arms have locked around my puffer jacket. One secured
around my shoulders and the other around my waist, squeezing me tight as he
kisses as though his life depends on it. I pull away a fraction, fighting to
breathe and his lips dip to my neck, sending a stream of fluttering butterflies
across my scalp and  to my aching tits. Damn, he’s one hell of a kisser.

He releases me and I miss him instantly. I hear the zipper
on my jacket. Fast and urgent it whizzes free and he shoves it to the floor the
way I shoved his. The cold doesn’t even register. We’re creating our own fiery
heat in the shadowed depths of the barn.

He runs his hands down my torso, dips into my waist and
over the flare of my hips, travels farther to the raw heat of my still supersensitive
buttocks. I let out a little whimper but he silences me with his mouth. Big
palms squeeze through my jodhpurs, kneading and massaging the sting. My legs
turn to jelly at the reminder of searing pain. Still I want more.

He seems to sense this because he sinks to the floor and
pulls at my riding boots, first one then the other. He pushes to his knees and
I can’t resist running my hands through his thick hair while he undoes my
jodhpurs and rolls them down my legs along with my knickers. With an impatient
tug they’re removed and my entire bottom half is exposed to the elements. Cool
fresh air rushes to meet my hot, private flesh and reminds me where we are. We
can’t do this, not here. Surely not.

I feel him lift my leg and realize he’s putting my boots
back onto my bare calves. A tidal wave of panic spreads over me. What if
someone comes? Some kids or one of the parents. What if someone comes and I’m
standing in long black boots and a thermal fleece but minus my jodhpurs and
underwear? My reputation as the best show tutor in the county will be in
tatters.

I wriggle against his determined hands and step back, with every
intention of finding my jodhpurs. I need to get them on and make a break for
it.

I’m forcefully shoved against the hay and it scratches mean
little points into my butt cheeks. “Hey," I protest in a whisper. But then
I feel him drop and loosen my thighs with his hands. His cheek presses against
the hot skin over my left hip. I tremble in his grip and forget about making a
run for it. I can barely dare hope what he might do next. How the hell will I
stay standing?

And then he sets to it. With a skilful swirl of his mouth
he parts my ripe flesh and his tongue arrows through the soft folds surrounding
my clitoris. He catches the hard little nub in a wet kiss and begins a gentle
sucking motion. Stars explode before my eyes and I jab my hands onto his
shoulders for support, pull in a long, low hiss of air.

I arch my back as his questing fingers search out my
juices. I’m so wet for him. His suction releases and his tongue begins to flick
over my clit as one of his cool fingers finds my opening. He pushes in and
stretches me. I let out a tight sigh and collapse against the hay wall behind
me. He adds another finger and they bend within me; hit that super sensitive
spot. “Oh, God, I can’t… I can’t stand up for this,” I moan quietly, as the
friction inside becomes overwhelming. I’m close, so close. Rubbing against my G-spot
is making my clit pulse in warning, and it’s swelling and demanding relief. I
drop harder onto him and feel the pressure from his mouth increase. The sizzle
of an impending release shoots along my spine. So close. I’m going to come in
the barn. So close.

Then he’s gone, out, away. I’m empty, alone.

I open my eyes to the blackness, ready to scream with frustration.
I was just about to have a raging orgasm and he pulled away. Damn him!

But he’s still there, in the shadows, right in front of me.
He kisses me to silence my despair and I can taste myself on his lips, musky
and feminine
—
the opposite of him. God, I want to sample his
flavour.

His hands spread on my shoulders and he spins me to face the
hay tower. He raises my arms above my head and with his foot pushes apart my
legs. My body feels boneless with frustration, weak and indignant. I’m at his
mercy. I love it.

“More?” he growls, a demand as much as question. Lust drips
from his deep voice and I feel the crop press on my bare buttocks. This time
there will be no material to soften the blow. I do want more. I want to know
what it feels like to be spanked on naked flesh. But can I? Dare I? Here?

“Yes,” I plead into a bale. I need to know. It’s all I need
to know at this moment in time. “Yes.”

The crop cracks across my right cheek, hard and sharp, a
single blow. Just as I think it doesn’t hurt too bad the pain blossoms to a
rising heat, getting stronger and hotter. “Ah… ah… ah,” I mouth into the hay.

I feel something in front of my face, it’s not his lips,
it’s a glove made of thick fleece material and he offers it to bite on. “Shhh,”
he breathes by my ear.