A Bride for the Prizefighter - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,107

the mattress, she rose up and then sank back down on him. She couldn’t help crying out at the thrilling sensation of propelling herself like this on him.

“Harder,” he grunted.

Mina repeated the action with more vigor this time. “Are you sure this isn’t hurting you?” she panted when she heard his ragged breathing as she rose and fell, rose and fell against him. She could feel her own bliss approaching, climbing up her spine as she arched her back and ground down against him in a steady rhythm.

“You’re not sat on my face,” he pointed out. “That’s where I’m cut up.”

She muffled an objection that would have been a waste of breath in any case. “Then,” she panted. “You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“What?”

“When you want me to stop. So, we can change back to the normal position,” she said, face flaming hot.

“By normal, you mean missionary?” he asked with a raised brow. “Besides, you won’t make me come like this,” he said with supreme confidence. “And I told you, call me Will when I’m inside you.”

“Oh.” She fell forward, bracing her hands against his chest. “Will,” she sobbed, twisting her fingers in his dark smattering of chest hair, and tugging sharply. She couldn’t hold off much longer, a few more strokes and she’d ignite. Holding off her pleasure, she stopped bouncing and just undulated against him, tightening her inner muscles around him, taking him deep. “Will,” she whispered brokenly. “You feel so good.”

She felt him throb within her as she came apart and suddenly his knees came up behind her. The bed jerked as he released the headboard and sat up, his hands hard on her hips.

“Minerva!” he choked, and she blinked in the dark as she felt his breath on her face, his shocked voice in her ear. For a second, she thought she’d hurt one of his injuries, but then she felt him spilling within her. “W-will!” she gasped, but his hands held her rigidly in place and suddenly, his mouth was on hers, hot and devouring. He wound a hand in her hair as he stroked his tongue in her mouth, the other grabbed firmly at her backside, holding her firmly in place on his spurting shaft.

He moaned into her mouth as his hips surged hard against her until he was spent. Then he just held her there a moment as they panted in each other’s arms. He released his grip on her hair and ran his hand from her neck to her middle back. Nipping at her bottom lip, he lifted his mouth from hers, still breathing hard. “Witch,” he whispered and fell back onto the pillows, taking her with him. Too tired to protest, she let her eyes drift shut and fell fast asleep in his arms.

18

Predictably, if distressingly it was a hammering on the door that awakened her the next morning.

“Mrs. Nye!” shouted Edna’s voice. “They’re asking for the master below!”

“Alright Edna!” she yelled back and glanced down at Nye’s sleeping face. His eye was not so swollen this morning, she was relieved to see though he still looked rather battered with a purpleness coming out below it. Both his arms were outstretched and, as per usual he was out cold. She shook his large shoulders and saw him wince. He must be sore, she realized, quickly releasing him.

When she started to peel herself off him, he grumbled in his sleep. “Leave off your squirming, wench. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Wench? I’m your wife, you heathen! And you most certainly have done!” she scolded him. “It’s morning and I’ll thank you to remember I’m a decent woman.”

He sighed at that, though his eyes remained closed. “So long as you don’t remind me of it at night, I’m content,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Mina turned her head sharply to look at him, but he hadn’t moved, so she crossed to the dresser and helped herself to clean stockings and drawers. She had managed to clamber into her chemise and corset before his eyes finally opened and he watched her stepping into her petticoats.

“I’ll cure you of that respectability yet, Mina Nye,” he rumbled ominously.

She stuck her nose in the air. “Seems to me you need some semblance of it around here. You’re utterly shameless.”

“Is that so?” he sounded more amused than anything.

“Brazen,” she added. “And so are your clientele,” she hesitated.

“What is it?” he asked, swinging his legs around so his feet hit the floor. “It’s not like you to hold back,” he