The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows - Olivia Waite Page 0,96
rasped, her voice all but choked from desire.
“And hard,” Penelope replied, in an eager tone that sent lightning skipping down every one of Agatha’s nerves. Penelope pulled back, grinning wickedly, with a light in her eyes that made Agatha catch her breath. “Can I show you something?”
“Anything,” Agatha breathed. But she was still surprised when Penelope pulled a small box from her bedside table and opened it up to reveal . . . well, a respectably sized dildo made from sleek walnut. It gleamed cheekily in the candlelight as Penelope lifted it from the box’s protective padding. “Good god, Flood, where on earth did you get that?”
“Believe it or not, this was a present from Harry after he made captain,” Penelope said. “Nantucketers call it a he’s-at-home. ‘Every whaler’s wife should have one,’ he said.” She patted the smooth surface with familiar affection.
Agatha narrowed her eyes and purred, “And you would like me to use it on you.”
Penelope quivered visibly. “Yes, please.”
The breathiness in her reply hooked under Agatha’s skin and set her pulse to staccato. She took the wooden phallus in hand and rose to her feet. “On the bed, then,” she said, putting steel into her tone.
It had been a guess, but it was a good one: Penelope scrambled to obey, flinging her wrapper over the nearest chair and stretching out on her side on the bed. Her bosom plumped up gorgeously against her arm beneath the night rail, and she winked when she caught Agatha staring. “There’s oil in the box,” she said with a grin.
Agatha retrieved the small jar of unscented oil and set it on the bedside table. Penelope rolled onto her back and flung her arms up over her head, arching so her nightclothes revealed even more of her ample curves beneath the linen. Eagerness was written in every panting breath, in the way her legs moved softly up and down against one another beneath her skirt.
Agatha felt heat sizzle along the back of her neck, and down her arms to her fingertips. It was warmer in here than it had been last night—Penelope must have stoked the fire in the hearth a little higher in anticipation. The warmth in the air, the untied wrapper . . . She’d done as much as possible to ensure everything was ready for when Agatha slipped secretly into her room in the night.
Agatha was strongly inclined to reward such thoughtfulness. Especially if it meant she got to fuck Penelope Flood good and hard.
She held the dildo regally, put all the command she could into her voice, and said: “Strip.”
Penelope yanked her night rail over her head, while Agatha examined the dildo more closely. It had a good weight and feel against her hand, silken-smooth with a rope-like series of twists at the base that made it easy to grip and turn.
She wrapped her fingers around it and looked back at Penelope, who was now entirely, wonderfully nude and wriggling on top of the blankets on the bed. Her hand slipped down to her own sex, stroking lightly.
Agatha grinned wickedly. “Impatient, are we?”
“Yes, we bloody well are,” Penelope responded tartly.
Agatha used her free hand to pinch the nearer nipple, and Penelope gasped. Agatha’s own nipples went tight at the sound. “A little wider, if you please,” she murmured.
Penelope’s knees fell open, and she gulped for air.
Agatha put her free hand on Penelope’s thigh, holding her in place, and bent low. She deliberately let her breath skate over the other woman’s soft and quivering belly as she said, “Are you sure you’re ready to be fucked already?”
Penelope squeaked. “Very,” she said, her tone halfway a whine. “I may have started a little early. On my own.”
Agatha snorted out a laugh. “How very naughty of you.”
Penelope’s hand worked faster, playing between her legs. “Are you going to punish me for it?”
“God, no,” said Agatha with feeling, watching those strong fingers slide up and down her lover’s beautiful pink-and-gold pussy. “Why on earth would I punish you for wanting?”
As Penelope watched with a burning gaze, Agatha poured a little oil into her palm and slicked it over the flared wooden head. She felt like a pagan priestess, clad only in linen and firelight, standing over a willing sacrifice. Penelope squirmed and licked her lips as Agatha knelt between her knees on the bed. She ran the head of the dildo up and down those glistening folds, making sure everything was properly slicked up for the purpose.