Victoria's Demon Lover - By Alia Bess Page 0,46

lips. His stubble scratched her deliciously and she moved her head so she could kiss and nibble him along his jaw. She could put her lips at his throat and kissed him there until he moaned and she felt him become even more impossibly harder inside her.

This he could not bear, and his back arched, driving himself inside, in and out now, panting. Her body responded with more welcoming wetness and the squishing sounds that accompanied his mighty thrusts only encouraged him to move faster.

“God, Maggs,” he groaned, “I am dying, oh God oh God.”

He was not dying. She knew this was true. Her fingers dug into his back, feeling the fierce strength and power of his body as he moved back and forth with the exertion of his thighs. He thrust faster and harder and his breaths echoed the effort. Soon all she could hear was the rasping breath of a man about to explode in orgasm.

“Oh god, Maggs, uhnnnn….” His hips ground onto her and she felt him swell inside with his shooting cum. He pressed harder as each spurt erupted from his cock and flooded her inside with his seed. He bent his back and his arms trembled.

Victoria was giddy with his pleasure. She sighed and rubbed his back as he collapsed over her. She nibbled his ear as he lowered his head. He thrust one more time with the last spasm, then rolled off her and lay on his back, sweating and panting. She smiled and sighed again. She could feel his cum leaking out of her and soaking the sheets beneath her buttocks. She tensed.

Her first thought was that she would have to wash these sheets by hand, but the next thought was about that cum. In the passion of the moment and the fantastic nature of this encounter it had never occurred to her to use birth control. She frowned. No birth control here. She wasn’t even sure what century this was. From the things in the cottage it could be anywhere from fifteenth to nineteenth. No much had changed technologically in those years in rural areas.

“This isn’t real,” she assured herself.

“Feels pretty damned real to me.” Jack said. “Damned real.”

“Oh,” she rolled to her side to face him and more juices dribbled over her thighs. “I mean this delicious feeling inside me,” she answered and congratulated herself on a nice save.

He was pleased. “I knew you would like it eventually. I tried to make you like it.” He moved one big hand over the curve of her ribs, down the valley of her waist and up over her hips. The sound of his voice implied that he had worried. Victoria remembered Maggie’s cries on their wedding night and nodded.

“I like it,” she said, and it was the truest thing she had ever uttered.

He grinned. “It is getting late and we both have a long day tomorrow. But I will look forward to sunset tomorrow.”

She smiled back at him. “A long day?”

“Remember?” he asked. “Lord Brigayne is coming for his sword.”

“Oh.” She did not remember. She wondered what that meant. Should the cottage be spotless? Would a lord enter the cottage of a common working man? Her brain zoomed through every history book she ever read searching for the answer. No. A great lord would never deign to enter this house, unless he was sick or injured or on official business. She relaxed. He was coming to inspect Jack’s work. He would go to the forge only. She stiffened with pride. Her husband was the finest metalworker in the county. He would be a master soon. She knew this was true.

“I will make sure there is a special supper for you.”

He sighed again. “I have to sleep. God. It is like too much ale.” He closed his eyes and Victoria covered him with one of the thick wool blankets.

“Sleep then, my love,” she whispered, and the rush of intense happiness washed over her was more powerful than any of the orgasms, real or imagined.

Chapter Thirteen

Victoria woke up as Maggie. This was the first time she had awakened in a bed that was not her own. She had mixed feelings about this. The first was the joy she felt at hearing Jack’s rumbling snores beside her in the darkness. That was probably what woke her. The other was the concern that she was now trapped in a previous century.

She wasn’t complaining. No. She shook her head. Not complaining. But the twinge of the loss of