...“Move with me, Hollis. Slow down.”

“I can’t.” Every impulse was toward a faster motion, because speed would also mean more force, and she was sure it was more forceful penetration she craved.

“You will.” Saxon moved, crowding her so tight against the desk that she couldn’t move. Her feet had no purchase, and the confining panties kept her from separating her legs or wrapping them around him. His body was hot against hers. Sweat trickled down her back and pooled in the groove of her spine.

Then he halted all motion.

No movement of his fingers on her clitoris, no caress of her back, no scratching of his chin against the skin of her neck. Worst of all, no thrusts, just the deep fullness of his cock lodged within her, and the throb of her own flesh in time with her erratic heartbeat.

“Saxon! Please!”

“Calm down. Can you do that for me? Can you do as I tell you?”

She tried twisting her pelvis, but his weight trapped her. At last, she bit her lip, moaning, but was still.

“Yes. Like that.” He rewarded her with one long, slow drag of his fingertips through her slippery folds. His breathing was still quick, and he shifted, lifting his body away from hers the barest amount. The hand that had been holding her down moved to her hip, shifting her as well, and seating himself a half-inch deeper inside her, his thighs still straddling hers.

“Stay with me, Hollis. Feel this?” He slid slowly backward, but as he did so he tilted her pelvis, rocking her with him still lodged completely within. “A good rider sits deep in the saddle, I’m told.”

“So deep,” she heard herself muttering. Her toes touched the floor at last. She closed her eyes, picturing every cowboy movie she’d ever seen, imagining Saxon mounted on a brave horse, rocking with each stride. His fingers guided her motion, drawing up and forward through her wetness, making her strive to keep in contact. As he neared the top of her cleft, she felt his pelvis bracing hers, cupped behind her, giving a half-inch thrust that nevertheless seemed designed to nudge some magic switch within her and set her body buzzing.

Their motion became a slow grind, with Saxon’s fingers leading the way for each restricted, tightly constrained push that did nothing more than change their positions in the barest way. It was this restraint that caused the cascade of images through her head, of herself the sweet Victorian ingénue who nevertheless longed for the passionate, rough impalement of her lover. Froths of lace. The too-tight lacings of corsets. Compressed breasts with rigid nipples budding atop silk-sheathed boning. Glossy boots left on over softly brushed trousers, with opened codpiece through which the empurpled rod of a cock jutted. A top hat flicked across a room to tumble end over end until it mated with a tangle of discarded fichus, stockings and shawls.

He must have felt the muscles of her cunny tightening around him. He took one long, excruciatingly deliberate stroke, pulling all but the barest tip of himself out of her, and then another, and a third, before returning them to the slow saddle work.

How long it went on like that—the dwelling of his cock inside her as they undulated, alternating with three maddening thrusts—Hollis could never have said, but at last a red haze swarmed over her skin, blinding her to all but the white-knuckled view of her hands clenched on the edge of the desk. Her climax made her shudder and cry wordless sounds of pleasure. She was too far gone and too wet to feel the heated wash of Saxon’s own climax within her, but knew from the gulping throbs of his organ that he had followed her into the abyss.

Hollis lay sprawled across the desk, panting. Saxon moved his hands and propped himself above her, giving her room to breathe again. A cool stream of air dried the sweat on her brow and unthinkingly she turned her face into the draft.

The ugly laugh from somewhere behind startled them both into gasps. Saxon’s sudden withdrawal from her body shocked and frightened her, as did his precipitous lunge across the room toward the noise. She scrabbled at her panties, tugging them into place before shoving down her skirt and stumbling away from the desk to follow him.

She found him hanging half out one of the heavily curtained windows, his head turning frantically to see something, anything. Rain had soaked his head and shoulders by the time he pulled back into the room and slammed down the casement, locking it with a twist of his fingers. He reached up and yanked the curtains into place.

“Who was it?” Hollis asked.

“I didn’t see him. By the time I got here, there was no one in view.”