Star Slave by Nicole Dere

later.’ The thumbs and fingers dug into the muscles of Felicity’s shoulders and neck, bunching and relaxing them, then traced her spine, pressing her soft breasts against the yielding mattress. Down the hollow of her back, pressing on her coccyx, then the rounds of her buttocks. The thumbs dug deep, parted the cleft, opened her most intimate flesh, and she shivered and thrust her belly into the softness of the bed, feeling the flare of her desire. The hands rolled and kneaded the twin cheeks of her bottom.
    Felicity was drowsy, her mind drifting, only faintly aware of a pause, the disappearance of those wonderful teasing hands. Then they started again from the base of her neck, following that sensitive path to her behind, again delving deep, and on to the lesser rounds of her calves, her slender ankles and the delicate curve of her heels. Up again...
    She gasped, suddenly conscious that the hands were different, harder. She heard a grunt and, at the same instant, she felt those hands spread under her belly and lift her hips, raising her haunches. She smelt the fragrance of Lord Burnopside’s cologne, felt the hardness of his body as he knelt behind her, then the stabbing head of his engorged penis as it nuzzled in the cleft of her behind, seeking the entrance to her already wet and spasming vagina. With a few swift strokes he was fully embedded, and then withdrawing almost to the point of ejection, only to plunge slowly to the hilt once more.
    She hissed with discomfort, yet the fierce pleasure was far greater, indeed, enhanced by that very soreness. Her forehead was resting on her folded arms, her bottom raised high, his body folding over her like a warm blanket. Those hands came round and cupped her breasts, held and caressed them until they were alive with sensation, and she knew her crisis was near. She was frantic that he’d begin the wild rutting that signalled his coming, and prayed desperately for her own release. But, wonderfully, he continued that slow rhythmic fucking until her climax came, spiralling to its bursting point, shattering through every nerve so that she cried out a long wailing release. And, at the very instant when the last shuddering shocks of orgasm died, she felt his potent discharge flood her with a mighty surge.
    In the shadows Magda stood watching, and felt at that exact moment the flooding rush of her own deliverance.
Chapter Eight
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    Felicity was greatly relieved that Ally and Ted had their own transport, and that they were not heading back to London on Sunday evening. ‘I couldn’t bear to face the trip back to town in that creep’s company,’ she told John, with a dramatic shudder.
    He knew she was referring to the cameraman rather than her director. As it was, they had the spacious rear seat of the Mercedes all to themselves, the uniformed driver sealed off behind his glass partition. Felicity sought her cousin’s hand and clung to it, reminding him of the more innocent days of their shared childhood.
    He studied her with a cool fondness. She was lying back, her head lolling on the upholstered rest, her thigh companionably nestled against his. Her face looked paler than ever. She was, as always, wearing her light touches of make-up. Beneath her eyes were faint shadows, not from cosmetics but from the effects of a hectic weekend, yet these subtle hints of decadence only served to make her more sexually appetising. In spite of his own sore weariness, he felt his penis unfurling in the tight grip of his silk underwear. The tenderness of his behind made him wonder if she was suffering in a similar manner.
    â€˜You look shagged,’ he chuckled, ‘if you’ll pardon the expression. ‘
    Her dark eyes widened, and he caught that appealingly helpless little girl look that she used so well. Please be nice to me , it begged, and was generally very effective. He dropped his teasing manner, moved by her air of abstracted weariness. He lifted her