The Mark Immoral Virtue, Book One

He touched her still, coating warm oil over her like a salve upon her tender flesh. Nothing existed but the feelings of hot need he awakened inside her womb.

His fingers, when he had molded her nether lips for the blade, were like irons made to brand her. The heat, the rough scraping as he had whisked away those fine hairs, his skillful touches –the sound of her own shuddering breaths – stirred her, and she feared passion might shatter her as he sat between her spread legs, watching. Even the cool wet cloth he wiped over now her failed to subdue her need.

Displaying Abigail - The Mark -

And then he parted her lips and tipped the amber vial until more of that thick oil slid over her, teasing her, like a feather against her. Awakening every nerve, every exposed bit of her. His fingers followed, slippery against her craving flesh.

Her eyes clenched shut and a moan escaped her though she tried to hold it back. He uttered a small groan of his own and she opened her eyes just enough to look down to where he sat.

His intense gaze grew as needy as her body, and for a moment she wished he would lay with her, take her, let her feel what it was like to be filled with more than her own fingers, to be taken to the heights of primal screams, to find release from this overwhelming ache he created.

Her face grew hot as images of him taking her tormented her mind the same as his fingers tormented her body.



He sat back but did not remove his hands from her. And then he closed his eyes and a breath hissed through his teeth. When he opened his eyes again, his desire was gone and a hard, distant look took its place.

He moved the candle at her thigh and leaned in closer to her core. She could no longer see his eyes, just the thick dark hair on his head. But his fingers…his thumbs… were on her, palpating her thick lips.

Brushing her sensitive inner lips. Flicking them. Smoothing lower to tease the entrance of her wet passage. Tension curled her toes and tightened her shaky thighs. Her world was his touch and the liquid heat that dripped from her.

He spread his fingers apart, opening her.

With a strangled cry of yearning, she pulled at the ties on her wrists, desperate to make him stop, but he did not. He spread her yet wider and dipped the tips of his thumbs inside. Her heels pressed to the table and her back arched, her body little more than a writhing heap of throbbing need. She tensed, tried to drop her knees, to close him out, to not let passion claim her for she barely had the strength of will to fight it.

“Do not move,” he said, his voice thick as his thumbs pulsed against the entrance, as if hoping to pry it open further. “I will see more of you.”

More of her? He spoke of her maidenhead, of that she was sure. If he had not noticed before, he would notice now. Would he think her purity was lost to a man… a boy… or the beast? Surely he would not believe if she told him the truth…

He would now test her somehow. As proof she had not lain with evil, he would make her feel pain. Would scold her, accuse her. Punish her…

Left panting for more? Check out where to buy the remainder of this EroticFix: 

Arla’s Website:


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