Buying the Virgin

Chapter 89: The Girl Who Was Hunted - Chapter Five

CHARLOTTE

He looks like a god. My bronzed, blond Apollo. I gaze on, for the sheer pleasure of watching him move,

male beauty in motion, sheer poetry.

Having reduced one tree core to usable pieces, he moves to pick up the next, placing it on his timber

anvil. And now, he sees me, his face lighting up.

“Charlotte!”

Dropping the axe, he strides over, sweeping me into his arms, his eyes alight.

“I didn’t hear you arrive. I was trying to have everything ready for you.”

“I can see that.” I grin. “Looks like you’ve got the house toasty warm for us.”

“I wanted you to come Home.” His expression is a puzzle; longing, love, hope, enthusiasm, sadness. “I

wanted you to…. to have a place to call your own.”

And then he is on me, his arms encircling me, his mouth fastened on mine.

I love him. I want him. And my body wants him.

He breaks the kiss, looking down at me, a speculative look in his eye. “Yes?” he says.

My heart pounding - I have seen too little of my Golden Lover in the past few weeks - I cast an eye over

our surroundings. “Um, yes, but here?”

He grins, beckoning me with his eyes.

“Er, no, not here….” Taking me by the hand, smiling all the while, he leads me back into the kitchen,

opening the unidentified door I spotted. And beyond is….

The chamber is basic in the extreme; four walls, a ceiling and a bed. But a fire burns brightly in a

hearth, on the wall to the rear of the kitchen range when I think about it, and there are candles

everywhere. Only one or two are lit, but Michael moves around the room with a taper, lighting one

candle off the last, until light glimmers golden with candle and firelight.

The bed is huge and thickly blanketed.

“I couldn’t get the house properly ready for you,” he says, apologetically. “I wanted to, but there simply

wasn’t time. But I was able to get it to the point that we can eat, and sleep and make love.”

The room, bare though it is, is beautiful. And I see from the hope in his eyes that he wants me to like it.

“It’s lovely,” I say. “Um…. have we a bathroom?”

He hesitates. “You see all those trees and bushes out there?”

I’ve got to pee outside?!?

Then he cracks out laughing. “Gotcha!” And I laugh too, wondering how much of a joke I am laughing

at.

He straightens his face. “It’s not great,” he admits. “But you can walk right through to the hotel and use

the bathrooms there if you want to. Or there’s an old privy out the back. I’ll have to dig a new pit for it

though until we get some proper plumbing in.”

“Right…. Um… A shower?”

“Did you see the tin bath hanging off a nail in the kitchen?”

This should be interesting….

“Hope you’re happy roughing it for a bit?” he asks, anxiety in every word. “I so wanted it to be perfect

for you, but….”

Words won’t do for this. I step close, flowing into him, my fingers in his hair, my lips on his. “It is perfect.

You’re here. I’m here. And….”

“Yes…” he says. “James will be here too, later.”

Then he stops to kiss me, and the world is a warm and wonderful place.

Despite the fire, the room is chilly. “Don’t get cold. Get into the bed,” he mutters, his voice husky. “I’ll

just go bolt the door. Don’t want any interruptions.”

By the time Michael returns, only a minute or so later, I have peeled off layers of winter clothes and am

between the sheets, having found waiting for me, half a dozen hot water bottles.

He smiles, sheepishly. “It’ll be warm enough once we’re both in there.”

I lie back, watching him as he undresses, unbelting his jeans, shrugging them off to climb between the

sheets with me.

He looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I should have been able to shower first,” he says.

“Don’t be silly.” I stretch out a hand to him. “You’ve been working, hard, on building our home. You’re

fine.” And he is. He smells wonderful, of hard work, clean sweat and warm masculinity.

My Golden Lover….

“It’s too long a time apart from you. I just want to touch you. To be inside you.” he whispers.

“And that’s what I want too.”

His lips lower to my breasts, slowly, tantalisingly. His skin is cold, but his breath scalds across my skin,

my nipples puckering. His arms, one around my midriff, one about my shoulders, pull me in tightly,

contouring my curves to his harder, muscled body. Again, his fingers are chilled, sending a frisson

scampering up through me and drawing a warm response from deep inside my core.

His nails, rough and hard, dig, point-like into my spine, drawing little gasps from me and sending my

pussy into a liquid meltdown. Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

His body is sleek and hard against mine, his erection pressing against my thigh. I feel electrified,

heady; and the tremor inside me brooks no denial.

“Inside me. I want you inside me.”

His blue eyes are intense, lustrous in the candlelight, wide-pupiled as he moves to sink his cock into

me. Already wet for him, more than ready after our long parting, I spread myself wide, willing him inside

me. I know that, always, he fears that I love only my Master, not him

“I want you. I love you. I’ve waited for you.” I murmur. “Make love to me. Fuck me.”

His eyes widen, and as he slowly penetrates me, I move to take him, swinging my hips to meet him, to

match him, as gradually, he presses inside me.

His face lying on the pillow by mine. “Charlotte….” He almost breathes the word….

He moves within me, slowly at first, to a rocking rhythm, which I match, meeting him. This is

lovemaking at its most simple. Two people, one within the other, the meeting of flesh, the meeting of

souls; my Golden Lover and I, as we rock and love and fuck our way to climax.

He thrusts harder, more forcefully, and again, I match him, swinging my hips up to take him as deeply

as I am able. His cock ramming into me, balls banging against me, our bodies colliding, slamming,

each against the other….

He is shuddering, sweating. I know he is struggling for control, to hold himself for me to come first.

And it won’t be long….

Orgasm, coiled within me, quiescent, for too long, strains for expression. With Michael’s cock within

me, stretching me, filling me, my pussy quivers and wells. My thighs tremble. My belly shudders….

And my climax unfurls and surges, rising through me, rippling in waves as, crying out, I grip onto

Michael, fingers digging into his skin, winding into his hair. As I arch and strain against him, he holds

me tight, his own climax close.

Almost as I relax, he groans, dropping his face to my chest, sighing as he spurts into me.

After a few seconds, still deep inside me, he pulls himself up onto his elbows, looking down at me.

He is dripping with sweat. Casting around, he is looking, I think, for a towel. There isn’t one, and he

settles for wiping his forehead on the sheets. “I’ll definitely be prioritising improving the facilities,” he

comments. He looks worried. “Can you handle this?”

“It’s great,” I say.

He looks sceptical.

“No, really. It is.” I stroke his face. “As long as we’re all together, it’s fine. It looks as though we have all

the necessities. Anything else can come later. And I can see how lovely it’s going to be.”

He flushes with relief. “Glad you feel that way. I wasn’t sure how my bride-to-be would react when she

saw that she’d be living in a building site.”

I shrug it off. “I’ve lived in worse.”

He turns serious. “So, you have.”

Time to lighten the mood….

“Want to give me the guided tour? I couldn’t look inside the house before. It was too dangerous. It looks

as though you have it all opened up now.”

His smile blossoms. “I’d love to. Um, get plenty of clothes on. It’s cold out there…”

*****

My Master arrives. I stand outside as he pulls up, and he smiles as he sees me. Stepping out of the

car, he wraps his arms around me, brushing his lips against mine.

“Welcome home,” he whispers. “Um, not too private here, are we?” Looking around, curious faces are

watching us through the hotel windows, various workmen looking out.

To Hell with them….

We walk, hand in hand, through to the house. During the day, I have done battle with the kitchen range,

effectively enough to produce a decent casserole. If I stick with ‘one-pot cooking’ we should eat well

from here. The three of us sit, sharing a meal, over wine and candlelight.

My Master glances up. “When can we expect electricity?”

Michael rocks his hand. “I’m hoping we’ll have it for Christmas.” Then he looks over at me. “Sorry

Charlotte. I just couldn’t….”

I cut him off. “It’s perfect. Don’t worry about it. We’re together. That’s the main thing.”