Read The Wedding of Molly O'Flaherty for Free Online Page B

it wouldn’t take very long.
    I freed myself as quickly as I could, letting out a long breath when I finally circled my hand around my dick and started pumping. I didn’t bother to pull my pants down any farther or even unbutton my jacket; I widened my stance and worked my cock fast and hard, imagining it was Molly’s hand wrapped around me, that it was her breathing I heard instead of my own.
    I looked down to see the dusky-dark crown pushing through my fingers and then pulling back, disappearing and reappearing, and I thought about how it would look thrusting up between her breasts or between the cheeks of her ass. I tightened my fist, thinking about that ass, about the way she’d gasped and panted when I’d fucked her there for the first time. I’d been gentle and easy since Molly had never allowed a lover to take her that way. Only me. I’d been the first to fuck that hot, tight place. I’d been the first to mark her there.
    And then my mind disappeared into a filthy haze of images—some remembered, some imagined—depraved things that I would never admit to thinking in polite company…or even in not-so-polite company. The feeling of Molly’s delicate throat under the crush of my fingers, the image of my hand holding her down as I pumped into her. The tableau of her and me and Viola and—yes, even Castor—all together in that bedroom, slick cunts and warm mouths and hunger. Me straddling Molly and jetting cum onto her lovely freckled face.
    I erupted all over my hand, long spurts of white heat, groaning and fucking my fist even faster to spur the pleasure on longer, pretending for those last few thrusts that it really was Molly’s cunt I was fucking and not my own hand. Until finally, I stilled, breathing hard. My lust was temporarily slaked, but I didn’t feel any better. Instead, I tried to push down the yawning emptiness that wanted to creep up in its place.
    I didn’t want to do this alone.
    I wanted to be with her.
    And on top of that, what kind of man needed a woman that way after she’d told him the terrible stories of how someone had abused her?
    A bad man, that’s the kind of man.
    I felt a little guilty for using the nearby ewer and towel to clean myself, since this wasn’t my room, but it needed to be done. A few minutes (and some vigorous scrubbing) later, I was clean and decent enough to be seen in public. I pressed the emptiness down, along with the anger over what Molly had endured at the hands of that monster, plastered a grin on my face and made my way to the club’s dining room.
    Generally only members were allowed to dine at the club, but members could invite guests, and since Castor was a member, we were more than welcome. When I reached the table, Julian, Castor and Martjin van der Sant were deeply engaged in a conversation about shifting trade alliances around the Empire. I made my apologies for my lateness, was introduced and sat, staying quiet for most of the meal. Not necessarily because business didn’t interest me, but because I wanted to study van der Sant, this man I’d rashly plunged into business with for Molly’s sake.
    Van der Sant seemed to be the kind of person who inspired respect, not affection. Though short in stature, his rigid posture and imposing demeanor gave the impression of a much larger man, and his conversation was clipped and direct. Completely humorless.
    However, when Julian happened to mention his child, van der Sant’s face softened. “I always wanted a son,” the Dutch man said. “But I am more than pleased with my Birgit.”
    He turned his attention to the waiter, to signal for more water, while the three of us exchanged uncomfortable glances. Castor and Molly had arranged tonight so that Birgit’s innocence would be unequivocal. But we hadn’t once given a thought to the emotional toll this would take on van der Sant, witnessing the attempted seduction of his daughter. Would he be furious? Devastated?
    How would I feel if this happened to