Sarah's Surrender (Novella) (7 page)

She looked a sleeping angel, lying there, lashes dark against pale skin, soft flesh glowing in the firelight, long tangled hair spread about her. But no angel would have responded as she just had. No angel would have left the long marks down his back. No angel would have gasped her pleasure with such abandon.

She would give his child away.
The thought would not leave him. How dare she?

The thought played over and over in his mind.

The longer he sat the greater his ire grew. He couldn't quite define her betrayal, but it ate at him.

What right did she have to be so peaceful as she slumbered on, the heat of the fire warming her naked flesh?

And what of this other man, this Meyers? Jonathan doubted he knew his soon-to-be fiancée was sating her passions somewhere else. Had Sarah given any thought to him, to the promises she was about to make?

Blast! He stood and began to pace about the room, refastening the clothes he still wore.

The very thought of Sarah and another man was distasteful—and yet, if she did follow through with her plan she would belong to someone else.

Perhaps he would go and tell Meyers what had happened here this evening. Sarah thought she was safe, that her folly could not follow her. He would show her different, he would leave her begging in the streets.

No.

That was only his anger speaking. He could never do that. He could not do that to any woman and certainly not to Sarah.

Why was he still feeling protective of her? She'd certainly done nothing to deserve it, and yet…He paused his pacing and stared down at her. He could never hurt her.

But the anger was still there and must be dealt with. He thought about leaving, letting her wake to find herself alone. It would give her a good fright, but not much more than that. Ruby would take care of her, arrange the unmarked carriage to take her home, make sure that her gown was laced—that is, unless Sarah reacted badly and went screaming down the corridors. That would not end well.

He almost laughed. Sarah would never react in such a fashion. The idea was almost silly. Sarah would face down a lioness, or at least a swarm of bees, with coolness and calm. She'd simply jump in the nearest pond, but do it with a smile. No, Sarah would not disgrace herself.

He let his gaze linger on the tiny toes, the long slender calves, full dimpled thighs curled to protect those spots he'd investigated so thoroughly. He paused there, his mind filled with pictures of how juicy she'd been. He should have eaten her like a ripe peach while he had the chance.

He still had the chance. They had the rest of the night. There was no reason he shouldn't indulge his passions just because she'd revealed the truth.

His cock began to swell.

He let his eyes wander up her rounded hips, pictured taking her from behind, his fingers digging into that white flesh. He moved on to her full breasts, the tips still red and swollen. They begged for his touch. Slender shoulders and long neck, slightly pointed chin. And those lips. God, he could remember fantasizing about those lips before he'd even truly understood what he was fantasizing about.

He certainly knew now.

It took seconds to completely shed his clothing. Even his boots, which often required assistance, pulled loose with ease.

Seated or standing?

Looking about the room, he spotted a small footstool. If Sarah knelt on that she'd be the perfect height.

He smiled to himself, not kindly, and walked across to her.

She was so deliciously warm and relaxed. It had been years since she felt this good, assuming she'd ever felt this good. She wasn't quite sure. The fire was warm on her skin, the rug soft beneath her cheek.

When something brushed her shoulder, she tried to shrug it off. She didn't want to think, didn't want to face the real world. This was her magical night, and if she wanted to lie by the fire and dream of nothing at all that is exactly what she would do.

The stroke came again.

Grumbling, she opened her eyes and peered up.

Jonathan.

And he was naked.

That got her attention. Opening her eyes wider, she stared up at him.

“You don't want to sleep the night away, do you? I thought you'd be more eager to explore all the possibilities, my dear.”

She repeated his words in her mind. She was eager, but she was so contented, so happy here by the fire. “It can wait a bit.”

“But I don't want to wait, my dear.”

Something was wrong. She wasn't quite sure what, but the Jonathan who addressed her now was not the one she'd been with when she'd fallen asleep. Even the way he said “my dear” had shifted. Before she'd believed the words, believed they held some murmur of affection. Now they sounded cold, indifferent, the way one might address an elderly aunt one did not care for at all. She shook her head lightly, trying to clear it.

“Don't you want to learn the secrets of the male body?”

If it was his body she did. Pushing up on one elbow, she stared up at him. And up. And up. Gads, the man was tall.

Tall and muscular. How did he hide those ripples under his clothing? The hills and valleys of his stomach alone deserved to be mapped. Perhaps she should undertake the task. Her mouth watered at the thought of touching him, of tasting him. Could she kiss him there, there where hip met leg, a long lean ripple of muscle? And what of the curve of his arm? Surely that deserved exploration. And his tight brown nipples, were they as sensitive as her own?

Finally, she allowed her eyes to look there, to look at his—his penis. She did know that word. She was not uneducated, ill informed. Well, she hadn't known the word for her clitoris, hadn't really known of its existence, but she did know what men had.

And she was distracting herself. Much as she wanted to, it was hard to look at the thing. Why was she acting like a child? Jonathan's penis had been inside her body, why was she dithering now?

She locked her eyes on it and considered. It was rather large. It was hard to believe it had fit. And it seemed to be getting larger by the moment.

How did the thing work? Did Jonathan control when it did that? And did it change color also? It seemed much darker, richer in color than it had a moment ago. It was almost purple now. And it shone slightly particularly near the tip. She bent forward intent on her study. It was very different from the baby's penis she'd seen once years ago. This was a whole different thing.

“Do you like my cock?” Jonathan's words rumbled from his chest.

It could be called a cock, too. She'd heard that word murmured enough times to have no doubt. It was a much better word than penis. “I am still deciding. It is rather strange looking.”

Jonathan muffled a laugh. “Only you would admit such a thing, Sarah.”

“Well, don't you think it's strange?”

He paused as if considering, “No, I don't think it strange, but then it's been there as long as I can remember, and I daresay before that.”

“I suppose that's true. I would probably find feet and toes strange if I'd never seen them before. Can I look at it closer?” She ducked her head as she said the last, appalled that the words had sprung from her lips. He seemed more like the old Jonathan and she didn't wish to do anything that would change that.

“I was hoping you would say that. I did ask if you wanted to learn the secrets of the male body.”

He had, hadn't he? Yes, she would rather like to understand more. “What are you thinking?”

“Come kneel on this stool and I will demonstrate.” He pointed to a stool he'd positioned near the fire.

With only slight trepidation, she complied. She glanced about for something to wrap about her naked body and then shrugged the thought off. She'd undoubtedly only end up naked again and the room was warm. It was odd to be unclothed, but not unpleasant. And anything was worth inciting that look in Jonathan's eyes. Placing her knees upon the stool, she looked up at him, lips parted.

He took a step toward her, and then another. His cock was now close to her face. She certainly could study it more closely. And it was easier to stare at it than to look up at Jonathan. If she didn't look at him, she could release her feelings of being self-conscious.

The thing really was quite strange, perhaps magnificently so. There was a large vein that ran along the underside; it pulsed as she watched and she felt a consuming desire to reach out and touch it. It seemed to beat with a life of its own.

The skin looked like velvet, but judging by how it had felt within her it could not be so soft. Could it?

She bent forward.

“Would you like to taste it?”

Her eyes bulged. She'd been prepared to touch it, but to taste it?

“It would bring me great pleasure if you took it in your mouth,” Jonathan continued.

She licked her lips, considered.

One of his hands dropped and he stroked himself, pulling the skin tight. His cock stretched and grew. “There are few greater pleasures for a man than fucking a woman's mouth.”

Really? She'd never heard of such a thing. And would it fit? She supposed it would, it had certainly fit well between her legs. “I don't know how.”

“Then why not learn? I can do most of the work. All you have to do is promise to keep your teeth away.”

That she could do, but still…“I am not sure.”

“Why don't you just give me a little lick and see.”

That would not be so bad. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against it.

It was soft, even softer than it had looked—at least the skin was; underneath it was definitely not soft. Was there a bone in the thing? How else could it be so firm and strong?

Her mouth slid over the silken skin.

His whole body tensed, his thighs jerking.

She moved again. Once more his body responded.

He really did like this.

Opening her lips, she let her tongue dart out.

He…spasmed. It was not the word she would have chosen, but she could think of no other word to describe how his body tightened and released.

She did it again. A deep, guttural groan echoed.

Opening her mouth, she ran her tongue along the entire length.

“God, you are killing me,” he growled.

This was rather fun. “I think I am ready to try. I am ready to have you fuck my mouth.” Her innards quivered as she said the dirty words. She'd never felt so daring.

“Then part your lips and just hold still,” he replied, his voice low and entrancing. “It may frighten you a little, feel slightly suffocating, but I promise it will all be fine.” He stroked her cheek.

Filling her lungs, she opened her mouth. He placed a hand on each cheek and then tilted her face slightly. Their eyes met and held as he slowly eased forward.

The tip slid in. Her tongue slid against it. Jonathan paused, that little spasm taking him again.

He slid farther, easing in.

She swallowed, suddenly unsure.

“Shh, just relax, my dear. Keep your throat loose.” His words rang with strain, but his eyes told her of his delight in her.

Forcing her face to calm, she tried to do as he asked.

He slipped deeper. It was hard to breathe, but warmth grew in her belly as she watched his expression.

He pulled out. She sucked in air.

He pushed in deep and hard.

Out. Another breath.

Far in. Almost choking.

And yet…as she watched his face, felt his body move, and understood the power, the passion of what she did, she felt only joy. This was a gift, a gift he might never fully understand, but it was something she could do, a way to repay the pain she had caused him in the past.

Her chin rose up further, granting him greater access, and opening greater airflow. Glide. In. Out. In. Out.

Tense her cheeks. Relax.

She was getting the hang of this.

Her gaze stayed on his face, watching the strain and rapture.

Her own body grew needy as she watched. His passion became her passion, his need her need. A slow steady sizzle began between her thighs and rose. Her breasts grew heavy, her heartbeat fast.

He picked up the pace, moving faster and faster. His hands gripping her cheeks, holding her steady.

She longed to move, to set the pace, to tease and tantalize.

It was hard to breathe again, but she did not mind. She was doing this for him. And he was loving it, loving her. Exultation filled her.

She felt dampness upon her cheeks and knew not whether it was from the emotion that filled her or the surprising exertion of this activity.

Faster. Faster.

A gasp of breath when she could.

That wondrous long glide.

She felt so deliciously full. It was not the same as when he'd filled her earlier, but still it was wondrous, wondrous and powerful.

And then he surged forward, his hands gripping her hair tight, pulling her against him.

She felt the throb deep in her throat.

Fought for air, and then relaxed, gave in.

A small pull back, and then he was deeper than ever.

Stars moved before her eyes.

Another surge, the great vein pulsed hard.

Liquid hit the back of her throat and she swallowed reflexively. Again and then again.

The world grew fuzzy and as she felt his body ease, she let go and drifted.

Happy and content, if still caught in her own desire.

Huzzah! The olden cry filled his mind, filled him. He'd never felt anything like that. The whole world had exploded and then returned. He felt off balance; his reality shifted and set at a different angle.

His legs were shaking, his thighs barely supporting his weight.

He'd felt the moment she'd given in, that she'd opened herself to him. He'd felt her surrender, her submission.

It had taken him higher than he could ever have imagined.

Her gift had been everything.

And he had been emptied.

It had been fantastic, great…

His eyes, which had drifted back in his head, refocused.

She was crying. Sarah was in tears.

Long damp trails, trailing down each cheek, his half-limp cock still cradled between her swollen lips.

It was one of the most erotic sights he had ever seen—and yet his heart wrenched in despair.

Had he hurt her? He could not bear the thought.

He eased from her tenderly. Her cheek sank forward to rest against his thigh, her body limp against him. The moisture of her cheeks cool against his skin.

Gods, he could not have hurt her. It was true he'd had punishment in mind when he'd first positioned the stool, a desire to get back at her, but even then he had never dreamed of hurting her—and his motivations had changed quickly.

He would never understand her, but being with her eased him, helped his demons settle.

Her words might anger him, but her smile erased all hurt.

Bending over, he wrapped his arms about her, lifting her, carrying her to the great bed. He settled her back against the emerald velvet, her skin glowing like warm pearls.

He brushed the hair back from her face, and her closed lashes fluttered open. A shaky smile crossed her lips.

“How are you doing?” he asked, his stomach clenched.

“Fine.” She sounded sleepy again.

He let out a breath, relieved.

If they'd been going to spend their lives together, he'd have needed to remember that she got sleepy after sex. It would have been a wonderful time to cuddle her in his arms and just relish the warm soft woman.

But that was not to be. That was not their future.

She was marrying another man.

He'd have to find out about this Mr. Meyers. What was she doing marrying a man she did not care for?

Money. It must be for the money.

He'd always worried it was true and now…

Only it didn't seem quite right. He gazed down at her half-lidded eyes. No woman who wore that brilliant green monstrosity from the other night could care much about material things. He simply refused to believe that her taste was that bad.

Something was off and he was not quite sure what.

He looked again at her pallid face. She was very near sleep.

Earlier, when he'd asked her a question at just such a moment she'd answered with complete honesty. Would she now?

“Sarah?”

A soft grumble. “Yes?”

“Why did you refuse me five years ago?”

She was quiet for a moment and he thought she'd drifted off. “Hmm. You said you wouldn't marry me.”

“I do remember that, but why did that matter so much?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you cared for me, what did marriage matter?” His chest grew tight as he awaited her answer.

“I just don't understand your question.” She sounded ill-tempered—in a most adorable manner.

“Were you using sex to trap me into marriage? Did you want my fortune so badly?” That was a great deal more blunt than he had meant to be.

Her eyes shot open.

She could not have heard what she thought she had. Jonathan, her Jonathan, could not think such a thing of her. He knew her better than that; at least he had. Sex to trap him into marriage? And for money? She had never thought such a thing.

Is that what he'd thought five years ago? Is that why he'd acted in such a fashion?

Yes, she'd thought he'd marry her; but she'd always thought he'd marry her, thought that she'd marry him. It had been their destiny from the time they were children. It had never occurred to her to question it. It was simply how it was. And his fortune had never entered into the picture. Yes, he was rich. There was no denying that. It was simply part of who he was, who he'd always been. It had never mattered to her.