An Affair with Mr. Kennedy (20 page)

“You—” He gasped for breath. Stroking her creamy skin from rump to shoulders, he took a moment to gather his wits. “You did not—?”

“I did not,” she interjected, breathless and frustrated.

Zeno propped himself on an elbow and smiled. “You need to catch up, Cassandra.”

Chapter Fifteen

“M
ore.” Cassie hardly recognized the brazen harlot who urged Zeno onward. He stroked a finger along her moist inner wall. “Close?”

She arched in response to this dark, elemental man who pleasured her, coaxing forth a hussy—a woman she had never experienced. “Yes, Zak.”

Licking her from breast to belly, he pushed her legs apart. His face nuzzled the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs as she rotated her hips and pushed upward to answer to his caress. Every part of her hungered for more as he laved her most sensitive spot. He sucked the swollen flesh until she shuddered.

Zeno sat back on his haunches, Prussian blue eyes dilated by desire. His gaze slid slowly over her body. Part man, part wild predatory cat. He might eat her alive and she would give him any access he wanted.

Her skin tingled. The contrast of her nakedness against his tousled dishabille made her feel vulnerable and wicked. With his shirt open and his trousers barely edging his hips, she admired a curve of groin muscle that disappeared beneath the fabric of his pants. From observation she had already surmised he was a handsome specimen of a man. But here, in front of her, he was a marvel of lean, sinewy torso. To think all that had been hidden under stiff shirt collar and frock coat. Until now.

His tongue lapped front to back slowly, patiently, with varying degrees of pressure—just enough to craze her senses with a raw wave of pleasure. She lifted her head, eyes wide open, and stared into dark sapphires. A rush of heat blistered her cheeks—God help her. His gaze explored her most intimate feminine places and his manipulations felt wonderfully depraved. A deeper level of excitement rippled through her body.

“Hold your breasts. Make those pretty tips point for me.”

She hesitated, then touched herself. He groaned. “Yes, like that.” She grew bolder, rolling nipples into peaks, as she arched from her own wanton self-pleasuring.

Zeno returned to his knees, grabbed his penis and stroked. The stiff rod slapped against his abdomen as he edged her buttocks up onto the tops of his thighs.

He kept his thumb on her clitoris as he thrust back inside her, giving her what she wanted, sensing she was close to release. And he would see her passion, watch her body arch in ecstasy as he began his own crescendo.

Heaven came slowly. Between each thrust, he stroked her with the wide pad of his palm or tapped with a finger. She never knew which caress would come next. Would he cause her to moan or shudder? She lost all focus but one. Pure pleasure.

Her world began to separate around her. Mind from body, flesh from bone, seconds of eternity. She toppled over the crest into oblivion.

CASSIE AWOKE TO the splash of carriage wheels and the wet clop of horse hooves in the street below. During the wee hours of the night, rain had fallen. She predicted a beautiful spring morning and opened one eye. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen outside the bedroom window.

A light snore whuffled up from under a nearby pillow. Mr. Kennedy.

Throughout the night he had explored the most secret places in her body. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered his shocking requests. He had stirred passions lying deep inside, curled up in her aching womb, waiting for release.

Cassie stretched and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Such hot-blooded mating.

Pushing back some of the bedcovers, she studied his broad shoulders and lean torso. Farther down, strong thigh and buttock muscles lay exposed for her to admire. He possessed the body of an athlete.

And that brute of a penis, ready twice last night.

Tucked into the crook of his shoulder, she was warmed by the heat of his body. She inhaled the deep spice and lime of his cologne mixed with the intoxicating male scent of him.

After a soft knock, Cécile opened the door a crack. “Breakfast, madame?” Her usual request, croissants filled with blackberry preserve, a pot of good strong coffee, and steamed milk. He stirred under the covers and she turned to find him watching her with a sleepy-eyed, curious gaze.

“Good morning, Zak.”

HE KNEW AT that very moment, he would have to have Cassandra St. Cloud again. And again. Last night, she had captured him, body and soul. And what a lass she was. Intelligent, with a crack wit and an enchanting, eccentric way about her. She was also … wanton.

She sat upright against a large square pillow, her breasts fully exposed. She smiled at him, all radiance and guileless beauty.

He snaked a hand out from under the covers and found hers. “Good morning, Cassandra.”

Her little French maid unfolded a tray table, and set down a platter filled with breakfast items. He pulled the linens up.

“Thank you, Cécile.” Cassie turned to him. “Steamed milk?”

“Mm-mm, yes.” He pointed at the maid. “Is she … going to remain in here?” Cassie proceeded to stir his blood measurably as she poured milk for his café au lait. Morning light streamed through rain-spattered windowpanes, dappling her derriere.

He propped himself on an elbow and displaced the blanket, exposing more of his thigh. That saucy maid managed an ogle as she set down the silver pitcher.

He stacked a few extra pillows up to the headboard and sat up.

She inhaled. “Coffee has a delicious aroma, does it not?”

“Most stimulating.” He traced a finger over the beautiful script that ran across her hip. “I can hardly start the day without it. I have pushed tea back to afternoon.”

He lounged beside her, bare-chested, as the maid stoked the fire. It wasn’t proper to expose himself to the female servant, though to cover up seemed the height of hypocrisy. And so British. He listened with amusement as the two women conversed in French.

Sipping the steaming, caramel-colored coffee, he fancied himself in Paris. It wasn’t difficult in the least.

When Cécile referred to his masculine form and the desirable qualities of his chest hair, he yanked the sheet up farther and swallowed more coffee. When Cassie described him as frightfully large and as hard as a Bengal tiger, he could no longer feign disinterest in the women’s commentary.

“
Tu as beaux nénés,
Cassandra.” The flirtatious maid winked as she backed out of the room.

Cassie raised a brow.

“If you two can boldly discuss the intimate parts of my anatomy, I believe I might be allowed comment on your pretty breasts.”

The rekindled warmth from the hearth began to reach the bed. Placing his cup and saucer on a nightstand, he pressed up against his new paramour and laved the side of a round globe.

“Mine.” He felt possessive this morning. “Do ladies often speak in such lurid terms regarding their lovers?”

She fed him a heavenly piece of warm bun and jam. “We all, to some extent, share shockingly intimate stories with one another. Both the large and the small of it, I’m afraid.” Cassie lifted a little finger, along with her cup.

Snorting a laugh, he kissed a pink nipple and spread a swath of berry preserve across a swell of breast. “Alas, I have made you all sticky. I shall have to lick it off.”

Zeno wet a circle around her areola. Her skin tasted salty and sweet, a honeyed female flavor he could not get enough of. And the mysterious scent of her, a mixture of carnations and light musk, filled the memory of his senses. Last evening, she had arched and thrust under him, a passionate goddess, as she elevated her hips and beckoned him to mount and breed with her. Twice.

Christ, just thinking about their lovemaking made him stiff. Absently, he entertained the idea of a third round as he counted the chimes of the wall clock.

Zeno bolted straight up in bed. “Bollocks. I’ve got football.” He jumped into his trousers. Amused, Cassie sat back against a cloud of pillows while he tucked a half-hard penis into his drawers.

“Oh dear!” She sat upright. “I’m late as well.” Springing out of bed, she attempted to dance past him but he caught her in his arms. Running kisses down her beautiful naked spine and rounded bum, he spun her around.

“I’m to meet Lydia for a ride in less than an hour.”

“So we’re both in a jam.” Zeno chuckled. “When can I see you again?”

“I’ve invited Lydia and Jeremy for Sunday dinner this afternoon, can you make it?”

“What’s the fare?”

“Braised lover.” Her eyes crinkled. “I suppose there might also be a roast leg of lamb with mint chutney.
Spice cake for dessert. But only for those brave enough to attend.”

“Cake.” He grabbed up his shoes and stockings. “With butter frosting?”

“Luscious, creamy butter frosting.”

CASSIE BRAKED HER bicycle and glided to a stop. She reached up under her hat and repinned the boater in place.

“You have such pretty color in your cheeks this morning, Cass.” Lydia drew up beside her. “The impact of the bicycle on the health and emancipation of women cannot be underestimated.”

“Dear me, you remind me of Mother Erskine.”

This made the second time in less than an hour that Lydia had commented on the radiance of her complexion. And what exactly could she say to her female companion?
Oh, Lydia, I have taken a lover who leaves me all aglow from his pleasuring.

She eased back onto the bicycle seat, adjusting for the deep soreness inside her body. A quiver rolled through all the intimate places Zak had been.

Lydia tilted her head. “There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re holding back, Cass. Don’t think you can fool me for long.”

Her friend studied her outfit and she could only guess at what was coming next. Lydia could be either overly critical or effusive with her compliments, and often both at once. “Cassie, you have such style, not like all my frippery and flounces.
Your clothes are always an exquisite combination of perfect tailoring and simplicity.”

Lydia patted down a few unnecessary ruffles. “I’m positively eaten up with jealousy over those navy bloomers and that crisp, white sailor blouse.”

Cassie patted the top of her handsome straw boater with its navy grosgrain hatband. “Oh, but it’s the hat that is the finishing touch, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her friend sighed. “It’s just that I feel so—pastel.”

“Honestly, Lydia, I have told you a thousand times you wear colors that wash you out.”

“Cass, you must go shopping with me again. This time I promise to purchase only what you deem suitable.”

Cassie surveyed the park. “Where is the football field?”

The ash blonde, who did look a bit pale, paused for a moment to think. “Past the lake on left, I think. Why on earth …?”

“Men play football, don’t they?” Cassie pushed off in the direction Lydia pointed.

“What a wicked idea, Cassie. I do believe you are finally coming out of your black.”

As she and Lydia cycled along, they were, at times, greeted by gawkers and a few disapproving stares. There had begun a countrywide backlash against certain advances in women’s rights, including the idea of women cycling. The bicycle was fast becoming a symbol of the New Woman. Just this year, male undergraduates at Cambridge chose to show their opposition to
the admission of women as full members of the university by hanging a female figure in effigy in the main town square—tellingly, on a bicycle.

It was exasperating! As far as she was concerned, all those opposed to a woman’s right to cycle could stare all they like and walk straight into the Serpentine while doing so.

The moment she and Lydia rounded the lake, the footballers caught sight of them. Several players trifled, but more serious jeers began on a break in play. Never one to back away from a fight, Lydia applied the brakes. “Never seen a real lady out for a cycle? Backward, are we?”

Cassie chirped in. “Get used to it, gentlemen. You can’t keep us in skirts forever.”

Mounting scornful remarks, however, triggered some of the younger men to approach them. And, most unfortunately, the first taunt out of an unruly redheaded chap served to incense Cassie. “Why would a lady wish to show off her bum to the rest of the world?”

She clenched her hands into fists, which landed on her hips. “I daresay Hyde Park is hardly the rest of the world, sir, and would you suggest a woman ride a bicycle sidesaddle? You must not be familiar with the way these vehicles are engineered. Otherwise you would understand that it is near impossible, even dangerous for a lady to wear a skirt while pedaling.”

One handsome blond Adonis with rumpled hair and dirt on his cheek appeared more enchanted than angry. “Perhaps one might suggest the lady not pedal at all?”

“You would fancy that, wouldn’t you?” Lydia stuck her nose between them and went off on the handsome lad.

Cassie grinned. She was actually beginning to enjoy this confrontation, for she did not spot Zeno among the athletes. Undoubtedly he played on some other field.

If he were here, he would characterize this raucousness as an unseemly incident in a public park—though she had recently confirmed to herself that Zeno Kennedy was a very different man privately than the reserved, stern gentleman of first acquaintance.