Cheryl Holt (15 page)

Another clap of thunder rumbled, and huge drops began to fall. They pummeled her, and she twirled in circles, her face upturned, letting them cool her heated skin. The rain soaked though her robe, then her nightgown, so that the material hugged her form, outlining her erect nipples, her curvaceous buttocks and thighs.

She wished she had the temerity to strip it all off, to strut in the buff, while the gale lambasted her. The fabric was too restrictive, and she couldn’t bear it. She felt trapped, weighed down, her lungs not large enough to retain the air she needed.

Perhaps it was the turbulence in the atmosphere, for she was wild and impulsive, incautious, and inclined to engage in any careless act that might soothe the demons rampaging inside her.

The tempest battered her, and she started to shiver. Goose bumps prickled as another lightning bolt struck close by, and she sprinted to the house, rushing to the verandah and sneaking in the rear door.

Disregarding the dripping tracks she left behind, she tiptoed up the stairs. Bursts of lightning cast eerie shadows on the walls. She arrived at the landing where she should have proceeded down the hall to her room, but something—a force, a compulsion—halted her, and she glanced around.

At the end of the other corridor, Edward tarried at the threshold to his suite. Clad in a pair of trousers, his chest and feet bare, he was imperiously balanced on the door-jamb. His gaze was fierce, discerning, missing no detail of her body that was delineated by her flimsy, wet apparel.

Uttering not a word, he extended his hand. An invitation. A command.

Do it!
a voice in her head cajoled.
You want it. You want him. Go!

Despite her pretenses, she was naught but a trollop. Before she could stop herself, she was running down the hall as though it were afire. A hazardous gauntlet, it took forever to get to him, and with each step, she was overcome by the uncanny perception that she was racing to her destiny.

He dragged her into the room, shut and locked the door, then fell on her like a starved animal. She met his tempestuous kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist.

His tongue in her mouth, his fingers on her bosom, he was not polite, he showed no deference to her womanly state. Rough, painful, his actions were the deeds of a desperate man who’d been goaded beyond his limits.

This raucous, crude handling was just what she needed, just what her untended, neglected anatomy had been coveting.

Dipping down, he nipped at her enlarged nipple, and she squirmed and moaned. “Yes, yes,” she begged, “touch me all over.”

Gripping her buttocks, he spun her around, the swiftness making her dizzy. He carried her to his massive bed, and laid her down, his brown eyes intent and savage, but still he didn’t speak. Kneeling before her, he massaged up and down in a deliberate path, grazing her bust, her stomach, her mound, then up to repeat the torment.

He tugged off her robe, then wrestled with her nightgown, but it was too damp and plastered to her skin. Frustrated, unable to tolerate any delay, he grabbed the bodice and ripped the garment down the center, to her feet. The two pieces fluttered away, and she was naked.

Shimmering with excitement, he looked like a conquering soldier, about to ravage her against her will. There would be no stopping him, and the ravenous ferocity of his lust was thrilling. She was eager to supply any decadency he demanded.

Three of his unrelenting fingers slipped into her. It had been ages since a man had fondled her there, and the intrusion hurt, but she didn’t care. Billowing with pleasure, she arched her hips, but he pressed her down, refusing to let her flex, to find any relief.

“Don’t ever say no to me again,” he decreed, and he bent down, not to her breasts as she’d expected, but to her mound. Parting her with his tongue, he thrust inside in a concise parry, then he sucked at her clitoris. His fingers remained in her sheath, stroking . . . stroking . . . in a brutal rhythm.

Her orgasm commenced, the tension in her loins erupting, and the exultant bliss swept her away. She was so titillated that she couldn’t hide her response, but she was unconcerned if he thought her lewd or dissolute.

The gratification was extreme, unlike anything else she’d known, and she flew across the universe, soaring to the pinnacle then back to earth, and as she reassembled, and became cognizant of her surroundings, he was unbuttoning his pants.

After loosening them, he jerked them down to his flanks, revealing his phallus, the cushion of masculine hair, the two sacs dangling below. He was huge, imposing, the tip moist and oozing his erotic juice. She spread her thighs, and he chuckled at her impatience.

“My little hellion,” he said, “permit me to give you more of what you so obviously crave.”

He traced the blunt crown across her, then clutched her hips and plunged inside. He hadn’t hesitated to ascertain whether she was a virgin, hadn’t paused to wonder—praise be, he’d not asked her!—but had progressed, and she was so glad. Had he dawdled another second, she might have exploded.

The moment he entered her, another orgasm inundated her, washing over her with more severity than the first. He pushed into her hard, hard, conferring his full length and girth as desire whisked her away.

She couldn’t be quiescent through the tumult, and she called out, so he silenced her with a kiss, his tongue invading her mouth and matching the tempo of his hips.
The tang of her sex was on his lips, and the salty piquancy was an aphrodisiac that inflamed and spurred her to new heights of ecstasy.

As she spiraled down, he was braced over her, a feral, primitive aura glowing about him.

“Welcome to my bed, Miss Stewart.” He affected a regal mien. “It would seem that you’ve ended up just where you belong.”

“Aye, milord,” she agreed, “it seems I have.”

“With your evident partiality for licentiousness, I may never let you go.”

“I’m to be your sexual slave?”

“A marvelous notion,” he mused. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

He increased the pace, each penetration banging her into the headboard, and she had to grasp at the bedding to stabilize herself.

More of her sanity had returned, and with it, her better sense. She couldn’t believe she’d done this, that she was here, nude, and with her legs secured behind him. Yet she wasn’t sorry or chagrined.

The escapade felt right, as if she’d found her way home after being lost for years.

Straining toward fulfillment, his pulse hammering at his ribs, sweat pooling on his brow, he was but a few insertions from spilling himself against her womb. She couldn’t let him commit such an improvident act—it was too dangerous for both of them—but she wanted to bestow a release that was as magnificent as hers had been.

Seizing control, she rolled them so that he was on the bottom, and she was perched on top. His rod was a steady, untamed presence between her legs, pounding, pounding into her.

“My goodness, Winnie,” he pondered, “what’s happening to us?”

“I don’t know, Edward.”

“If I perished this very instant, my whole life would have been worth it.”

“Well, cease your morbid reflection,” she laughed. “I’m not about to allow you to expire. At least not until I’ve dabbled with this delicious cock of yours.”

With her carnal remark, she’d rendered him speechless, and she slid off, blazing a trail down his chest, to his navel, to the bristly hair on his lower abdomen.

Nuzzling through it, she laved and rooted, and he shifted uncomfortably, anxious for what she was promising.

It had been so very, very long since she had romped so indecently. Her entire being cried out with joy at unleashing her scandalous character. She leaned down and licked him, licked him again.

“Winnie,” he cautioned, “I’m so aroused. If you take me in your mouth, I don’t think I can restrain myself.”

“I don’t want you to restrain yourself,” she insisted. Her pleading eyes linked with his. “Let me do this for you.”

She didn’t wait for his reply, knowing that as she proceeded, he would be in no condition to complain. She flickered over the crown, then opened wide and let him thrust. He tasted sublime, all heat and salt and male, and there was a musky flavor to him that seemed to have been created for her and her alone.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, and he applied himself with a renewed stamina, then he froze, his torso stiff. He lunged. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then he spewed himself into her throat. She accepted all he had to give and more, reveling in every brazen, crude aspect of the wicked maneuver.

She kept him there, buried deep, until he exhaled. The urgency dissipated, his weight dropped into the mattress, his erection began to wane. Only then did she
kiss up his stomach, his chest, needing to be snug in his arms.

No doubt, there were a thousand questions cascading through his mind: What type of spinster was she? Why wasn’t she a virgin? What was the cause of her disgraceful level of morality? How could she tumble into his bed, with no comments being exchanged to lure her there?

She prayed that he was too much of a gentleman to pose any of them. She had few answers, and she imagined that, come the morn, she’d suffer shame and regret, but for now, she was elated, and perhaps a tad smug over the fact that she had reduced him to such a drastic situation.

Though she’d tried to deny this side of herself, her efforts had been in vain. While she was here with him, she wouldn’t disavow what they’d just shared, wouldn’t attempt to explain or rationalize it. She’d wanted the boisterous coupling, and she also wanted what would transpire now that it was over. The quiet companionship, the suggestive teasing, the serene contentment, was even more special to her.

As she wasn’t ready to hear whatever he might say, she initiated a kiss so that he wouldn’t speak. He joined in, his tongue toying with hers. When their lips separated, he declared, “I adore having the tang of my sex in your mouth.”

Blushing, she was unsure of how to respond, and he saved her by scooting off the bed, walking to a table by the window and retrieving a glass of wine he’d been drinking. He brought it to her, rested a hip on the mattress and held it while she took several lengthy draughts.

“The storm woke me,” he divulged, “and I saw you outside.” He ruffled her hair. It was mussed and wet. “Are you cold?”

“No.” She shook her head, but he covered her with a blanket anyway, then he stood and removed his trousers, and she perused every detail as he tugged them down.

Slim and tall, handsome and fit, he was a fine specimen. He was slightly cocked, as though their frenzied frolicking hadn’t allayed his lust, and he wasn’t shy about prancing naked in front of her.

He pulled at the blanket and climbed under it, snuggling next to her and stretching out so that they were tangled together. She quivered with pleasure at the taut play of his muscles, the scratch of his coarse bodily hair on her smooth skin, and she cuddled him nearer, her hand on his buttocks, guiding their loins into closer contact.

“If you keep that up”—he flashed a salacious grin—“we won’t have much of a chance to chat.”

“So who said I want to
chat
?”

“Wildcat.” For a protracted interval, he studied her, assessing her features as though trying to guess what made her tick, and he indelicately mentioned, “You’re not a virgin.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Lucky for you.” He chuckled, making the awkwardness of his statement easier to bear. “You bring out the beast in me, Miss Stewart. If you’d possessed a modicum of chastity, I’d likely have rent you in half.”

“You couldn’t have, milord. I’m hale and hearty.”

“Edward,” he chided. “Remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” though she didn’t want to use his given name, didn’t want any excuses to further the emotional intimacy that was blooming at an alarming rate.

Nestling into the pillows, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. “How do you account for our attraction? I’m randy as an adolescent boy.”

She reached down and stroked his phallus, and it leapt
to attention. “There’s not much of the lad in you. If asked, I would be forced to describe you as a vigorous, manly fellow.”

“Stop that, you minx.” Merrily, he slapped her hand away. “I must catch my breath. I’m forty-five, for God’s sake. You can’t expect me to fornicate like a rabbit.”

She laughed, and relocated her naughty fingers to his bottom, which was an excellent spot to linger. “Considering your decrepit circumstance, I’ll grant you a respite, but you shan’t be permitted to dawdle too long.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He stole a quick kiss, then grew serious. “Tell me about the chap to whom you gifted your virginity. Is he still a part of your life?”

Evidently, he couldn’t abide the thought of her being with another, and he was determined to have her confide that she had no beau.

What an hilarious notion! That she—dull, dreary Winnie Stewart—could have a clandestine swain! The only way her existence could be more tedious was if she died!

“No.” She blushed again. “It was many, many years ago.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes, I did. Madly and passionately. I was very young and foolish.”

“But he never married you?”

“He couldn’t.”

The allusion to her old flame—the lord’s son, Gerald, for whom she’d surrendered everything—disturbed her, and she was inundated with tears that she couldn’t conceal.

How mortifying to have him witness her dolor!

“I don’t want to talk about that time.”

“I shouldn’t have been so frank,” he maintained. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s an old wound, but it has the power to hurt me more than it should.”

“I can see that.”

Some of her tears had overflowed, and he used the blanket to wipe them away, then he cradled her face and kissed each of her eyelids.

The gesture was so precious and so poignant that it was all she could do to keep from bursting into a prolonged bout of weeping.

She needed to inject some levity, to change the subject to a less traumatic topic. Reasserting her composure, she smiled. “And how about you? Have you ever been in love?”