Cheryl Holt (16 page)

As he’d surmised, she had no idea what to do with his aroused member, and he had to show her how to stroke him, but she was an avid pupil, and swiftly, he was at the edge.

“I have to be inside you. Now,” he told her. “I’m too eager. I can’t wait.”

Rotating to his back, he situated her on her haunches so that she was hovered over him and straddling his lap, her knees cradling his thighs.

“Remove your robe.”

She glared at him, then acquiesced, the silky material slithering off, so that she was clad solely in her skimpy negligee. The two tiny straps barely contained her full breasts, and he plucked at her nipple, pinching it, making her squirm.

“This, too.” He indicated her nightgown. He wasn’t about to fornicate with her when she was clothed. If he was going to hell, he would enjoy the trip. “Take it off.”

She blushed. “I can’t.”

“I want to look at you.”

“No . . .”

“We’re not in your husband’s bed,” he crudely broached. “I won’t have any barriers between us.”

The mention of her spouse embarrassed her, and she glanced away. “It’s too awkward for me.”

“Have you never been naked with a man before?”

She shook her head, incapable of admitting it aloud.

What a strange marriage she must have had! Only an oaf would have declined to feast on her lovely flesh. “I’m bewitched by your beauty. I always have been.”

She was stunned. “You have?”

“Do it for me, Eleanor.” He nodded at her negligee, wanting it gone, but she didn’t budge. “I’d undress you myself, but it’s difficult with my arm as it is.”

After the sawbones had amputated his hand, his amorous pursuits had been altered. It was strenuous to stabilize himself, then to massage or caress. For them to achieve any pleasure, she would have to assist, but considering her limited carnal tutelage, perhaps it was for the best. She’d have to be more aggressive, would have to take the lead, which would increase her confidence.

“I don’t have the slightest notion how to begin.”

“Slip off a strap. Let it drop down.” She did. “Now the other.”

He tugged the fabric away from her bosom, her breasts swinging free. The garment was pooled around her waist, and she wiggled out of it.

Nervous, bashful, she withstood his brazen scrutiny. She was perfectly formed, wide at the shoulders, small at the waist, wide at the hips, her sweet puss covered with a dusting of blond hair.

“Do I please you?” she demurely asked.

Didn’t she recognize how ravishing she was? What sort of cruel buffoon had her husband been?

“Oh, aye.” He let his Scottish accent flow over her. “I’m verra pleased.”

He tipped her so that her chest was melded to his own. The contact was electrifying, shooting through him, making him pine and hunger as he never had.

Though clumsy, he fondled her between her legs. He toyed until she started to respond, until she was straining and writhing, then he took his cock and centered himself.

“Ease yourself down.” She was confused, not comprehending what was required. “Ride me,” he instructed. “Like this.”

Entering her, he prodded in, giving her more and more, until he was impaled to her womb. She was tight as a virgin, but regardless of any discomfort, she was enthusiastic to attempt whatever he demanded, and as he flexed, she assumed the rhythm. Her modesty vanished, and she rode him hard, fast, relishing the naughty position.

In his titillated state, the stimulation was too much, and his desire spiraled out of control. He’d meant to extend the conclusion, but he was beyond delay, and he gripped her thigh, halting her.

“What?” she snapped, irritated by the interruption.

“I need to come.”

“You stopped to tell me that?”

Flushing bright red, he was shamed by his infirmity. His inability to love her as she deserved had him feeling half a man. “I don’t have the leverage to lift you off me.”

She frowned, not understanding, then his intent dawned. “You don’t want to finish inside me?”

“We daren’t risk making a babe.”

“It’s of no import,” she flippantly replied.

A child was of no
import
? “It is to me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Keep going!”

She tried to continue, but he wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t remember when he’d last emptied himself inside a woman’s sheath, and he wasn’t about to break his habit for her. With the whores in the soldiers’ camps, he’d purchased French kisses, to avoid the pox, but also to quash any possibility that he might unwittingly sire a babe, the result being that he’d leave it to rot in some brothel.

He was behaving badly enough without impregnating her, and he’d never degrade her by requesting an oral gratification.

“Promise me you’ll move away,” he decreed through clenched teeth, “or we’re done right now.”

She leaned over and tapped him on the chin. “I can’t have a child.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I’m barren.”

“Who told you such a thing?”

“For pity’s sake, Charles, I was married for thirteen years.”

“So? How can you be sure it wasn’t your husband?”

“Everyone knows it’s the wife’s fault.”

“Not me.”

It was rumored that her spouse had philandered with any female who’d raise her skirt, and even with some who wouldn’t, but he’d never heard that the cad had left any bastard children behind, though he didn’t suppose there was any way on God’s green earth he could point out such a coarse fact.

He settled for a more crucial question. “What if you’re wrong and you wind up expecting?”

“I won’t.” She laughed, but without humor. “Trust me.”

Like a skilled courtesan, she pushed backward, pressing down with her hips, having discovered how she could control the whorl to fulfillment. Her mons was flattened to his belly, and she manipulated herself into a frenzy. In a matter of seconds, an orgasm flooded over her.

With her soaring through the universe, he couldn’t desist. He pumped into her, once, twice, thrice, and he joined her in a fiery wave that never seemed to end. He hadn’t planned to commit such a reckless act, but he hadn’t been able to restrain himself, and with her weight squashing him down, he couldn’t prevent what was transpiring. At the moment, he didn’t care.

There was danger and excitement in spilling himself. A primal urge drove him, and he wanted to mark her as his
own. Madly, he hoped that he’d planted his seed so deep that she
did
become pregnant. He yearned to bind her to him, to have them forever attached. If there was a child, there would have to be a resolution, an outcome besides a brief, torrid, secret affair.

At his surge, a haunting groan escaped from her, and he grabbed her and kissed her, silencing the sound. Though his room was in a vacant corridor, he couldn’t chance that someone might stroll by.

The embrace went on and on, throughout the ascent to ecstasy and down, and as her climax waned, she slumped onto him, her delicious torso melting with satisfaction. They were tangled together from head to toe, and though he’d just copulated to high heaven, his cock was impaled, prepared for another go-round.

He reveled in the quiet, in the opportunity to cuddle. For him as a soldier, sex had been a simple commodity to procure, but the encounters had been speedy, rough-and-tumble, pennies paid for services rendered. He’d forgotten about this . . . this companionship, where the aftermath was the most precious part.

Studying the ceiling, he decided that he hadn’t really lived until this instant. His heart seemed to swell until it didn’t fit between his ribs, and he felt content, complete as he’d never been.

Was this love?

He exhaled a heavy breath. What should he do? He wasn’t foolish enough to envision a future with her, nor could he imagine skulking around in her father’s house, fornicating in the wee hours, while praying they wouldn’t be caught. Yet, if she crawled into his bed, he wasn’t such an idiot that he’d refuse her.

His mind whirred with the prospects for tragedy, the likelihood of disaster, but he couldn’t be sorry for what they’d done. For so long, he’d watched her from afar, had dreamed
and fantasized. His reveries were now a reality, and he wasn’t about to ignore such a stroke of luck.

What if this was the only rendezvous they ever managed to seize for themselves? If it was, he wasn’t about to miss out on any aspect of the adventure.

He rolled them, not pulling out of her, so that she was on the bottom, and he could gaze into her exquisite face. The rigidity of his phallus hadn’t diminished, and awkwardly, he balanced himself on his arm and commenced anew.

She rippled with surprise. “You can do it again? So soon?”

“I can do it all night, if you can keep up with me.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not about this.” He thrust more vigorously. “Never about how much I want you.”

“Show me.”

“I will.”

She smiled at him, her affection shining through and washing over him. Did she feel the same sense of connection as he? What did it portend? Where could it lead?

“It’s different, isn’t it?” she queried.

He realized that she meant it was distinct from what either of them had ever experienced prior. “I always knew it would be.”

“I’m so glad.”

“So am I.” Suddenly shy, he queried, “How long can you stay?”

“Till dawn.”

He was relieved that she wouldn’t immediately sneak out, for he couldn’t have let her go. Holding her close, he increased the tempo.

 9 

“Your sister has come to visit you,” Anne bit out. “She’s brought along your fiancée.”

“Felicity is with her?” Stephen couldn’t believe it.

“How sweet that you remember her name.”

“Dammit,” he cursed, flopping onto the pillow.

“My feelings exactly.” Spinning on her heel, she left.

“Anne!” She continued on, which infuriated him, so he shouted, “Anne, get back here!”

The curt command had the desired effect. She whirled and stomped into the room, slamming the door behind.

“Be silent!” she scolded. “I have customers taking the waters.”

“I don’t care.”

“I won’t have you upsetting them.”

“Don’t you dare walk out on me!”

“Don’t you dare order me about!”

“Let me explain.”

“I’m an intelligent woman. I’m cognizant of the definition of the term
fiancée
. I require no clarification.”

“I’m not engaged,” he pathetically claimed.

“You insult me with your lies.”

“I’m not!”

“Shut up, Stephen.” She stormed to the wardrobe, yanked it open, jerked trousers and shirt off the hooks, and cast them toward him. “They await you in the front parlor.”

“I was betrothed but—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“I couldn’t be a true husband to her. You know that, so I—”

“I said: I do
not
want to hear about it!”

She rushed out, and though he bellowed to her over and over, she didn’t reappear. Momentarily, he saw her at the grotto, calming the ruffled feathers of those in the pool. His petulant outburst ensured that there was no question of a man being on the premises, and they were craning their necks, trying to peer inside so as to identify who it was.

Bitter, acrimonious, he struggled to control his temper, to quell the fast pounding of his heart. For the past month, he and Anne had spent every minute together. They’d grown closer than any two people ought, yet he hadn’t confided about Felicity, hadn’t told Anne much of anything about his life in the outside world.

His tarriance at her farm was a precious idyll, a respite from reality, and he despised having others interrupting his bucolic reverie. He liked to pretend that he’d always been at Anne’s house, that he had no obligations beyond her fence, and he was incensed that Eleanor had sought him out, though why he’d deemed she wouldn’t was a mystery. Of course, she’d check on him. She’d sworn she would, but he’d discounted the possibility, shoving it out of his mind, so that he could wallow in his illusion, where he didn’t have a nosy sister, or a prying family.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and he recognized them as Kate’s. Without knocking, she peeked in. “Mrs. Smythe says you’ll be needing my help.”