Further Than Passion (15 page)

"Oh my," she breathed, "it's so much larger than I imagined." She smoothed across the length, measuring the girth, flirting with the crown. "Are they the same on every man?"

"Nearly. Some are bigger; some are smaller."

"And yours?"

"Bigger than most."

"I can't fathom how it would fit into me. Will you show me?"

"Not today."

She pouted. "Why?"

"You're not ready."

"Why don't you let me be the judge?"

"No."

"Tyrant!"

"Always."

She was so beautiful, so rumpled and adorable. He yanked the robe off her shoulders so that it fell to her waist, so that he could stare at her bosom. He fondled her nipple, the sensation jolting his cock.

"Lick me with your tongue," he commanded.

Considering that this was her f
i
rst encounter with male nudity, he was behaving badly, but he couldn't have the tryst conclude without somehow being inside her. He wouldn't forge on to ruination, so he'd settle for the alternative, though he didn't suppose he'd endure for two seconds.

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He clasped her neck to direct her, but she went willingly, impatient to comply. She laved him with short bursts, lapping at the sexual juice oozing from the tip, driving him wild without even recognizing that she was.

"Is this your seed?"

"No. It's an indication that I'm very titillated, that I'm close to finishing."

"How will I know when you're through?"

"When I spill myself."

"So I'm doing everything correctly?"

"Oh yes." He clutched his phallus and brushed it across her lips. "Open for me. Take me inside."

"Into my mouth?"

"Yes."

But for an instant, she hesitated; then she eased over the blunt end. Not delving too deeply, he flexed, an
d
she was so hot, so snug. He gazed at the ceiling, trying to clear his thoughts, to focus on nothing, so that the glorious moment would last, but he was too stimulated.

Jerking away, he drew her up his torso.

She didn't comprehend his abrupt rush. "What is it?"

"I need to come."

"I don't know what to do."

"Wrap your arms around me," he advised. "Hold me tight."

He hugged her to him, pressing against her belly, and he thrust, once, twice, thrice, and emptied himself. His seed surged out in a steamy wave, a sticky glue binding them together.

With a groan of elation, he careened across the universe, the spiral so intense that he couldn't believe his level of gratification. If his cock had been buried in her sheath, his heart might have quit beating.

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Gradually, the bliss waned, and he floated to earth, Kate snuggled to him, and he was chagrined, wondering how she'd weathered the ordeal. He shifted away, and peered into her exquisite face. She was so lovely, so exceptional, so much more than he deserved.

"I'm sorry," he started.

"For what?"

"I'd planned to go slower." Embarrassed by his display, he shrugged. "You arouse me beyond my limits."

"How fabulous."

"You vixen." He swatted her on the rear.

Looking shy and demure, she mentioned, "I liked it."

"Good. Because there will be many more such frolics in our future."

"You're insatiable."

"Only with you. I can't get enough."

Charmed by his statement, she sighed. "I'll pretend you mean it."

"Oh, I do, my darling Kate. I de
f
initely do." He kissed her, then scooted away, walking to the dressing room and returning with a wet cloth and a towel. He washed away all traces of his iniquity; then he cuddled himself to her, once more.

"When you have a release like that," she inquired
,
"how does it feel?"

"I expect very much how it feels when it happens to you."

"Ooh, you lucky dog."

"I am, aren't I?"

She reached down and stroked him, and though he'd just come to high heaven, his phallus leapt to attention. "I didn't realize it could occur without your being inside me."

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"I can proceed at the drop of a hat," he boasted, "and I'll teach you all the ways to make it transpire."

"May we commence right now?"

"Absolutely."

He rolled her onto her back, excited and eager to begin anew.

₁₀

Elliot Featherst
o
ne dawdled at the rear of the ballroom, hoping to bump into Lady Melanie. Though he'd finagled a prior rendezvous, he'd grown too foxed, totted off to gamble, and forgotten that he'd planned to meet with the blasted girl.

She was so naive, so ripe for the plucking, and he couldn't believe how he'd messed up. As evidenced by her letting him spike her punch with whiskey, she was a weak child, who would be susceptible to all manner of bad influence, and thus, precisely the sort with whom he was desperate to associate.

He was out of funds, out of luck, and ready to alter his circumstances. Whenever Regina extolled Melanie's fat dowry, he listened carefully, taking special note of the cash that would be unloaded on her fiancé, immediately upon signing the marital contracts. While members of the
ton
smirked, writing off the family as provincial and coarse, he recognized a golden opportunity.

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At age thirty-five, and the fourth son of an impoverished, scandal-ridden baronet, he was dead broke. His meager inheritance was spent, and his markers due. Among the Quality, penury was not a cardinal sin, so he was still welcomed in the finest homes, but he flitted from engagement to engagement so that his creditors wouldn't catch up with him.

Pamela was diligently working for a match between Marcus and Melanie. Should a union be arranged, Elliot would fade into the background, but he couldn't imagine Stamford proposing. When it became clear that matrimony was out of the question, what would happen to Lady Melanie's money? When the fortune could be showered on himself, it was a shame to have it wasted.

The crowd on the dance floor parted, and she espied him. For once, she was away from her mother, her chap-erone absent, and he nodded toward the verandah, indicating that he was going outside and she should follow.

Would she?

Probably, she was furious that he'd stood her up, and he had a dozen good excuses as to why he had. There was no way in hell he'd have her suspecting that he'd been too intoxicated to recollect the assignation, too bent on winning a few pounds at the faro tables to worry about her delicate sensibilities.

However, if there was one thing at which he excelled, it was talking. He could charm himself out of any embarrassing situation, and she was so inexperienced, it would never occur to her that he was lying.

He slipped out and hurried down into the massiv
e
garden, desirous of being shielded by the trees and shrubs. Guests were strolling the lanterned paths, and it

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wouldn't do to have anyone see them together. Not yet anyway.

When he was
discovered
with Lady Melanie, it would be orchestrated to produce the maximum consequence, and he was determined that she be safely snared in his net before he made a rash move.

In a matter of seconds, she flitted out behind him, and she wandered into the garden, too.

"I'm here," he murmured as she went by his hiding
s
pot.

She crept off the walk, and he motioned for quiet, then guided her to the gardener's shed at the back of the yard. It was isolated and a perfect location for privacy.

Moonlight flowed in a small window, enough for him to observe that she was nervous, but excited, about the clandestine tryst.

Foolish tart! His scheme to lead her astray would be so easy to implement
.

Shocking him, she commenced with, "I'm sorry I couldn't sneak to the mews the other night. Can you forgive me?"

There is a God!
he thought to himself, and he changed tactics and feigned affront. "I waited for over an hour! Where were you?"

"My mother insisted on chatting. I couldn't escape till after two."

"She treats you abominably." It was the best direction to wend the conversation. They would be allies in their dislike of her mother. "What did she want?"

"She was ranting on about Stamford and his intentions toward m
e
—
w
hen I'm convinced he has none."

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She shook with fervor. "I'm sick to death of hearing about him!"

"I'll bet you are, you poor dear."

A veritable reservoir of compassion, he patted her shoulder, as he retrieved his flask, had a hefty swallow, then offered it to her. She imbibed, and when she tried to return it, he urged her to indulge. Hastily, she swilled much more than was wise, and he was tickled by her lack of restraint.

"I've been so anxious to speak with you," she confessed.

"Have you now?"

She gripped his wrist, her cheeks rosy with the alcohol's effect. "Tell me what you've learned about Stamford."

He pretended to consider, when he wouldn't dream of keeping her in suspense. "I'm not positive if I should, Melanie. May I call you Melanie?"

"You may when we're alone," the little snob stated. "In public, I can't have others realizing we're friendly."

The petty upstart! Who did she think she was? Centuries before her family had dug its first vein of coal out of the mines in Cornwall,
his
family had been one of the most prominent in England!

He forced down his anger. "Melanie, it might be too distressing for you to be apprised of Stamford's motives."

"What do you mean?" She leaned nearer. "Divulge your secrets. I'm begging you!"

"You're the innocent in this." He sighed. "I suppose I must."

"Don't omit a single detail!"

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"Stamford needsd to marry for money."

"But he seems so rich."

"For the moment. But if he's not wed by his thirty-first birthday, he will lose it all. It's detestable that your mother hasn't enlightened you."

"I'm not sure she knows."

"Trust me," he said. "I'm cognizant of the facts that Lady Pamela imparted in garnering your mother's decision to sacrifice you." He let the implication smolder that Regina and Pamela were plotting against her.

"If he's so disinterested, why has he agreed to my being invited to London?"

"Because no one else will have him, darling."

"I was his last choice?"

He acted pained, and she blanched and swayed. To steady her, he hugged her to him. "My apologies. I shouldn't have been so blunt."

"No ... no ... it's all right."

She was distracted, and he used her perplexity to touch her as he oughtn't, resting his hands on her waist, stroking her arm. Down the bodice of her gown he had a stellar view of her cleavage. With her plump, curvaceous breasts, she was a sweet morsel who would entice him sufficiently when the time came.

"Why have others refused him?" she asked.

"He's a cad and a scoundrel. He drinks and gambles and cavorts with wild women." He paused. "Dare I mention it?
"

"Yes, yes!"

"He supports three mistresses." A nasty lie, but she could never investigate whether it was true.

"Three!"

"The city is agog with stories of his low character,

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and there's not a father in town who'd allow him in the door."

"Mother is aware of this situation?"

Having no idea of what Regina knew or didn't, he shrugged, affecting an air of possessing much confidential information.

"Are they all gossipi
n
g and laughing at me behind my back?"

"Don't take it to heart, Melanie," he soothed. "They're a vicious bunch."

Fuming, she stared at the floor, and finally, she muttered, "I have to return to the ballroom."

"You can't leave. Not when you're so upset."

"Regina will be searching for me."

"But there's so much more I need to reveal, so much I want us to share." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, studying her carefully, having her sense his manly appreciation. Though she was a maiden, she'd have to be a dunce not to deduce his intent.

"I have to go."

"You deserve a husband who loves you," he declared. "A husband who cherishes you for who you are, who understands and reveres you. Not some selfish, immature knave who will bring you naught but misery."