My Darling Caroline (21 page)

She leaned into him, her head and palms against his chest, hair flowing loosely around her face. He embraced her fully, dropping small, delicate kisses on the top of her head, holding himself still, listening to her soft breathing and the faint rustle of trees outside.

And then she moved her hand down his stomach, slowly, until she grasped him firmly against the tightness of his riding breeches. He inhaled deeply but he didn’t move, didn’t let her go, then seconds later she gazed up at his face.

Her expression was one of fulfillment and warmth, the pure yielding of herself to only him.

His pulse raced, his blood rushed through his veins, and she smiled as if reading his thoughts. Then within seconds she lifted her hand and started unbuttoning his shirt, moving faster as she opened each one. He raised his hands to help, but she brushed them aside, and almost immediately she had it pulled from his body and discarded, tossed on the bench behind him.

Gently, her eyes never leaving his, she ran her fingers through the curls on his chest, making him suffer with want, then teased his nipples with the pads of her thumbs.

He groaned, pulling her hard against him and closing his mouth over hers, hungrily, passionately, kissing her possessively as his tongue plunged into her mouth, searching. Suddenly, as boldly intimate as it was unexpected, she grasped his tongue exactly as he’d done to hers so many times, and began to suck gently, the shock of the touch causing his knees to weaken beneath him.

He touched her shoulders, but she pushed his arms away once more as her hands reached down to his breeches. She placed her fingers just inside, gradually drawing them back and forth across the soft curls low on his stomach. Then quickly, before his mind cleared the fog of desire to understand what she was doing, she pushed down with her finger until she touched and circled the tip of him.

“Caroline…” he whispered against her lips.

She pulled back, and he opened his eyes.

She was watching him intently through dark, glazed orbs, features lovely and soft, cheeks dewy pink, and clearly outlined on her face was the look of a satisfied kitten ready to pounce on a nest full of birds.

He inhaled deeply for control, keeping his eyes locked with hers. Then swiftly, as if she’d been doing such a thing for years, she unbuttoned his breeches with incredible speed, placed her hands inside, and pulled them down just enough to expose the tip of him. Before he could even consider touching her, she put her hands on his chest and began pushing his body toward the bench behind him. He moved with ease, allowing her to guide him, sitting finally on the hard wooden surface and atop the shirt she’d taken from his torso and discarded only moments before.

Coyly smiling, she lowered herself to remove his boots, one at a time, pushing them to the side, and finally, his skin on fire, the wait excruciating, she moved back to his breeches, grasping and pulling them from his body in one fast action.

Still her gaze never wavered. She stood before him, fully clothed, and he sat on the wooden bench completely naked and never feeling more sexually aroused or exposed to a woman in his life. She had absolute control, and he was captivated.

Then she was on her knees, leaning over and kissing him intimately.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the glass, weaving his fingers through her hair, fighting the urge simply to lose himself to the moment. Her lips moved up and down the length of him, kissing gently, her tongue circling the tip in slow, blissful, agonizing form. As if sensing the urgency, she raised her head slightly and began placing tiny kisses on his thighs, back and forth from one to the other, then moving up to his stomach, her lips warm and moist on his bare flesh.

She softly cupped him with her hand, making him moan when she started gently massaging him, stroking his hardness. She continued kissing his stomach, running her fingers through the curls surrounding his shaft, until finally she released him and moved her body up to his, placing her knees on the bench, straddling him and raising her skirt to bunch between their bodies.

He reached for her, and she grabbed his wrist.

“Touch me, and I’ll stop,” she whispered, looking deeply into his eyes.

Without allowing protest of any kind, she delicately grasped him once more and placed the tip of him against her sheath, gently moving back and forth until he slowly slipped inside of her.

She was hot, wet, tight, surrounding him with the softness of velvet, making him crazy with longing just to let go and spill himself completely.

She started moving, stroking the length of him, and he relished in the feel, watching her, trying once more to touch her as he attempted to cup her breasts over her blouse. Immediately she stopped.

“I said no.”

That nearly killed him.

She must have noticed his pained expression, for at that moment she reached for his hands and placed them up under her skirt, his palms on her thighs.

Again she began to raise and lower her hips, slowly and gradually as she pushed her fingertips through the curls on his chest.

His heart pounded, his throat ached, and he desperately needed release, especially seeing her as she was now, on top of him, her long, glossy hair draping over her shoulder and down her right breast, the very thing he craved to touch, to cover with his mouth. She was so beautiful, her lips moist and rosy, eyes shiny and dark, skin luminescent and rich. He had completely lost himself to her a long time ago, and as frightening as that realization was now, he marveled in the feeling.

Suddenly she stilled her body, placed her palms on his cheeks, and eyed him suspiciously, intensely.

“How did you get copies of Sir Albert’s notes?” she asked in a daring, sultry voice.

He teased her skin delicately, the tips of his fingers skimming her thighs. Cautiously he replied, “I know people.”

She shook her head and raised her hips so the tip of him remained only barely inside of her. “Not good enough.”

He focused his thoughts to maintain control. “I know someone who knows his secretary, Stephen Phelps. He’s compiled the man’s personal lecture notes for years.”

Glancing quickly to the fullness of her bosom, he added, “The cost of having the work done was enormous, but I think you’re worth it.”

She grinned and narrowed her eyes to slits of shiny skepticism. “Years of notes are in that box?”

“Most are,” he said as smoothly as he could. “Some he’d lost over time or discarded, but I asked for everything he had.” He began to move his fingers up her thighs, inch by inch, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Brent…”

She’d evidently noticed. He’d raised his hands high enough on her legs for her to feel his thumbs lightly touching the curls at the junction of her thighs, but the sound of her voice made him pause. She wanted to dominate this love play, and he was both intrigued and immensely excited by such a bold action from a woman.

He stilled his movements and waited, whispering, “I’m at your command, my lady.”

With that concession her smile broadened, and she slowly pushed herself down onto him once more, encasing him tightly. “It must have taken weeks to copy them.”

He held her gaze. “I’m certain it did.”

“And they won’t be the same as my notes.”

“They’ll be as similar as you’ll ever be able to find.”

She ran her fingertips across his lips. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

He stared at her hard and fervently, breathing deeply to contain the powerful, confusing emotions descending on him in waves.

Then she gave in, closing her eyes, leaning in to him and kissing him fully, running her fingers through his hair.

“Touch me…” she pleaded against his mouth.

That was all he needed to hear. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her tightly against him, holding her still, relishing in her feel. He was close to release just from watching her, feeling the warmth of her, knowing she controlled the actions as she spread her thighs across him, pinning him to the bench.

Slowly she began to stroke the length of him once more, moving her hips against his, faster, up and down, one hand on his chest, the other splaying across his cheek, her lips brushing his, then moving to lay tiny pecks on his face. He reached up with one hand to cup her breast over her blouse; the other he placed where their bodies met, gently beginning the stroking motions with his fingers once more.

She whimpered softly, and her head fell back. He kneaded her fullness, then gently caressed her nipple to a hard tip against his fingers. He stroked her, teased her, watched her, savoring the rush of raw pleasure she gave him willingly each time she lifted her hips to plunge down on him, faster and harder and making him weak with yearning.

“I need you,” he admitted hoarsely, almost inaudibly.

She clutched his shoulders and opened her eyes, her face softening with sensitivity. “You have me.”

He pulled his hand from her breast, took hers, and held it firmly against his chest. Then he reached around and grasped her bottom, holding her as he moved against her, faster in rhythm, knowing she was almost there as she licked her lips and quickened her pace.

Suddenly her eyes widened, her gaze searing his.

“I need
all
of you, Caroline…”

And with those words she found her release, dropping her head back, crying out his name to the open air, squeezing her eyes tightly shut from the deep penetration of his sex, clutching his hand, her breathing hard, fast, unsteady.

Watching her reach her crest again was his undoing. He met each of her thrusts with his own, deeper, harder, holding her tightly, and only seconds later, when he knew he’d succumbed to the heat of surrender at last, he pulled her hand to his lips.

“Caroline…My wife…”

He exploded inside, a roar of completion escaping from deep in his chest as he poured his seed into her, fully, totally, grasping her, embracing her as he could.

She hugged him against her, gradually slowing her movements, allowing her weight to collapse onto his hard frame, kissing his face and neck and finally his lips, passionately, then sweetly as his breathing slowed.

He cupped her head with his hand, feeling her silky hair between his fingers, dropping tiny kisses on her temple and cheek, she doing the same on his neck and shoulders and chest.

He held to her for a long while, listening to her slow, steady breathing and the breeze from outside as it caused trees to sway against the glass. Dusk was falling around them, making the surroundings inside and out seem dark and lush, removed from civilization, reminding him exactly why he’d come to the green house.

“It’s getting late, sweetheart,” he quietly said at last, shifting his weight to gently and completely slide out of her.

She moved her hips to accommodate him but snuggled into his body even more. “I’m not ready to leave.”

He softly, soothingly, brushed his fingers through her hair. “Well, my darling, I’m certain if Rosalyn, or Charlotte, or her—how did you put it?—her robust and exotic-looking husband walked down here to see what’s been keeping us, I wouldn’t want to be caught in such a state of undress.”

She sat up.

He grinned. “Clothed as you are on top of me, and naked as I am, it looks suspiciously as if you took advantage of your husband.”

She giggled adorably, eyes sparkling impishly as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

He nodded, boasting, “But not without allowances on my part.”

“Your word against mine.” She leaned over and kissed his chin, then moved to her side and off him to sit on the bench next to his long, hard body. Suddenly she looked down at him and laughed.

“You didn’t find it so amusing when it fit so snugly and enjoyably inside of you, my lady Caroline,” he stated with forced gravity as he stood, towering over her, hands on hips.

She glanced up to his face, trying to hide her amusement. “It has nothing to do with your particular anatomy, Brent. I only find it funny that men can be so filled with egos, so pompous and sure of their superiority. But seeing you like this makes me realize just how vulnerable all of you really are to us.”

He gave her a calculating glance and reached for his breeches, stepping into them quickly and pulling them over his hips. “I had always believed, Caroline, that women were born with the ability to manipulate the men in their lives. I now understand, after being with you, it’s not manipulation on the part of the woman, but vulnerability on the part of the man.”

She looked at him curiously, and he grabbed his shirt out from under her bottom on the bench, putting it on and buttoning as he talked.

“Men innately have a vulnerability to the women they adore, but they must appear superior in mind and body because that’s how they stay in control of their lives. What all men are taught to believe, through schooling or family or culture, is that by using physical or mental control they can easily manipulate women, all the while believing that sexual control, or appearing weaker, is the inherent way women fight this manipulation in return.”

He sat heavily on the bench, his eyes never leaving hers as he reached for his boots. “But it’s just a complicated game, Caroline. I now understand you aren’t manipulating me any more than Charlotte manipulates me or her American husband, or your sisters manipulate their husbands, or Stephanie manipulates your father—”

She laughed at that.

“The point is, it’s not manipulation, and it never has been. Throughout time, men and women haven’t been manipulated
by
each other but vulnerable
to
each other, because they need each other on an emotional level.”

He stood again in front of her, fully dressed. “Your power as a woman, Caroline, is not the power to manipulate me, but the power of being what and who you are.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m sure I’ll live to regret this admission but I’m nothing but butter in your hands, little one. And I’m probably the only man in the history of time to confess that to a woman.”

Smiling, she stood and reached up to cup his face. “I don’t think of you as butter, husband, I think of you as…chocolate.”