Regency Rogues Omnibus (112 page)

The dream that Law was all hers, and that this was all theirs, wrapped around her and the reality of it sang in her heart as he nibbled her ear, and he murmured, “My pleasure will always be that, Affinity, to have you come apart beneath my hands, my mouth, beneath my body. That, my love, could sustain me forever and I want to do it again and again.”

Affinity stroked his buttocks and wriggled her mound against his turgid penis. “I want to give you as much pleasure, Law.”

He chuckled. “A war of pleasure,” he teased, as he tilted his head back to allow the nibbling and kissing of her lips upon his throat.

“Mmm,” she hummed against the warm muscular tendons. “A battle of pleasure, where we both win.”

“Yes!” Law exclaimed, then he turned her beneath him with his bare penis pressing lengthwise along the wet and still throbbing lips of her pussy. The feeling of their sexes pressed nakedly together, quickened her arousal anew with a flash of heat through her body, as he said, “But tonight it is all for you, my love, for your first time”

“Our first time,” she challenged him. “I want you to come with me, Law.”

“To feel my cock pressed deeply inside you, Affinity?” he asked in a mesmerizing whisper.

“Yes,” she moaned, undulating her pussy lips over his penis.

“To feel us joined?” he murmured, raising his hips and stroking her with the length of his penis.

“Yes, yes,” she gasped, grinding against him.

“With my cock thrust inside you, Affinity, my cock thrust to your womb?”

“Oh, yes, please!”

Then, Affinity felt it, the impossibly wide the head of Law’s penis pushing against her opening and the creaminess of his seed oozing there, wetting the edges. “Oh,” she gasped, and her legs rose upward wrapping her heels around Law’s tight thighs. The feeling of him pressing into her made her pant and toss her head back.

Lord, the way was so hot and Affinity’s cunt hole burned the head of Law’s cock as he grunted beneath the pleasure. She was too tight and she was going to strangle the head of his dick in bliss, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to go slow. That lasted until the head of his cock was inside her and the outer entrance of her vagina snapped tightly around the rim.

“Ah,” he groaned, with his body leaching sweat and tension. The feeling was incredible, and he dared himself to withdraw his cock, and then push it in again.

“Oh, yes,” Affinity mewled.

“Ah,” he groaned. Lord, he was never going to last, he thought, shaking his head and lifting his hips to do it again.

She will climax again before he took her,
she would; he defied himself, as he tugged Affinity’s legs up over his shoulders. The new position lifted her cunt upward to him like a prize to be taken by him . . . and he was, but just two inches of his cock and no more as he pressed her knees forward lifting her ass upward against his thighs.

Affinity’s scrunched eyelids popped open and her gaze snapped onto his.
Oh yes, she liked that
, and he gritted his teeth watching the contours of her passion exhilarated face as fucked her in and out two inches only at a time.

“Ooh. Ooh. Ooh, God!” Affinity cried clutching his upper arms, then he felt it again, the tightening and quaking of her scorching cunt around the head of his cock. Her head arched back as her lips opened in a scream of pleasure and just as she began to explode in a climax over the head of his cock, he plunged his dick deep inside her shuddering vagina.

“Law!” Affinity cried.

“
Ah,
damn!” he bellowed, as his senses erupted and his cock heaved deep inside her womb, then he lifted his cock out, and he plunged in deep again, picking up a repeated and fast rhythm.

“Oh!” Affinity cried in long drawn out squeals of pleasure as he rode her in leaps and bounds feeling his cock bulge, then tighten, and then bulge again, and then . . .

“
Ah
, God!” he bellowed and half grunted, as his seed ejaculated deep inside his woman, while her continuing climax clutched bliss around his throbbing cock.

A long time later, as he lay in Affinity’s soft embrace, she whispered in his ear. “Darling, this is just the beginning of our abandon, my love.”

The End.

Owning Arabella

By Shirl Anders

Chapter One

Arabella tried desperately not to fall asleep. She convinced herself continually that her anxiety was too powerful to allow the occurrence of sinking eyelids. Yet in the end, her worries drained her into a fitful slumber, so she was surprised by the harsh hands shaking her shoulders, accompanied by the overpowering smell of sour wine.

“Get up.” These stern words were slurred hotly into Arabella’s ears. The sound so close, she jerked fully awake in alarm. Anxious, she forced her eyes closed, but the hands on her shoulders tightened with cruelty and she was yanked from beneath the warm bed covers.

“No, leave me be,” she cried with an accompanying shudder that was not born from the chill of standing barefoot in only her threadbare nightgown.

“You will do as I say!” Victor Crom ordered in a harsh voice.

It was then Arabella saw the treacherous knife Victor held in his bony left hand. She watched in horror as he stumbled back to the trundle bed, where Nicholas lay so innocent in his sleep. She felt the sheer terror of Victor’s intent seize her heart and she moaned, unable to will her limbs to move from their frozen state. He could not harm Nicholas ... he could not! Her heart skipped beats as she watched Victor sliding the knife’s blade just above the contours of Nicholas’ exposed throat. Nicholas was too young, only ten-years of age, not knowing or understanding the danger that they had been thrown into since their mother’s untimely death.

Arabella shuddered, watching in horror as their very own stepfather muttered, “So easy it would be, Arabella. Do you see how easily I could end your sweet brother’s innocence?” Victor gazed at her with eyes hard as glass, belaying his drunken condition, and Arabella knew he could ... No, she knew he would do it without hesitation.

“Answer me, bond’s maid,” he hissed, as he lifted his cropped chin higher, spitting out the words, “Tell me that you understand that you could do nothing to stop me!”

“I could do nothing!” Arabella cried helplessly. Fear for her brother’s life kept her rigid, but inborn defiance lifted her diminutive chin. She already recognized that her stepfather wanted some grievous deed from her and he was using Nicholas as the threat. He had used this method before. Images flashed in her mind of other times aboard the ship. The same ship they had sailed from Jamaica to these shores of England. She knew more than anyone what vileness Victor was capable of.

If she had known of anyone, or even had the smallest hope of somewhere to flee to, she would have grabbed Nicholas up and run screaming from the room. But there was no one, no place, only this deplorably evil man who held her and her brother’s life in the balance. Gulping back her fear with sheer determination, Arabella looked squarely at her stepfather.

“What is it you want? Why do you call me bond’s maid, step papa?” Arabella used the endearment hoping despairingly to remind Victor of some semblance of decency.

Victor moved so quickly then that Arabella stumbled backward, before he caught her roughly. She yelped in surprise that he could move so fast in his inebriated condition. He spun her around jerking her smaller body, to land facing backward against his chest, then he placed the long thin knife to her breast.

“Because that is what you are! I have the papers in my pocket to prove it. They mention quite clearly that Arabella Ormonde is my bonded slave!”

Arabella hardly heard any of Victor’s words. She was terror stricken by the position that he held her in, and her scattering thoughts only caught, “my bonded,” and then horribly, “slave.”
Sweet Mary, what was he going to do?

“This is the way of it, my sweet little stepdaughter. I have finally found a value for you and now you are going to do exactly as I say.” Victor’s grip tightened around Arabella’s waist as the tip of his treacherous knife pricked the material at her breast. “I will tell you, Arabella, what will happen if you do not follow my instructions completely. I will cut your brother’s throat and toss his little boy’s body into the sea!”

Arabella moaned as if physically wounded and Victor hitched her upward more tightly against him. “No one knows him!” Victor hissed. “No one will ever take the time to question why a sudden and tragic death would befall a nameless boy of unknown origins.” Victor’s voice cracked with harshness as he wove his wicked tale. “And, there will be no one to come forward to claim that they ever knew the dark-haired twit. Do you understand me completely?”

Arabella knew better than anyone that there was no one who cared for her or Nicholas’ fate. Not here in this strange cold-hearted England. They were in fact, and had been, completely at their stepfather’s mercy since their mother’s death. A man who now held a knife to her throat.

“Yes,” she choked, for she had little choice. But still she fought her tears of hopelessness. She would not let him see her cry. “What do you want?” she asked with her voice sounding shrill, even to her ears.

“I demand that you keep quiet and keep your wits about you, girl. Do as I tell you and Nicholas will remain unharmed.”

Victor loosened his hold on her as he spoke, but Arabella did not move. “You promise not to hurt Nicholas? Do y-you swear?” she asked with a pleading voice, knowing that she would do anything to keep her brother safe, and Victor Crom knew this as well.

“Tis a vow between us.” Victor sneered. “A vow on your sweet mamma’s head. I will treat him as good as silver and gold, if you follow my orders without shirking.”

“What must I do?” Arabella tried to gather strength around her with the knowledge that the only person in the world she cared about would be safe with her actions.

“I have at this moment, in a private room down the hall of this fine inn, a very large amount of money wagered on a game of cards.” Victor lowered the knife, speaking with relish. “The amount to be won will buy us a castle! And I
do
hold the winning hand. I am sure of it.” Then the knife disappeared into the folds of Victor’s worn brocade vest as he stepped around to face her. “But that crafty Lord Peregrine has raised the ante. Higher than my means! That, my little bond’s maid, is where you come in.” Victor clasped his lanky hand to Arabella’s shoulder making her cringe. “You will be my ante! Surely worth the increased price?”

Arabella gasped in horror as the implication stole over her. “You will wager me as a slave?”

“Yes! I have always admired that quick wit of yours and as I’ve said, I have the papers right here in my pocket to prove my claim.”

Arabella knew that Victor did have the papers he claimed to have. Victor Crom had proven to be a villainous slave trader in Jamaica and not the proper English gentlemen that he had deceive her mother into believing he was. Arabella struggled beneath the reality of the situation, recognizing with a manner of numbness that she had no choice.

Victor rubbed a skeleton hand to his clipped chin, looking keenly at her face. “With your dark hair and those unusual eyes of yours, no one will doubt that your origin is not at least half native.” Then he snickered to himself, obviously well pleased with his sordid plan as Arabella sought desperately to dissuade him. “But slavery is nearly illegal here in England, step papa, not like our home in Jamaica.” Arabella watched Victor closely, praying he would see some kind of reason.

“Come now!” Victor ordered, and then he abruptly grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the door. “Bond’s maid or slave, it makes no difference. One look at you and the gent’s will lose their wits either way, just for the possibility of having you.”

“My clothes!” Arabella cried with Victor’s hand already finding the knob.

Victor turned looking down at her sheer night gown. “No, this will do. They will lose their senses.”

“Oh please, step papa, no! Not like this. I will do what you say, but please let me dress. I will be quick,” Arabella pleaded. The distress over her scanty clothing driving all further worries of impending slavery from her thoughts.

“No, girl, do I need to slice a piece of little Nicholas first for good measure?” Victor asked threatening, as he began searching for the knife inside his vest.

“No! Oh no!” Arabella cried.

“Now cease looking so terrified, girl.” Victor gave her a severe shake. “Gather your wits and just pretend that you are one of those heathen island friends of yours. They were always cheeky and would have looked at his lordship like a proper lusty slave. You will act as if going to his lordship is a pleasant matter. And I warn you now, girl, Lord Peregrine is not an easy man to look at. His visage is blighted. So prepare yourself.” Victor shook her again. “I will have no squeals of fright from you!”

Victor’s hands pressed painfully into her arms, until she yelped, “Yes!”

“Good now. You know, Arabella, I will be winning this hand and everything will be for naught. In no time at all, you will be back snug in your bed thinking this was all just a dream.”

Victor stopped before a heavy maple door, in the upstairs hallway of the Inn at Griswold, and Arabella never had time or a thought to ask what would happen if her miserable step papa lost.

Chapter Two

“If you ever get me into this position again, I will ring your damnable neck,” Lord Darth Peregrine declared, glaring through irritated gray eyes at his best friend and business partner Robert Drake Esq.

“Do not venture that menacing look of yours on me, Darth. You relish it and you know it. The challenge sets your heart to pounding, doesn’t it?” Robert replied with a knowing chuckle.

Darth’s dark expression remained unaltered at his friend’s observation. Of course if he had smiled, he would have appeared the same. His damaged face was scarred in a dark and brutal manner, forever leaving him to appear brutish and evil. It was one of the reasons he despised having to venture out to a place like the Inn at Griswold.

Judas Priest
, even on the walk to this private room earlier one of the nimble-bodied chamber maid’s had nearly swooned from just glancing at him. He did not particularly fault the girl — he knew how perverse he appeared. He had lived with the injury to his face for ten years now. Still, he tried to avoid those unpleasant incidences.

“I would regard it much better if I were not at this moment trying to save our entire investment, Robert.” Darth’s mouth turned down into a meaningful frown, emphasizing the slashing scar severing the right side of his lips. “I still do not fathom how you managed to lose our entire investment?”

“This foreign chap is good and you know it,” Robert reproached, then he added, “How he does it after all the wine he imbibes, I will never understand? However, I am just grateful that he gave us a chance to win the money back that I lost to him last evening.”

Darth reclined in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, as he took another languid puff of the expensive cigar he held. His gaze over black brows was riveted to the round table with the cards spread on top. He would win this hand and the entire ordeal would be soon over. Perhaps then, he could even expect to exit this inn without encountering another stricken maiden. The locals around this small haven of Griswold tended to overlook his gruesome countenance. They had viewed him too often in the last ten years. His own estate at Lee, which he was the third Earl of, being less than an hour away. Most of the people in Griswold were partial tenants or had relatives who were tenants of the earldom of Lee. However, the chamber maid obviously did not, he had never seen the girl before. He disliked it immensely when women reacted that way to him, and they all did, essentially crumpling in fear. One would conclude that he would be immune to it by now.

“I do not appreciate this delay, Robert. It bodes ill. Nevertheless, we have no hope to forfeit the play now. It all stands on this one hand. What the devil could that weasel be up to?”

At that moment, both men sitting in the private salon glanced upward as the polished maple-wood door swung open and Victor Crom reappeared. However, he was not alone to each man’s resulting amazement. One gentleman letting his surprise show openly, while the other gentleman’s features remained etched into a permanent dark scowl.

“Now just a moment!” Robert started to say with indignation, until he felt the iron grip on his arm, holding him down in his chair.

“Quiet,” Darth hissed. The sound making Robert stare at him, and then further obey the intended command.

Darth’s gray eyes narrowed as he observed the cause of his friend’s concern. She was a breathtakingly beautiful young woman, petite of height, with a wave of luxurious hair the color of mahogany flowing unfettered down to her rounded hips. She was wearing only a sheer linen nightgown with tiny pearl buttons, buttoned up the collar to her throat and along the cuffs at her wrists. It was indecent attire, as if she had been pulled directly out of bed. The full richness of her bust line could be seen prominently outlined through the threadbare cloth, as could the darker tracings of her nipples. Darth observed at once, that she was not a common whore as suggested by her attire into the room. He did not know if his opinion came from her graceful baring or the look of vulnerable innocence on her alluring face.