Romance: Teen Romance: Follow Your Dreams (A Nerd and a Bad Boy Romance) (New Adult High School Sports Romance) (44 page)

“I’m not acting strangely,” Dominick said. For the first time, she noticed that he was dressed hastily.

“You don’t seem excited to see me,” Catherine said.

“I can see you later, I’m just tired,” Dominick said, but then another voice spoke up, from inside Dom’s small cottage. It was a woman.

“Come back to bed,” the woman called. Dominick looked as though he had just been punched in the stomach, and for a moment Catherine balled up her fist and considered doing just that, but then instead she remembered herself, and she spun without a word and marched back to the carriage. She climbed inside and spared a look back at Dominick, expecting him to be coming after her, but instead she saw he was simply standing in the same place he had been, and her anger grew so great it felt as though she could breathe fire.

She had Samuel take her to Duke Rotham’s manor, instead of her own home. He was home, and was let in by a servant, and he met her in his parlor. He offered her a drink, but she didn’t speak. She walked up to him, more boldly than she had ever done anything in her life, and she pressed her lips to his. He was surprised for a moment; she could feel his body tense against hers, but then he gave into it, and his arms went around her, and her kissing him became them kissing each other.

There was a lounge sofa there, long with an arm on one end and along one side, and Andrew Rotham lost himself. He had been surprised; he had only meant to kiss her, but then he was taking her up into his arms and lifting her to the sofa. He sat her upon it and then sat beside her. Their kisses were passionate, deep and long. Their tongues danced together, and he tasted her, a taste of strawberries and cream. He tasted like a man should; like Dominick never had. Bourbon, a hint of cigar smoke. It was intoxicating.

The parlor was open, anyone of the servants could walk in, and Andrew often had guests, but neither of them seemed to care at that moment. She lay back, pulling him along. He was atop of her. But then he broke away.

“We shouldn’t… the wedding night…” he breathed.

“Now,” she said. “I want to now.”

No man could resist a woman as beautiful as Catherine Dalton saying that, and so Duke Rotham didn’t even try. His hand went to her bosom, there were buttons there, but he simply grabbed the material and pulled, and the buttons popped off, and her breasts came spilling out. His hands were strong, his fingers long and packed with sinew. He groped at her, and she felt her nipples harden against each of his palms.

He bent his head and moved his hands, and his lips replaced one hand. He licked in a slow circle around one rosebud nipple, the deep red of rich wine. Catherine threw her head back. She moaned. He caught the sound with his mouth, stifled it. Her hands were at his waist, and she fumbled to open them there. Finally, she did, and his member came forth, engorged and hard and throbbing in the air along with his heartbeat.

Her delicate fingers wrapped around him, and he groaned in her ear. “Are you sure?” he whispered, and she nodded.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Andrew took a hold of her gown, pushed the skirt up over her hips. She wore hose, but they only went to her thigh so that they could be left on. Her smallclothes were another story, and these he pulled down quickly.

Her mound was exposed, slick with desire, a pink line in the midst of her pubic hair, the same auburn color as her hair. He positioned himself between her legs and then used his hand to guide himself in. He went slowly and looked down into her eyes. She looked uncomfortable, bit her lip when she felt a slight pain.

“Are you alright?” Andrew asked his bride to be, and she nodded.

“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice on the edge of pleading. And so he didn’t.

He went slowly at first, pushing into her, and then pulling out. Her hands were on his back, and then one was on his head, gathering a fistful of his hair.

He couldn’t keep the slow pace, though. She was so tight, so pristine, it excited him and his hips began to move more quickly. Catherine had never felt such pleasure, and it wasn’t long before a wave of pleasure ripped through her body, starting at her loins and then spreading to her lower stomach. Her stomach spasmed, her vagina tightened, gripping onto Andrew's cock more tightly than it had been before, and then he couldn’t hold back, and he was coming. His mind raced, and he pulled out of her as he came, and thick strings of semen erupted from the tip of his penis and landed on her exposed stomach. Andrew reached down, taking himself in his hand and finished, a quick tug on his penis and more sperm was there, sitting in a mess on her belly.

He helped her clean up, and they spent the day together. It was wonderful, Catherine couldn’t argue that. They ate lunch and rode horses afterward. He read her his favorite poetry, and she told him her favorite bawdy joke though she didn’t tell him Dominick had told it to her years ago.

At night, they lay in bed together, after their second round of lovemaking in the day. Catherine was hot, her body covered in a slick sheet of sweat. Once again, Andrew had refused to ejaculate in her, though this time she had used her hand to finish him off, and he had shifted so that his sperm would land on her breasts. In all, it was rather exciting.

“What made you change your mind?” Andrew asked her as they lay, trying to catch their breath.

“I just grew up,” Catherine said, not wishing to get into the real reason.

“Well, we shouldn’t have done that once, much less twice. It won’t do to have a pregnant bride on her wedding day.”

“You finished outside of me,” she said softly. “It will be fine.”

“That it will. Still, I think it best if we refrain from that until the wedding night. As much as it pains me to say it.”

“You’re right, Duke Rotham,” Catherine said.

“Call me Andrew,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

He turned over and snuffed the lamp on the small table next to the bed, and was quickly asleep. But Catherine couldn’t sleep. She lay awake in the inky darkness, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering if she had made a mistake. By the time the morning light came streaming in through the window, she knew she had. She had only wanted to make Dominick jealous. The way she had been jealous. When Andrew awoke, she made an excuse to leave, and he allowed her to take his carriage home.

She avoided everyone for the day, taking her meals in her room, under the pretense that she felt sick. What she had done grew on her conscious, a big pit of guilt that resided in her stomach, the same place her orgasm had settled.

****

The night after she had slept with Andrew, Catherine was woken by a tapping on her window. She sat up in bed and pushed the canopy out of the way. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There, at her window, so many feet in the air, was Dominick. She rushed to let him in, not caring that she was in her nightgown. He climbed in through the window.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she shut the window once more.

“I had to see you,” he said. “I felt terrible about the morning last,” he said. “I’m not a smart man, but I’m smart enough to know I need you in my life. I can’t let that Duke take you from me.”

“We have no choice!” Catherine said,

“Be with me now,” Dominick said, taking her hand. “Let us worry about it in the morning.”

Catherine pulled her hand from his. “The Duke, he tells me he knows something about you. Something horrible, something about Ginger Street.”

Dominick sighed. “It is my burden,” he said. “Believe me when I say that. Come now, I’ve missed you.” He bent and kissed her, and she let him.

“I’m terribly upset,” she said. “Mad at you.”

Dom looked at his childhood friend, his love. “Catherine, with everything in my power, I will make it up to you.”

Catherine nodded, and she couldn’t keep a small smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. He kissed her again, and this time she returned it. And then she took his hand and pulled him to her bed.

Dominick needed nothing else than that; he took control, practically ripping the nightgown from Catherine's body. He tossed the torn material to the ground, and then his hands and mouth were on her breasts. Where the Duke was gentle, slow and sweet, Dominick was like a hungry wolf. He pawed at her, bit her.

He stood up suddenly and undid the front of his pants, and then let them fall to the floor. His penis was hard, jutting out in front of him. He took Catherine by the arm and pulled her off of the bed, and then pushed her to her knees. His penis bobbed in front of her, and she looked up to him. She knew what he wanted, but she had never thought to do that before. She had used her hand on him before, and he had rubbed her breasts, and that was the extent of their physical relationship to that point. Now she had been deflowered, but this was new to her.

He thrust his hips forward, and the head of his penis rubbed against her lips. She parted them slowly, and he went inside her mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant, not like the way she thought it might be. There was a bitter taste at the back of her throat, and then he was pulling out of her mouth. He held her there, a hand in her hair at the back of her head, and he controlled the movement with his hips. Finally, Dominick couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled out of her mouth and bent, lifting her up and all but tossing her onto the bed.

He climbed atop her, and she opened her legs to him. He slid inside.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

She was wondering whether he would be able to tell that she was no longer a virgin, and since he didn’t seem able to, she winced and nodded. “It’s alright,” she said, and that was the only time he asked.

The lovemaking was fast and rough. He moved atop her like a rabbit, not like a tender lover. He was finished before she was, not bothering to pull out of her as he ejaculated. The experience was a good one, but not as good as the night with Andrew had been. Still, Dom was the man she loved.

“I have a plan,” he said as he caught his breath as he laid next to her on the bed.

“We can run away together,” she said.

“We can duel. I’ll duel him,” Dominick said.

“He said you have no honor.”

Dominick digested that information, and it left a sour look upon his face. “He said that about me?”

“Yes,” Catherine said. “He may not duel you; dueling is for honorable men.”

“And you don’t think I’m honorable?” Dominick snapped, too loudly.

“I did not claim that, and be quiet, if my father were to wake.”

Dominick nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll challenge him. A sword fight. I can beat him. If I win, I’ll tell him the marriage will not happen. If he thinks I have no honor, I’ll show him.”

Catherine just nodded as they lay in the darkness though she wasn’t sure Dominick's plan was the best one they could come up with.

In the morning, the young man was gone. Just after lunch Duke Rotham called upon her.

“You’ve changed your mind?” he asked, when they were alone, strolling arm and arm through the garden.

“I love him,” Catherine said.

“I’ve accepted his request,” Andrew told her. “A Gentleman cannot refuse.”

“He’ll kill you!” Catherine said. “You cannot!”

“I can, and I have. He is a formidable fighter, quite the boxer I’ve heard. But sword fighting, it’s another thing altogether. I’ve fenced for many years; my foil is sharp.”

“He’s strong.”

“You don’t believe me to be strong?”

Catherine shook her head. “No, I know you are, but he’s stronger.”

They stopped walking, and Duke Rotherham looked to her. “Fear not for me, and if he allows it when I have bested him, I will leave him alive.

Catherine looked at the man, and her heart was so torn, and her mind so full of fear, she couldn’t speak to him.

****

They met for the duel that same evening, as the sun was sinking in the sky, turning the clouds that had formed a soft pink. They were dueling in front of Duke Rotham’s manor. He stood with a few servants, dressed smartly, choosing a foil from a choice of five. After he had selected his, the servants moved to Dominick, and he chose one without nearly as much consideration as Andrew had put into it.

The two men faced each other, and they bowed.

“A fight to the death then?” Dominick asked.

“If it comes to that,” Andrew replied. A small group had gathered to watch, including Catherine and her father. The Duke went on. “But I hope it does not come to that. First to yield is the loser.”

“I won’t yield,” Dominick said angrily. “I love her.”

“So do I,” Andrew said, his eyes flickering over to Catherine. She felt her heart hammering in her chest, so hard that she thought for one wild moment, it would leap up the canal from her chest and out through her mouth.

And then the duel began.

Both men came together, and with a flash of silver their swords clanged. They both moved quickly, their feet taking them back and forth. The crowd reacted to each near miss, backing up when need be. The Duke caught Dominick on the arm and drew blood, and the crowd gasped, but the young men refused to yield, and he went forward, pressing the attack on the older gentleman.