Sarah's Surrender (Novella) (9 page)

The musk of their earlier sex met his nostrils along with the honeysuckle scent of her perfume.

His mouth watered. He could not wait to taste her, to eat her, to devour her.

His hands skipped up the backs of her thighs, tracing tiny patterns as they pushed her chemise higher.

God, she was beautiful, all rosy and damp. Her breasts pressed tight against the thin linen, the still swollen nipples quite visible above the loose corset. He couldn't wait to suck them again, to nibble them, to bite them and watch her whole body jump in response.

His prick jerked hard against his leg, impatient with the slow speed.

It would have to be patient, perhaps endlessly patient. He would only do that which pleased her.

Approaching the top of her thighs he paused, and lifted his gaze to hers. He kept it there as he pushed the skirt the rest of the way up, baring her. His thumbs stroked slowly up her legs, pausing at all the spots he remembered she liked.

She was breathing in short shallow gasps that filled the room whenever he hit a most sensitive spot. He matched his breath to hers, feeling the growing passion. His thumbs stroked up higher, brushing her lower curls.

Still keeping his eyes locked with Sarah's, he tilted his head and lowered it, pressing another light kiss to the inside of her right knee. He ran the opposite hand back down her left leg, playing at the comparable spot to the one he kissed. He moved hand and mouth up a few inches.

Kissed again.

Let his tongue slip out to taste the sweetness of her skin.

A shudder ran down her body.

He angled his lips and nipped her lightly before laving the wound with his tongue, and then warming it with a kiss.

Her eyes drifted closed for a moment, her whole body quivering.

When they opened again he could sense her indecision.

He brushed his upper hand against her curls, letting her feel the sensation of even that briefest of touches.

Her chest rose and caught. Her thighs tensed.

Would she try and close them, and deprive them both?

“This will not make a difference, will not change how I feel, will not change anything.” Her voice was broken and husky.

“I do not expect it to. All I want is to give you another moment of happiness, a moment of loving life.” He kissed her right thigh again, sucking the tender flesh, his other hand stroking circles upon her skin.

Slowly he pushed her legs wider, opening her completely. She resisted for a second, but then gave in, sliding her feet along the wood floor.

It was both hard and easy to keep his focus on her face. He desperately wanted to look lower, to examine those slick pink folds, but how could he look away when her every thought was there for him to see? He saw her doubts, but also her wonder and amazement.

Another kiss. A little higher. Another suckle.

Her thighs clenched, but not with doubt.

He nuzzled, licked, laved.

Her skin was so soft, so plush, a feast of creamy velvet.

Her taste of salt and honey.

Her scent spun about him, making him dizzy, making him want and want and want.

Think of her. Think of Sarah. Think only of her.

An inch higher and then another.

Her upper thighs were damp with moisture, the taste of heaven hitting his lips.

His cock ached, the need rising within him until his ears buzzed with it.

God, he wanted her, needed her.

He pushed the thought down, clenched his own legs tight.

This was not about him, not about his desires.

Closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, he gathered his strength. A picture of Sarah at nineteen came to him, running through a field, wildflowers in her hair, her nose freckled from the sun, her bonnet trailing from its ribbons, and he held it fast, tried to calm himself with the memory of that innocence, that joy, that vitality.

It did not work.

He only wanted her more.

Wanted that girl of long ago and the solemn woman of today.

He wanted all of her.

Slipping his tongue out, he ran a long trail up her thigh.

She bit down on her lip in the gesture that had become so familiar.

It made him want to kiss her, to soothe her.

Well, he was going to kiss her, just not on those succulent lips.

He felt the hitch in her breath as his nose brushed her curls. He breathed deep, blew out.

She gasped.

He blew again, watching the play of emotion upon her face as his breath rustled the dark strands.

“You like that, do you?” he whispered. “Keep still and I'll do it again.”

Her thighs stilled.

He blew, long and slow.

Her whole body shook.

He stopped blowing.

Instantly, she stilled.

Softly, he released a puff. She pulled in a sharp breath but did not move.

“Good girl.” He exhaled with more force.

Another breath.

Bringing his thumbs to the apex of her thighs, he used them to open her, to reveal her every secret.

Again she stiffened, and again she slowly relaxed, her thighs softening beneath his touch. But not for long. This time, smiling inwardly, he hit her clit directly, targeting the soft pink nub with a steady stream of air.

Her back arched, her thighs tightening about his face.

Lifting one hand, he used a finger to tap her hard, right where she'd feel it the most. “Be still.”

Her body jumped at his tap, but then with some strain, settled again.

Her eyes were growing glazed, large and round and slightly unfocused.

It was time.

Leaning forward he ran his tongue up the length of her core. She moaned, but held still.

He would do better. He would make her dissolve and then, by God, she would scream his name.

Using his thumbs to pull her open even wider, he leaned forward, targeting her with great care.

Her ass rose from the chair.

How was she supposed to stay still when he was doing that? God. Oh God. Don't let him stop. She couldn't take it. It was too much. It was unbearable. She would die if he stopped.

Still.

Be still.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

If only he'd quit watching her. She couldn't imagine the expressions that must be crossing her face. It was so unnerving. She wasn't sure if—

Oh God.

Oh God.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.

Was he really doing that? Hold still. Hold still.

And then his whole mouth came down upon her, the warm heat startling.

Against her will, her thighs jerked together an inch or two. He stopped moving.

“Noooo.” The cry sounded before she could think.

A sharp tap between her legs. “Then be still.”

It should not have been so hard. Still. Still. Still. She could do this.

He licked up her length.

Her eyes rolled back.

Another lick. Her hands clenched.

Over her opening. Up to her clit.

Back. And again.

And again.

God.

Rainbows.

Clouds.

Heaven.

And need.

Growing need.

Her head dropped back, but thankfully he did not notice.

It was impossible to continue looking at him; it was impossible to look at anything.

Breathe. She needed to breathe.

In. Out.

She was breathing in rhythm to his stroke.

And then his tongue pressed into her, his thumbs coming up to play about her clit.

It was coming. She could feel the tension coil, feel her belly tighten.

Now. Oh please, now.

He pulled back, blew against her again.

No. She needed him. Needed him now.

He delved back in; his tongue circled, probed, and dived.

Then his teeth nipped.

Her hips lifted, a cry left her lips.

He did not protest.

His mouth moved up, centering on that sacred spot.

Teeth holding tight. Tongue working fast and hard.

She was going to go. She could not hold back.

A finger pushed into her.

A second joined it.

He pulled out. Pressed in hard.

Teeth bit down.

The sting ran through her. A sudden suck of lips.

Another bite.

A giant wave of pleasure took her at that last sting of pain.

She broke.

Wave after wave ran through her.

Her body pulsed and screamed.

And his name left her lips in one long cry. “Jonathan.”

It echoed through the room and her brain, a claiming beyond understanding.

He was hers. She was his.

She was sweet, so, so sweet. Taste. Scent. And just her. Everything about her was sweet and womanly. He could have continued at his task for hours. Or at least his brain could have; his cock had other ideas.

Her body grew limp beneath his touch and he slowed his motion, so that it was soothing and soft. It was time to calm her before bringing her up the cliff again.

Light, gentle, easy—but continuous. The trick was to start up the pathway a second time before she even realized it was happening.

She was close to slumber again, her breathing growing regular and even.

Narrowing his tongue he stroked up, applying more pressure.

She wiggled slightly, but her eyes remained closed.

Perfect.

Another long stroke. Another.

A slight quiver of flesh, but still she did not rouse. He could almost feel her body begin to hum.

Another lick, his tongue pausing to swirl about her clit.

It was tightening again. He could feel it swell against his lips.

A deep suck.

Her thighs clenched.

He focused all his attention on devouring her slick flesh. He brought a hand up, fingering her opening. She was ready, so ready for him. No. This was about her. Her. Sarah. His mind chanted in rhythm with his motions.

Her thighs gripped in tight. A long moan escaped her lips.

She was climbing fast, as he had known she would.

Harder. More pressure. There. Just there. Oh, she liked that.

More.

God, he loved this, loved feeling her about him, loved knowing what he was doing to her.

Warm. Moist. Woman.

Her hips rose.

Her body grew taut.

Yes. Yes.

Her thighs squeezed tight. And then the spasm. The clench.

His name rang about the room again. And again.

God, she was perfect.

He nipped her hard. Another cry. Another clench.

He let her down again, soothed her.

Lifting his head, he stared up at her, his thumb now tracing slow circles.

Soft panting surrounded him. Her eyes were closed, the dark lashes shadowing damp cheeks.

Was she crying again or was it merely perspiration? He'd certainly worked her hard—and he was not done yet. He would keep her in a place of joy for as long as he could.

Everything about her was languid. If he'd been an artist, he could have thought of no greater image to capture than this woman, lying there spent, beauty glowing about her.

His heart twisted in his chest. If only he could give her happiness. Not just a moment of it, but a lifetime. She deserved that. His emotions twisted, unsure. He'd been hurt and angry with her for so long that it was hard to understand this growing warmth. He did not want to feel this way.

Only he did. Letting go of his anger left him lighter than he'd been in years.

Even as need ached through his body, he felt peace and quiet, as he could never remember feeling before.

She'd always done this for him, left him feeling better simply for being in her presence.

And he'd hurt her, left her lacking. She had not blamed him for how colorless her life had become, but he captured the meaning between the words. He had taken something from her when he left, something he owed it to her to return.

But could he? Could one night of passion make her whole again?

He doubted the answer was yes.

Laying a soft kiss upon her belly, he let his lips begin to wander down again.

Her hand came to rest upon his shoulder. “No.”

“No? Do you not like…?”

“I like it very much, but enough.”

He continued his downward journey.

Small fingers bit into him. “Please, Jonathan, I mean it.” With care she pushed forward with her elbows, and looked down at him.

“But I want—”

“Is this truly what you want?” Her eyes skimmed over his naked torso. “I know that I want more.”

“More?”

Her whole body ached in a most delicious way. There was no denying that having Jonathan's mouth upon her was…there were no words. But once their eyes had parted she'd been left alone. The sensations had been heavenly, but she wanted to know that Jonathan was right there with her, wanted to feel their passions mix and grow.

“More,” she said the word with conviction. “Tell me, Jonathan, what is it that you want?”

“What I want?”

“You are starting to sound like a parrot. What is your fantasy? What do you dream of late at night?” Had she really asked that? There were so many things he could say that might tear her apart.

“Can you not believe that this is what I want?” he asked, sitting back.

“I do believe that you want this, that you enjoy doing that to me, but you must want even more. I do not believe that this is the only thing you want, that there is not something else you would like to do.”

Indecision crossed his face, his brow furrowing.

“So there is something.” She smiled encouragingly.

“It does not matter. I am very, very happy with the way things are.”

“No. Tell me.” She tried to make her voice as commanding as he had earlier.

“Sarah, I am doing what I want. You can be sure that I always do what I want.”

That brought a giggle to her throat. It was quite true. He'd never had patience for activities that did not bring him pleasure. “But what is your secret wish?”

He smiled at her laugh, and then grew solemn. “Much of this has been my fantasy. I've already told you that I like control. I like telling you what to do and having you obey. There is little that excites me more than having a woman obey my every request and command in bed.”

“I've never been obedient.”

His mouth crooked up. “That, my dear, is why it is pleasing when you do submit.”

“Submit.” She said the word very quietly. The word encompassed so much and that left her shaken. Submit? She'd never thought herself as one to submit. Her father certainly found her argumentative and difficult. And Jonathan? She'd never given in to him in the past just because he asked. And yet…

There had been such joy and freedom in giving into his requests. No, his commands.

Her belly pulsed at the memory of his voice telling her what he wanted.

She'd held herself still for no reason save that he requested it. And doing so had given her such great pleasure and satisfaction. She'd thought the pleasure had been physical, but as his words pierced through her she knew it was more than that. She had found deep delight in obeying him.

Her throat clenched. She was not sure that she wanted to find pleasure in obedience. It was a very womanly trait, but one she had always hated.

So…So why did her body melt at his words? Why did she find herself aching to do as he wished, to make him happy? “So it would please you to have me submit?”

“It is not as simple as that, but yes, nothing brings me greater pleasure than being responsible for your pleasure, for having control over you, body and spirit.”

She drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “I am not sure that I like the idea of that. I like to be in charge of myself.”

“I thought you rather enjoyed my being in charge of you.”

“Well, yes, but…”

He let out a long sigh. “I am not offering to run your life, Sarah. Believe me, nothing would interest me in deciding what gown you chose to buy, let alone wear. And I cannot think of anything more tedious than planning menus, or talking to the housekeeper—or choosing which invitations you should respond to and whom you should ask to tea. I only want control here, in this chamber.” He gestured about the room.

How did one respond to that? It sounded more like he was talking about marriage than about a one-night affair. He must be speaking in general. He had no wish for marriage—and she, she was going to marry Mr. Meyers.

A shudder took her. How could she ever let Mr. Meyers touch her the way that Jonathan had? The very thought had bile rising in her throat. She'd certainly heard women talking about it as something to be endured, but she'd never taken the words to heart. Now she did. Her mind became overwhelmed at the thought of small hairy hands upon her, of that round body rising above her.

“What?” Jonathan's abrupt question caught her off guard.

“Nothing, or at least nothing that has to do with you.”

“Then what? I did not think my words had distressed you, that my expression of my preferences filled you with distaste.”

She was about to say it was nothing, but she did not want to leave him wondering if he had caused her unpleasant shudder. Looking up at him over her knees, she answered, “I was thinking about my future married life. I have a hard time imagining doing any of this with someone other than you.” She was revealing too much, but could not hold in the words.

His brow unfurrowed and then his look grew even darker, his lips pressed tight. “Do you still want to know what I would like?” he asked, his tone colder than before.

Did she? A few moments ago she would have said yes, but it was hard to know what to want when he glared at her like that. But this was her one and only night. “Yes, I do.” She spoke with far more conviction than filled her heart.

In one fluid moment he came to a stand and strode over to the bed, his gaze raking its wide expanse. “It would be a pity not to put it to use.”

She swallowed. Her expectations had been that the whole evening would take place in the bed, so why did it now seem frightening? “You are right.”

“Come here, then, and drop the chemise and corset as you do. You can leave them on the chair.” His voice had once again taken that tone of command, that tone that caused her insides to knot with hunger.

Her hands shook as she pushed herself up, as she released the already loose corset. A deep breath and her chemise followed. She caught them in her hand and laid them on the chair, too nervous to take the time to fold them.

Why was she aquiver again? She doubted he could surprise her.

With slow, measured steps, she walked toward him.

He stared at her appraisingly, but she could see the heat and emotion hiding in his eyes. When she was only a foot away, he reached out and ran one finger down the side of her left breast, so light it could have been the brush of a butterfly's wing. “What should I do with you? A dozen visions fill my brain and it is so hard to choose. I could bend you over the base of the bed and take you from behind. I love the force the position allows me to put into my thrust. My hand would creep about you to rub and stroke just where you needed it. Your back would arch from the bed and you'd scream my name again and again. I'd fuck you until you were mindless with pleasure. Although”—he paused and looked her up and down—“I should have left you in your chemise for that. There is something about a woman bent over with her skirts about her waist that…” He reached down and stroked himself, pulling the skin tight over his cock, demonstrating just what the thought did to him.

Her own body responded in kind, her swollen nipples growing long and hard.

His eyes dropped to them. “Or I could simply play with those precious breasts, pluck them and tease them until you begged for mercy. I do like to hear you beg. And I like watching your pale flesh flush and redden. I'd like to nip and nibble, to see my mark upon you. I could brush the tips with feathers and then flick them with the edge of my nail.”