Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology) (14 page)

He licked me, from my entrance up into my
pubic hair and then all the way back down. The movements of his head
exaggerated, on purpose I was sure, so that voyeurs would know exactly what he
was doing. I gripped his hair, tangled my fingers in the messy locks and stared
straight at the camera.

I parted my mouth, caught a gasp and held
it there. Oh fuck, he was circling my clit with the taut tip of his tongue. He
knew I wouldn’t last long. That I would come undone in less than a minute.

I writhed and bucked, pulled his hair,
shoved onto his face then pulled back.

“Fucking hell, you’re horny,” he said,
shifting to the side. “Come and ride me, let’s really give them something to
get excited about.”

“Shit, do you think there are people
getting off on this, watching us?”

“You can bet your life on it, but not half
as much as I am.” He stretched out on the duvet, cock pointing up at the beamed
ceiling. “Climb on, baby, give them an Oscar-winning performance.”

I glanced at the camera again, the
unblinking eye at the centre. What must we look like? Hot and desperate for
each other. A seemingly private, intimate act in our bedroom broadcast to every
corner of the Earth. Is that what turned people on, the fact that they thought
they were seeing into a couple’s private life?

Jake gripped my wrist. “Fuck me, baby,
like you’re never going to get enough of me.”

“I’m not,” I said, crawling up the bed and
positioning my pussy over his cock. I adored penetration from this angle. I
would sit on him so deep he nudged my cervix and I got that full feeling in my
belly and throat.

Jake spread his fingers on my thighs, and
as I took him that first inch he pressed his head into the pillow and moaned.

I rested forward, my hands on his pecs. He
could take my full weight on his chest no problem, and I sagged a little as the
stretch in my pussy reached burn level.

“Ah, yeah, go for it,” he said.

In a swift move that rendered my spine
boneless I dropped fully.

Jake cried out, so did I, the intensity
almost enough to make my breath stop. Fuck, he was so damn big, it didn’t
matter how many times we fucked, the tightness was always exquisite.

After a few, delectable seconds regaining
my strength and adjusting to his size, I sat upright. Began a luscious slow grind
with my hips that caught my clit just right. Working it over his pubic bone and
letting his cock rub my G-spot.

“Cassie, oh fuck, you look incredible. And
you’re all mine. I’m so proud of you.”

I couldn’t answer, I was lost to it.
Fucking Jake, him letting me take control of pace and depth was something I’d
missed of late. I stared up at the ceiling, let the pressure bloom. My orgasm
was there. Just one more thrust.

Fuck.

I came.

I tipped back, pressed my hands on his
thighs and let the climax ravage me. My face was hot behind the mask, my rapid
breaths making it humid.

“Oh, Jake,” I cried, “come now, with me.”

He shot forward, wrapped me in his arms
and gave an almost violent upward surge. A roar escaped his lips. Pure male and
raw.

My pussy clamped around him as warmth hit
my core. I scrabbled and scratched at his shoulders, went to kiss him but was
hindered by the mask. I still tried.

“Oh, Jesus. I feel like my balls have been
drained.” He was panting hard. “That was so crazy hot seeing you like that, knowing
I wasn’t the only one watching you get off as you rode me.”

“Turn the camera off,” I said
breathlessly.

He hesitated, then, “Okay.”

Carefully, he lifted me from his cock, set
me on the bed and got up to turn off the camera. His back was coated in a sheen
of sweat. There was also a line of scratch marks from my nails in that last
moment.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes, is it definitely off?”

“Yep.”

I tugged at my mask, reached for his and
dropped them both on the floor. “I want to kiss you,” I said, touching my mouth
to his.

I felt him smile against my lips and he
toppled us onto the bed.

I laughed and stretched my body over his.
“Was that a good promise?”

“Amazing,” he said. “I’m so proud of you.
I didn’t think you would be up for it.”

“When have I ever said no to you?”

He touched the tip of my nose with his
index finger. “You haven’t ever done anything you really didn’t want to, have
you?”

I smiled. “No, not at all. I love that we
have so much fun on my days off now. In fact, I think I may have to buy another
book of those vouchers.”

“Only if you want to.”

I pushed up onto my elbows and looked down
at him, touched a lock of his hair that was stuck to his forehead. “Yes, why,
don’t you?”

“Baby, I just want you, vouchers or no
vouchers, and the best promise you ever made was to be my wife. The others are
just icing on the cake.”

The air was heady with the scent of wild summer flowers.
Translucent seeds floated on a meandering breeze and calls of congratulations
tumbled after our flamboyantly decorated chaise and four. I gave a final demure
wave from the window and spotted Lydia’s jovial face amongst the crowd. Her
shrill voice rose above even mother’s theatrical crying so exuberant was she in
her excitement for us.

Adjusting my new white bonnet, I settled back on the
leather seating and crossed my ankles beneath my floor-length wedding gown.

“Have you enjoyed our day, Elizabeth?” A concerned glint
caught in my new husband’s dark eyes and his heavy eyebrows dropped so low they
touched above his nose.

“I can honestly say this has been the happiest day of my
life,” I replied.

The three neat lines permanently etched into his forehead
softened at my smile. “It’s certainly exceeded every day of my life so far,” he
said, taking my fingers into his palm. “Although the day I was introduced to
you was more special than you will ever believe.” With the pad of his thumb he
traced a feather light circle on the back of my hand.

My skin sparked at his tender touch. It was as though
butterflies had landed on my flesh and sent a string of delight fluttering up
my arm. I swallowed tightly and averted my eyes. I hoped I wasn’t blushing as I
was so annoyingly prone to. “But we could hardly bear to be in the same room,”
I managed. “Our behaviour towards one another was so abhorrent it fills me with
shame to recall?”

“Shall we not quarrel on that subject again, my dear?” His
lips pulled into a straight line and his deep voice took on an authoritative
tone. “The mistaken premises that both our conducts were based have been
laboured through in fine detail. It is my wish to clear the slate and move on.”

I nodded, only too keen to agree to his request.

A silence extended between us in the sultry, evening heat
though Darcy continued to pattern my skin with his thumb. The servant preceding
the carriage urged the horses up a pace and we bumped away from the merriment
at a hasty trot.

I looked across at him as he observed Pemberley now
dominating the horizon. I couldn’t get enough of absorbing his perfect profile
and had sneaked peeks at him all day between polite conversations with our
guests. His angular nose, square, tilted chin, and proud forehead was exactly
how a man should be. Was he really mine for all of time? How lucky could a girl
of my means get? Six feet two and over two hundred pounds of lean, masculinity
all in love with me. He was utterly perfect.

So why on the happiest day of my life was I in such
turmoil? I guessed it was the way all brides felt. Nervous but also excited at
the thought of what would undoubtedly prevail when the sun set. All brides
who’d saved themselves that is. Which I, like Jane, most certainly had. She’d
tried to ease my anxiety, reminded me of Darcy’s gentlemanly disposition and
well-bred manners. But the way I had, in unguarded moments, caught him watching
me had my body trembling from the inside out. On these occasions his eyes had
flashed with an emotion I was unfamiliar with and a muscle above his jaw line
had flexed as his gaze followed me around the room. He had drawn to mind a
determined, stalking wolf. I was the innocent prey, and he the predator, a very
hungry, very strong, very dominant predator.

“You look worried,” he said and I realised he was watching
my study of him.

I squeezed my knees together. Blood was pooling deep in my
belly forming an insistent tug. A hunger of my own was growing but I wasn’t
sure what could satisfy it, what would feed it. “I am perfectly fine,” I lied.
“Just a little tired after all the excitement.”

“Then we shall retire early.” He swept his tongue over his
bottom lip coating it with a sheen which glistened in the sunshine filtering
into the carriage. “I think we have eaten sufficiently to keep desire for food
at bay until morning.”

His hand tightened around mine and his fingertips pressed
onto the delicate underside of my wrist. A shiver claimed my stomach and a tiny
drop of sweat formed in my cleavage. I’d thought we would have hours before our
meeting in bed. But it seemed my husband had other ideas and as his bride it
was my duty to be there―waiting, willing and ready.

*
* * *

The bedroom we were to share as man and wife was as huge as
Pemberley’s magnificent drawing room. Towering ceilings, expansive windows, and
a fireplace so large a horse could have stabled within it quite comfortably. A
vast bed with four mahogany posts stood against the far wall, gold tassels held
back acres of scarlet material and a taut roof of the same jewelled shade hung
overhead. Stacks of luxuriously embroidered pillows had been carefully angled
to showcase their exquisite designs. Several long black swan feathers and a
scatter of blood-red rose petals had been sprinkled on the silken sheets in
honour of our wedding night.

I watched in silence as my new waiting lady drew me a deep,
steaming bath before a roaring fire. Excitement and anxiety filled my thoughts
as I looked into it; a confusing mist of emotions swirling the way the vapours
were drifting from the milky water. One hour he had said. Then he would come to
me.

The young maid hovered by my side wringing her hands, eager
to please. Her presence strained my already frazzled nerves and I dismissed her
after she had undone my wedding gown and folded it over a bronze gilded modesty
screen.

As I sank into the water, right up to my shoulders, I knew
it had been the right thing to do to be alone. My apprehension lifted as the
sugary perfume of fresh lavender filled my nose and the sound of the crackling
fire mellowed my angst. The evening twilight gave the room a dreamy glow and I
stretched out fully pointing my toes to the base of the long, metal bath and
arching my back.

The water danced around my body tickling already sensitive
patches of skin and the fragrant heat soaked into my muscles and bones. I ran
my hands over my breasts and watched my petal pink nipples peak above the water
line. I washed between my legs touching soft little hairs and intimate folds of
flesh. What would it be like to have a man, Darcy, touch me there? The thought
was alien, unknown, I couldn’t imagine it, but now I was a married woman I knew
the knowledge would be mine to behold by morning.

I stepped out and towelled myself vigorously. Still
tingling from the heat, I slipped on a nightgown the colour of snowdrops.
Delicate pale green silk ribbons secured it at the chest and the neck line hung
daringly low. Jane had helped me choose it on our trip to town; this was the
first time I had worn it. Should I wear drawers? Yes, it would be improper not
to mention presumptuous if I didn’t. I pulled on a new pair, the material crisp
and stiff against my water softened buttocks and thighs.

From my hair, I detangled the flowers my sister’s had
carefully arranged only hours ago and scattered them on a polished mahogany
dresser. I slid a wide toothed comb through my chestnut locks until they
gleamed lustrously and flowed down my back.

I glanced at the mantel clock. It was nearly time. Should I
ring and have the bed turned down? No, I could do that myself. Although on
second deliberation maybe I should lie on the top, surround myself with the
petals and feathers like a presented wedding gift. Would Darcy appreciate that?
I wasn’t sure. I could stand by the window, or even the fireplace? Perhaps read
a book in the armchair. My head spun as I considered the options. I started to
walk to the bed then changed my mind and returned to the heat of the fire even
though I was far from cold. I curled my bare toes into the tightly woven hearth
rug and hugged my arms around my middle.

A sudden, invasive rap at the door echoed around the lofty
space and halted me in my nervous fidgeting. It was time. Darcy was here.

There was another knock, impatiently hard.

“Come in,” I managed to call.

The door swung open before the words had tumbled fully from
my lips and he stood, partially silhouetted in the door frame with his eyes
sweeping the vast room. His black hair was a little more ruffled than when I
had left him at the threshold. His linen undershirt was un-tucked and his
bottle green cravat hung around his high neck collar like a scarf. His presence
filled the doorway and flowed into the bedroom, invading the space and owning the
territory and all it held
—
including me, his wife.

He spotted me, stepped in and with a flick of his wrist the
door slammed shut. The air sucked through the room and a blazing log shifted in
the grate sending a shower of crackling sparks into the chimney.

My fingernails dug into my palms, tiny crescents of pain to
concentrate on as the colour was driven from my face.

He took several ground eating paces towards me, snapping
the cravat from his neck as he approached. Without taking his eyes from mine he
threw the garment on a high-backed chair which he passed at speed. The sharp
clicking of his elegant boots silenced as he stepped onto the hearth rug and
within seconds he was only inches from me, reaching out for me. I started to
take an involuntary step backwards but big, rein-calloused palms captured my
cheeks.

I steadied my feet as he tilted my head and forced me to
look up into his eyes. My breath hitched, my heart stuttered. Their black
depths were hotter than the fire by my side, burning with the same predatory
emotion I had seen before, but this time it was un-harnessed and undisguised in
its scorching intensity. He was showing me his naked desire, his demanding
lust. There was no need to hide it, not now we were wed.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured in a tense voice I barely
recognised.

His gaze dropped to my parted lips before our mouths connected
for the second time
—
the first having been at the alter a few
hours earlier. My arms hung limply at my sides as he held my face. Time stood
still. All I could think of was the hot, hard pressure of his lips moving
against mine and the feel of his warm breath washing over my face. He smelt so
different from the floral scents my sisters and I used; manly and musky, clean
sweat and the earthy leather tang of horse tack.

His lips grew more insistent and the tip of his tongue
probed into my mouth. My eyes widened. His, I saw, were tight shut and his brow
had furrowed deeper than ever in concentration. He tipped his head for better
access and dipped his tongue in again, past my teeth this time. Hot and wet and
inquisitive he searched my mouth, exploring every tiny part of me as I was
invaded with the malty oak flavour of a whiskey he must have drunk whilst I was
bathing.

Gingerly, I lifted my tongue from the base of my mouth and
connected it with his. A deep rumble vibrated up from his chest and then our
tongues tangled in a crazy dance. His breath quickened and his hands tightened
against my cheeks. I grew bolder as our tongues waltzed, lifted my hands to his
corded forearms and hung on to hold my feeble body steady. I shut my eyes only
to be greeted with shooting stars. If this was what kissing Darcy would be like
for all of time then I had surely died and gone to Heaven.

“Elizabeth…” He stopped kissing me, dropped his hands from
my face and took a step nearer the blazing fireplace. “Please forgive me.”
Self-reproach stitched through his tone. He raked a hand into his hair and
agitated it at the nape.

“But what is there to forgive?” I asked, pressing my
fingers to my tingling lips and wondering what discord had interfered with our
precious consummation.

“I promised myself I would take it slow, stay in control. I
do not want to overwhelm you tonight, my darling.”

“But you haven’t.”

“And I won’t… I promise. I will do everything in my power
to make this more than simply tolerable for you.” He hooked a hand over his
shoulder, fisted the back of his shirt and dragged it over his head. It landed
in a crumpled heap on the floor.

My mind was wholly side-tracked from our peculiar
conversation by the sight of his exposed upper body. The gold and orange hearth
shadows danced across his perfect flesh, highlighting every sculpted muscle on
his wide chest. It licked over his tightly balled shoulders and defined the
power beneath his trim waist. He had a neat carpet of coiled chest hair,
spreading thinner from the centre of his chest to his small nipples and then
down, in a tapered line, towards his navel before thickening and dipping below
the waistband of his breeches.

He watched me looking at him. “You can touch me, Elizabeth,”
he said in a low, murmuring voice as he stepped closer again. “I am yours to touch
the same way you are mine.” He reached for my clenched hand and with slow movements
splayed out each one of my fingers so my flattened palm was an inch from his
chest. “Touch me,” he said, his gaze boring down as his hands dropped to his
side. “I want you to.”

I nibbled at my bottom lip and pressed my hand slowly
forward. As my palm connected with his fire-hot skin my fingers were instantly
surrounded by dark hairs that curled around each digit, gripping me, holding me
to him. They weren’t soft hairs but neither were they crisp, they were strong,
well rooted, springy. I ran my fingers over them and my heart raced as I sensed
the potent muscles lurking beneath. I let the hairs move like a tiny tide until
my index finger found his cocoa-brown nipple, small and tight like a bead it
rolled under my inquisitive circular movements.

I heard him catch in a breath and absorbed his shiver
through my palm. I snapped my hand away.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, acutely worried there
was an unspoken rule about touching men’s nipples.

“No, my darling.” A hint of a smile played with his wide mouth
making it all the more sensual and kissable. “It just feels so good to finally
feel your hands on me.”