The Fall of Lady Westwood (16 page)

The tension in Owen’s lean young body eased, and he hugged her closer to him. It felt good to be surrounded by those strong arms, just as she’d imagined all those lonely nights locked in her quarters. Now it was happening. It was
real
.

The breath caught in her chest when she felt it. Felt him. His penis was stiff, the length of him against her thigh as he held her in his arms. He wanted her! She was confused, elated and hesitant all at once. She looked up at him, and it was his turn to blush.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, moving his hips so that his erection no longer brushed against her. She missed it immediately. It was such a revelation to feel the physical manifestation of a man’s desire for her. It made her feel powerful.

“No, you don’t have to.” She lowered her eyes, and she spread her hands on his broad chest. The muscles felt magnificent. All those surreptitious admiring glances had led to this and she knew mere glances would never suffice again.

She felt like a wanton whore, her desire rising in such a way. As long as she was in Owen’s arms, she wouldn’t care though. After what she’d been through, she needed this, needed him.

He pulled her close, his embrace squeezing the breath from her. Ah, such strength! She loved it!

“Sophie,” he breathed into her ear. “I thought of you, constantly. Wondered what you were doing, what you were thinking. Wondering if you thought of me.”

She smiled up at him. “Owen. Every day. Every morning, every night. I’ve missed you so.”

He inhaled a deep shuddering breath, and she felt his lips on her ear. He kissed her hair, his big hands cradling her face. His breath was warm on her skin. She felt pleasure uncoiling low in her belly, and the moist heat of her sex increased. She wanted to feel that hardness again, feel the reaction he couldn’t hide. His lust for her.

Reaching down, her hands burrowed into the rough cloth of his robes. She pulled the robe open, her darting hands more insistent by the second. He pulled her onto his lap, and she opened her legs to straddle him. His embrace felt so right, so safe, the strength in his arms making her dizzy. She hugged herself to him, luxuriating in the feel of her soft breasts against the hard planes of his chest.

Then he kissed her, and she sighed into his mouth. His lips, his tongue explored her, soft, yet demanding all at once. She opened her mouth to him, and his tongue dove deeper, twining with hers. He caught her lip between his teeth, and she smiled again. He let her go with a laugh, pressing quick, soft kisses to her mouth, her cheeks.

Her fingers found him, and she felt that big, male body shudder, the tense, corded muscles of his thighs like steel. His penis bucked as she clasped it fully in her hand. She was surprised at the softness of his skin, the heat that radiated from it. She longed to feel that heat within her own, joining with her.

“Sophie — we don’t have much time.”

She shook her head, her forehead dropping to his chest, wishing she could shed the infernal robes altogether. She longed to look upon his naked body. “I’ve waited too long, Owen. We could be killed tomorrow, or tonight. Let me have this. I want this. Please.”

She felt his hands close on her arms, squeezing.

“Sophie. What are you — doing?”

Running her hand up and down his shaft, she enjoyed the feel of silk over steel, enjoyed the feeling of his maleness in her palm. Then he grunted, pushing her to her back and laying upon her.

She struggled to spread her legs, to draw him in close. “My legs. Hurry!”

Her need was overpowering, wanting him inside her, everywhere. She’d never felt this way before, but something within her told her it had to be now. They might never have the chance again. Dread chilled her at the thought.

Owen freed her ankles, his hands shaking as he worked. She wondered if it was fear or arousal that affected him so. He stood up, and shed the robe quickly.

She soaked in the gorgeous body, the angles enhanced by the moonlight that poured through the lone window. From the tree root cords at the base of his neck, to the broad shoulders, and defined abdominals, she wanted to trace every inch of those muscles, feel the power of them beneath her hands. Her eyes moved down, and she brought her hand to her mouth, nibbling on a fingertip. She would not have an easy time accommodating him.

He moved her smock up her body, easing the threadbare fabric over the thrust of her breasts. His breathing quickened as he looked upon her nakedness. His hands took her breasts, tentative at first, then squeezing them firmly, making her moan. He traced the wide brown areolas with shaky fingertips, smiling as her nipples hardened for him. His hand caressed the soft flesh of her belly, the fingers playing with the curls of her sex. He lay upon her once more, his face just inches from hers.

She felt the hard bar of his erection laid upon her thigh, and her sex spasmed. She was sure she could feel a drop of moisture seep from between her labia. She tensed, knowing what was supposed to happen that first time, the pain that would come. Still she wanted this, wanted this to be with him. For him.

“I - it might hurt,” he whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. His eyes gleamed as he gazed down into hers. She was touched that he was worried for her.

If only he knew what she’d already been through.

“Then hurt me, Owen,” she said, her eyes flashing. She was out of control, she knew, but she wanted to be in control of this, in control of
something.
She drew in a sharp breath, as he entered her, a shallow tentative thrust at first.

“Oh Gods,” he whispered, the muscles of his arms bulging as he held himself over her. She adjusted her hips, her heels pulling him closer, and he pushed further.

“Owen,” she moaned. “More. Slowly.” She was afraid of the pain. She knew her fear was absurd, really, considering what she’d already been subjected to. But this was a different kind of pain, even more intimate.

Her first intimacy — with her Owen.

“Sophie,” he said, his breathing heavier. “Are you ready?”

She closed her eyes, her heart soaring, fear warring with joy at his words. “Owen, please. Love me. Only me.”

He thrust against her, the flesh resisting a moment, then giving way. She cried out, arching her body under him, her nails digging into the flesh of those muscular arms. The pain was sharp, but not nearly as severe as she’d feared.

He pushed further, deeper, until she felt his pubic hair against her mound. His body trembled over hers, his breathing coming hard and fast.

“Owen, please.” She rotated her hips, the hard shaft of his cock moving deeper. She knew she would be sore tomorrow, but she wanted him to move, to take her, to show her what was possible between a man and a woman.

The pace of his thrusts increased. When she looked up at him, he took her mouth with his, the lips and tongue and teeth growing bolder, more demanding. She loved the feel of his passion, the barely leashed power of his body. His thrusts hurt, and she gasped with the effort to accommodate his size. She was crazy to be doing this here, now, but she’d examine just what the Hell was wrong with her later. Now, there was only this.

Two bodies, one.

She’d wanted this more than she’d realized, her sex clamping him harder, despite the pain — or because of it.

“Sophie!” He grunted, his jaw clenched. “Sophie! I — Oh Gods!”

She panted along with him, her eyes half-lidded, loving the contrasting sensations of the sting and the luscious slide of his hard maleness deep inside. His hips bucked against hers as he stroked within her, her breath catching as the broad head bottomed out against the mouth of her womb.

“What about — inside,” he ground out, his thrusting relentless.

Did she want this to lead to that? The logical result of their lust, their love? She cleaved even closer to him, her body a taut bowstring. The pain, the pleasure; the confusion and joy, was one whirling maelstrom within her.

“Owen, no. Wait.” Her voice quavered with the rhythmic impact of his hips.

He sunk to the hilt once more, his whole body shaking. The feel of him so, so deep made her moan.

“Okay.” Exquisite anguish strained his voice. “Not … yet.”

He withdrew from her, and she watched, fascinated and strangely bereft, as his fingers, wet with her virgin’s blood, fisted the long, thick penis once, twice. His deep groan rattled in her chest as he spurted his seed upon her, the limpid streams mingling with the matted hair of her pubis.

She had an insane urge to lick it off of him, to clean his fingers of his semen. She wanted to know what it tasted like; she wondered why she seemed to have turned into an insatiable slut.

Sophie tried to roll over, but his hand stayed her, firm on her hip. “No.”

The glint in his eye, the firm set of his jaw, made the heat rise within her sex all over again. His gaze moved down her body, his big sun-browned hand following. She moaned, the flesh still sensitive as his fingers parted her wet folds, the long digits exploring within her sex, the sting of her sore flesh making her gasp. He felt all around inside, his touch gentle, exploring. He moved down her body, his sweaty musculature delicious against her soft, yielding thighs. She felt his breath on her sex, and she tensed.

“Owen — no. I’m bleeding.” She could feel the flush rise on her chest and neck

How could he want to?

He placed a hand over her lips, his other hand continuing its leisurely tour between the soft petals of her labia. His thumb explored the curls at the apex of her slit, the flesh pushed back to expose the focus of her desire. He looked up at her, grinning, his eyes bright in the moonlit room. “It’s so red, so swollen, Sophie.”

She turned her head away, closing her eyes tightly. She was mortified, but it was true. All she wanted was for him to touch it, to take her away in a flood of pleasure. It was a way to be somewhere else, if only for a moment, a place of pure bliss far removed from the dark, close confines of her miserable cell.

“Ah, ah!” she blurted out as his thumb moved over the hard button of flesh. “Yes, Owen! More!”

He laughed, a rumble of pure pleasure in his chest. She writhed beneath him, spreading her thighs wider. Her hands dove into the silky weight of his hair, and she held onto him as he dipped his head. His palm was over her mouth again, tight this time, and she struggled to free herself.

Then her eyes flew open, as his tongue darted over her congested clit. The sensation had her boiling within moments, and when he closed his soft lips over her inflamed flesh, she screamed into the firm clutch of his palm. Her climax spiraled higher and higher, his tongue playing over her clit again and again as he sucked her deeper into his mouth. Her fists clenched in his hair, pulling his face hard against her gushing sex. His fingers kept moving within her, the hint of an incisor against her clit, and she uttered a soul-deep moan.

He moved his mouth away, kissing her plump outer labia, his tongue flicking at the tender flesh of her inner lips. She felt his lips moved upon her “I’ve wanted this for so long, Sophie. So long.”

She sighed, a smile curving her lips. She felt wrung out, her thighs shaking. She stroked his hair, wanting the moment to stretch on for eternity. She could feel him playing with her, twirling her pubic hair that was drenched with his seed. He looked up at her, and lay his cheek upon the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, and she flushed all over again, realizing for the first time how strongly the small, cloistered chamber smelled of her arousal.

“Owen,” she placed a hand on his cheek, and he grinned again, his eyes still closed. Her heart melted at the look of pure contentment on his face. She wanted an eternity of days where she could bring a man such pleasure. But that wasn’t quite right, was it? There was only one man that she wanted, and that man was Owen.

He crawled slowly up her body, and she bit her lip, watching the rippling of his powerful shoulders, the broad muscles of his back, the hard pectorals. She let out a long pleased sigh as he curled his body around her. For the first time in months, she felt safe. He’d protect her, get her home. After that, who knew? She hoped, but that was all she’d allow herself until she was away from the evil that was House Westwood.

Pulling her body closer to him, he tucked her head under his chin, his long fingers twirling her locks above her ear. The beat of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing soothed her, brought her back to earth. She laid a hand on his hard chest, her fingertips making tiny circles against his skin.

“Rest now, Sophie.” He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “We leave soon.”

Then she closed her eyes, letting relaxation drag her down into the sweet refuge of sleep.

* * *

“You don’t have to stay, Arnaud. I told you, he won’t hurt me.”

Arnaud sat back in the deep red cushions of an ornate chair, his fingers toying with the gold filigree stitched into the arm. “Humor me, Mistress. I only want to ensure your safety.”

She frowned at him, but inclined her head. “You worry too much, Arnaud.”

“It is my duty, Mistress.” His dark eyes were sharp, not leaving the woman and the man still laying in her arms. He had helped her move Clayton from the floor to lay on the bed, once more in her embrace, her back propped against the blood red velvet of the headboard. Clayton’s shirt was mostly undone, the smooth planes of a still strong chest laid bare.