The Flighty Fiancee (8 page)

“Bartholomew!”

Her word was little more than a screech and she
lifted below him, her hand once again finding his head, only this
time she didn’t try to pull away, she pressed him closer to her and
he wanted to shout with joy. She found her release mere moments
later, her wetness soaking his fingers, her walls clenching around
him. He wrung every last drop from her, each little shiver, each
little shake—until she pushed his hand away and curled into
herself.

“I want you so badly,” he whispered against her and
she looked up, her eyes limpid pools.

“I’m going to take you. There’s no choice anymore. I
can not take another day without burying myself inside you.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, Bartholomew, please, take
me.”

He pulled away from her and undressed as quickly as
possible. Her eyes widened when she saw his erection, jutting
proudly in front of her.

“Can I touch it?” she asked.

That’s my girl.
“Yes, India.”

Hesitantly she sat up, reached out, and ran a
delicate finger along his length. “Will it fit?”

He laughed in delight. Only India could be so
direct. “It will once I’ve made you ready.”

“Will it hurt?” she asked.

“Only for a moment, and then in the most delicious
way.” She ran another finger over his tip and he shuddered. “I’ve
wanted you for so long, India, I’ll do my best to be gentle with
you, though God knows it won’t be easy.”

Her eyes clouded. “You keep saying that,” she
whispered, pulling her hand away and Bartholomew dropped to his
knees in front of her.

“What?”

“That you wanted me, but all these months….”

“I wanted you from the very first day, India. The
moment I saw you.”

“Then….” She paused and ran another finger along his
length before shaking her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter now
anyway.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Exactly.”

He thought perhaps he was missing something in their
exchange and clenched his fists to try and get a handle on it, but
she was stroking him again and rational thought was fast fleeing.
Think about it tomorrow
, Bartholomew told himself. When
you’re marginally sane. “More, Bartholomew,” she said, and with
that he covered her body with his again, and lavished attention on
each nipple in turn. Squeezing them harder each time, expecting her
to tell him to stop at any moment. Only she didn’t, she gasped and
panted and nodded.

“Harder?” he asked.

“Yes, squeeze them.”

So he did and she writhed under him and he touched
her wetness with the tip of his prick. Her nipples felt like honey
against his tongue and he could feel heat travelling along his
length.
I can’t wait much longer.
Slowly he eased his head
against her quim, into her folds. They relaxed against him, her
arousal making his penetration easy. She was dripping wet, already
he could feel her juices flooding his cock. “It will hurt for just
a moment,” he whispered. “Hold onto me.”

India wrapped her arms around him, her breasts
brushing against his chest and Bartholomew moaned in pleasure.

“Do it, Bartholomew,” she begged. “Do it now.”

As always at his lady’s command, teeth gritted,
Bartholomew surged home.

Chapter Eleven

The pain lasted only moments, and as soon as it
receded India wanted more of the glorious bliss Bartholomew’s
fingers and tongue had given her. She felt filled, as if every part
of her was now complete. The sensations were beyond strange and
India now realized what the matrons whispered and giggled over. No
wonder young girls were kept in the dark over such things. When it
felt like this! It was no wonder they weren’t all lining up to be
ruined.

“I want more,” she urged, all thoughts of being tame
leaving her.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, concern in
his voice, beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead.

Ready? She’d been ready for a year. Wanting him and
needing him, and now at last she had him. How had she ever thought
she could bury her feelings? She was getting exactly what she
wanted. “Yes, damn it!” she insisted. “Give it to me.”

And so Bartholomew did. He plunged into her again,
his length filling her and India screamed out from the amazing
feelings his possession produced. She wasn’t quite sure how it
worked, how he fitted inside of her, and truth be told she didn’t
care. It felt incredible and she wanted as much of him as he was
willing to give.

“Yes,” she urged, arms wrapped around him.
“Yes.”

“Oh God, India,” he groaned, his body moving in
hers, creating shivers that raced through her entire body. “I’ve
wanted you for so long.”

Faster and faster he plunged, pulling her along with
him, until India’s whole body felt like one giant ball of pleasure.
She could actually feel his prick teasing against her insides.
Rubbing and creating friction which spread through her belly to the
exact place the throbbing lived. Unmindful of anything close to
convention now she reached up and grasped her own breasts.

“Oh God, yes,” Bartholomew encouraged, his eyes on
her frantic hands. “Squeeze them for me. Pinch your nipples
hard.”

India did, her fingers digging into the flesh of her
tits. Her nipples rubbed against her palms and dual pleasures and
pain shot through her.
What would it be like to have him bite
them,
she wondered wildly? To have him take the flesh of each
breasts and savage them with his teeth. “Would you….”

“What,” he growled. “Tell me. Anything is yours.
Anything.”

“Take them between your teeth,” she begged.
“Hard.”

“Oh, India,” he breathed. “You are going to be
dirty. You are going to demand more than I ever expected and how I
am going to love giving it to you.”

His mouth fastened on a pink tip and she squeezed
the breast to fill his mouth with it. The first scrape of his teeth
was pure ecstasy and India screamed. “Yes, please yes.”

He bit down at the same time his pumped into her and
all at once she came. Her juices exploded and she tightened her
thighs on him screaming his name. “Bartholomew, Bartholomew.” And
just when she thought it was surely over he bit again. Waves of
pleasure shot out from her pussy all the way to her toes and India
could do nothing but lie back and let it take her, fill her,
complete her.

He pulled out just as the tremors subsided and India
clutched at him, wanting more but thinking it almost impossible
that there should be any. He flipped her over, lifting her until
she knelt in front of him on all fours. Shocked and intrigued India
turned her head to see him, cock in hand, approach. “You’re not
going to—”

Her words were cut off as he filled her again.
Filled her in a way that was completely different to the last,
almost to the point of pain. India cried out and clenched her fists
against the rug, pleasure slithering through her.

Hands on her hips he moved in and out of her, each
thrust sending shivers up her spine. He touched her deeply inside,
pulsing against the most intimate parts of her and India loved
it!

Her knees weakened and she arched her back, his
thrusts becoming more rapid, rippling against her lips, pulling on
her nubbin. India felt sure she was going to come again, to have
more of those amazing shiver…but then he stopped and she shrieked
with frustration. But he wasn’t done with her, not even close. She
turned her head and was shocked to see him bending over her and
licking his way along her buttocks!

“Bartholomew….”

Around the rounded crease of each one and then to
her surprise Bartholomew spread her ass cheeks apart and licked all
the way from hole down to her nub and then back up again. India
dropped her head against the rug and despite wondering if it could
possibly be right to do this found herself lifting her ass into the
air. Encouraging more.

A new pressure assailed her then, so different and
yet so right, and India realized one hand had left her buttock and
something was pressing against her.

She bit down on her lip as his thumb—she thought it
must be that—pushed into her. “Oh God.”

Should he be doing that? Was it normal? India didn’t
know and in truth she did not care. She wanted it, she liked it and
Bartholomew was happy to give it to her. “You like that?”

“Yes, oh God yes.”

It was indescribable and India automatically arched
back against it. Bartholomew laughed, lifted himself and plunged
his shaft back inside of her. The dual pressures filling her,
tormenting her were almost unbearable. And then a tiny niggle of
pain made itself known, but like the bite on her breast, India
liked it, welcomed it. She could feel herself clenching around him.
The sensations building all over again and she cried out, wetness
flooding her.

“Mine,” Bartholomew yelled. “Mine.”

He pulled his thumb out and grasped both her hips
again, pounding into with a force that made her ears ring and her
eyes water. India could do nothing but clench her hands around the
rug and let him take her.

“Mine,” he yelled again.

Wrapped in a bubble of perfect pleasure India could
not, and did not disagree.

Chapter Twelve

Bartholomew stroked his hand over India’s hair, his
whole body in a state of utter contentment. She felt so soft in his
arms, so right. He wished he’d done this a year ago.
Don’t know
how I held out for so long.

He took a deep breath and held her close to his
chest, wondering where the sudden tightness had come from. His
heart felt so full, almost like it was straining to break through.
The feelings he’d felt all season now rising to the fore, making
themselves known with shocking force.

“Bartholomew?” she whispered, her words muffled.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern filling him.
“You’re not hurt?”
Tell me I didn’t hurt you.

She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

He sighed in relief. Loving India had come
completely naturally to him, with none of the hesitation or
awkwardness bedding a virgin should have caused.
They fit
.
And he’d been so excited, so desperate for her. He hadn’t even
paused to wonder if he was going to fast.

“I’m sorry if I rushed you, or scared you,” he said,
wanting, needing to reassure her. “The first time is always
difficult.”

“You didn’t.” She sat up, shaking her fiery curls
out around her shoulders. The action created an instant erection
and Bartholomew ran one finger down the curve of her back,
marveling at how smooth she felt.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course,” she said. “I would have told you if I
didn’t like it.”

Satisfaction filled him and he traced the line of
her shoulder blade. Was it too soon to fuck her again? If anyone
could take it then it was her. His flighty fiancée had a dirty side
and Bartholomew’s cock twitched at the idea of biting down on her
other breast with equal force.

“I should go to my room,” she said, interrupting his
musings.

“To our room, India,” he corrected. He’d be gentle
with her, take it slowly this time—until she asked otherwise. Until
she begged him to fill her to the hilt. He imagined all the things
he had to teach her, all the different ways he wanted to touch and
felt his heart race.

Gathering up her clothing India shook her head. “No,
Bartholomew. I don’t think so.”

Bartholomew frowned, something was amiss. That same
feeling he’d had earlier. Like there was a part of the conversation
he was missing. He turned her around to face him, tilting her chin
so his eyes found hers. She looked away, her skin pink and
flush.

“So we anticipated our wedding vows,” he said
carefully, “we certainly won’t be the first couple to do so, India.
I’d wager most of the ladies you know did so at some point.”

“I know that.”

“Then I don’t understand,” he said in confusion.
“What on earth is the matter? You said I didn’t hurt you, you
enjoyed our lovemaking didn’t you?”

She glared. “Of course. It was most
satisfactory.”

“Most satisfactory?”

“Yes.”

“India….”

“I’d like to go now, Bartholomew,” she said,
clutching her clothes to her chest. “Perhaps you could send some
dinner up on a tray for me?”

Anger made itself known at the mocking tone to her
voice, chasing away the satisfied feeling he’d been basking in.
That did not cheer him and Bartholomew gritted his teeth. “What the
hell is going on, India? Spit it out now and let us put this
nonsense to bed.”

Another glare. “Nothing is amiss. You seduced me
just as I wanted and now I am done.”

“Done? Just as you wanted?”

“Satisfied.” She waved a hand around. “You’ve eased
the ache just as I wanted you to do.”

“The ache?” He cursed, feeling like a blood parrot.
India had ached for him, that was good, but now she was
backtracking as quickly as possible and that was not. He was still
missing something crucial and his wayward wife to be was putting up
her walls all over again. It felt for one moment as though they
were back in the party at the Duke and Duchess or Richmond’s house.
Having the same conversation.

“We marry on Sunday,” he said slowly. “Let us not
create problems before then.”

“What possible problems could I create,
Bartholomew?” she asked.

He shrugged and sat up, before reaching out very
deliberately and taking her clothes from her arms. She pulled
against him, her lips stuck out in a pout, but he pulled and they
ended up in his arms. Where they belonged.

“I suspect you are up to something, India. Why not
tell me know and we can sort it out between us. Before, say for
instance, you go running off to your own estate, in an attempt to
delay the wedding or something equally as ridiculous.”