When Love Comes Calling: Two Short Stories (2 page)

“Sylvie!” Edmund’s cry spurred her on, her feet in their thin slippers stumbling on the small rocks of the path. Her chest felt tight—fear, anger, desolation and an aching loneliness nearly driving her to her knees. She stumbled into a tree, scratching her arm, and then righted herself and kept going. Ahead she could see the almost indiscernible path that led to a small folly by the secluded pond. She ducked down the path, fleeing Edmund and the temptation he presented. She could hear his feet pounding on the path behind her and wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t see him again.

When she reached the little folly she ran up the steps and inside and stopped, spinning around in indecision. What should she do now? Her predicament so closely resembled her life at the moment she collapsed onto the bench by the near wall in turmoil. She lay with her cheek on the cool marble of the bench, her sides heaving from her frantic flight. She had arrived at her destination, just as she had arrived at her age of thirty-nine. And there was nothing here. No rescue, no relief—nothing but silence, and the unrelieved white of the marble walls and floor and ceiling. No color, no desire, no friend to ease her loneliness. She would be locked in this colorless, empty world forever, locked in her life as she knew it.

She heard him before he entered—heard his booted feet crunch through the fallen twigs outside on the little-used path. His feet hit the stairs, sounding like a death knell to all she knew—the life she bemoaned. But it was a safe life, a secure life. She remembered the encounter with her coachman three weeks ago. It had been a furtive swive in a dark coach on a lonely stretch of road. Over in but minutes, leaving her ashamed and unfulfilled. It, too, had changed her life, but not for the better. Would Edmund be the same? The same shame and disappointment? She didn’t want that for them. She didn’t want that kind of memory to blacken the sweet feelings she harbored for him.

When he entered the folly she rose wearily, dragging herself from where she lay. She wasn’t prepared for the anger on his face.

“You little fool,” he snarled, stalking over and grabbing her arm. “You could have hurt yourself. What were you thinking to run from me like that? And what did you mean it is truer than I think? Who else, Sylvie? Who else do you desire?”

E
dmund was so outraged
at her duplicity he was shaking with it. He feared what he might do to her. How dare she pretend a bashful innocence she had no right to claim? Who had she been fucking, damn it, who? He wanted to howl in frustration that someone had been there before him. The feeling was primeval and beastly and he’d never felt it before, but he embraced it. His possessiveness should have given him pause but he was beyond rational thought now. “Who, Sylvie? Who have you been fucking behind my back?”

Her eyes were wide with fear, and something else. Something that made the animal in him stretch and dig its claws into his cock, making him grit his teeth against the need to sheathe it in her to soothe the ache.

“Is this what it takes, Sylvie? Do I have to be rough with you? Is that what you like, what you desire?” He shoved her back against the cool marble wall, spinning her around. Her hands flew up to brace herself as her front pressed into the marble. He heard her gasp, felt her struggle and his vision dimmed for a moment he was so aroused by it all—aroused by the chase, the capture, her struggles and the knowledge that she would surrender to him. He would take her here and she would not deny him again. He would mark her as his, and his mark would supersede all previous claims.

He yanked her skirts up, heedless of the ripping sound something made as he tore at them. Sylvie whimpered and Edmund pressed up against her, nothing between his cock and her soft, lush bottom but his tight breeches and her thin drawers. The contact made him shudder and Sylvie reacted as well, with a moan and a shiver—of desire, not fear. He took a moment to calm down. He was out of control, wild, more wild than he’d ever been before. What did she do to him? He became aware of his ragged breathing and rapid pulse. He felt like an animal. He was acting like one.

He forced his hands to gentle, to caress and ask rather than grasp and take. He ran them down her hips, his thumbs gliding over the tense muscles of her perfect arse. He wanted to see it, to touch it, lick it, fuck it. Christ! He needed to get more control. His hands trembled with the effort, but he made them move down until they lightly held her thighs, his thumbs tucked into the warm, damp crease between cheeks and thighs. “Let me touch you, Sylvie,” he murmured into her hair. She turned her head so that his lips grazed her temple and she sighed at the contact. “Let me touch you, love you. I only want to love you, Sylvie.”

She sobbed. “Edmund,” she cried softly, “Edmund.” But he knew what she meant by it. He knew it was yes, yes to all that they desired. Here, in this little marble fortress, far away from tea and cakes and gossip, she would give them both what they wanted.

Sylvie couldn’t speak for the lust choking her. It had her by the throat and she couldn’t breathe much less talk. His hands on her, rough and arousing at first, were now gentle and oh, so much more devastating. She could feel his erection pressing against her bottom, and the contact made her tense until she was so sensitive she could feel the air move against her skin like a caress. The cool marble against her breasts soothed her while his hands, so hot, gently removed her drawers. He did it slowly, reaching around her to untie them. When they were loose, he slipped his hands inside, onto her hips, and pushed them down. His palms ran down her hips to her thighs as the garment slid down her legs.

“Step out of them, Sylvie,” he ordered, his voice soft but insistent. She obeyed, and he kicked them away.

He stepped back, keeping his hands on her hips. She felt his gaze on her naked backside like a brand. This wasn’t like the other times, not at all. He was going so slow, looking at her, touching her. She’d never had a man do this. Her husband had been thirty-six years older than she. He had come to her at night, apologized, and then taken her quickly and neatly, before thanking her and going to his bed. When she’d actually initiated sex it had been in code. She would ask him to stop by her room for a glass of port before retiring. She’d taken to wearing a wine red negligee, but Bartlebyrne hadn’t gotten the joke. There was no passion, no love between them, only a gentle friendship, and an almost paternal protectiveness on his part. With her young coachman, it had been dark, and he’d been very rough. He’d thrown her skirts up, yanked her drawers down and shoved his cock in her. After a few thrusts she’d come—it had been so long, and she was so lonely. But he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t even slowed, just kept going until he grunted and slammed painfully into her. She’d frantically tried to remove him, not wanting him to come inside her. For a week she’d been insane with worry that she might be pregnant. When her courses came she swore she wouldn’t do it again. And now here she was.

She was about to stop him when he touched her. His fingers traveled lightly over the cheek on her buttocks, and then one followed the center line there down to her wet, throbbing entrance. Her words were stolen from her.

“So wet, Sylvie,” he murmured, almost to himself. “For me. Is this for me? Have you been this wet for weeks, darling, just as I’ve been so hard? If I’d known how much you wanted it, I would have acted sooner.” His finger slowly breached her, pushing insistently inside and Sylvie cried out at the sheer bliss of his entrance, at the rough pad of his finger rubbing along her sensitive inner walls. “Yes, yes, cry for it, darling, tell me how good it feels. God, I can’t wait to fuck you, Sylvie. Can’t wait for you to swallow my cock here. And here.” At his last words, the thumb of his hand rubbed over the tight entrance on her bottom, and Sylvie moaned.

“No, Edmund,” her voice was trembling, conquered. She didn’t know that voice, had never heard it. It sounded as if she waited on the brink for something, something only he could give her, and she wanted to beg for it. That voice was made to beg. Edmund’s arm came around her waist, pushing her dress higher, and he pulled her tight against him. She could once again feel his hard cock pressed to her buttocks, as his hand covered her breast and squeezed. His finger pulled out and thrust into her, and Sylvie writhed against the wall. It was all so good, it felt so good. The empty aching loneliness inside her felt full at last, and she wanted to cry at the unfairness of it, because she had to stop him.

“No, no, Edmund,” she sobbed. “We can’t, I can’t.” He froze, his finger buried inside her, his hand on her breast, his thumb in the middle of flicking her hard nipple.

“How can you say that, Sylvie?” His voice was pained as he spoke softly in her ear. “You want me, I know you do. This doesn’t lie.” He rubbed his hand over her wet sex, his finger moving deliciously inside her. She shivered and he growled as he bit her earlobe.

“No, not fuck,” she panted, “I can’t risk it, Edmund. I can’t let you fuck me.”

“Sylvie,” he groaned, his voice a plea and an angry purr at the same time.

“Edmund, please!” She cried out even as she thrust against his hand, unable to stop herself. Sylvie had to get his promise, or this would stop, she had to stop it.

“God! Sylvie,” he groaned. She started to pull away, and he grabbed her tighter. “Yes! Damn you, yes, all right. I won’t fuck you today, Sylvie.” She breathed easier for a moment until she felt his finger pull out of her and ram back inside roughly. She gasped and pushed back against his hand, driving it in farther, her head thrown back in ecstasy. “But I will satisfy you, Sylvie. I will see you writhing beneath me, taking all I’m allowed to give you, coming for me. You will come for me, Sylvie.”

His fingers pinched her nipple and Sylvie bit her lip, enjoying the pain, the sting, the soothing way his palm rubbed over it afterward. “Yes,” she panted. “Yes, Edmund, I will come for you.”

He pulled away and turned her, his hand wet with her juices trailing over her hip as she turned. It was the most erotic thing Sylvie had ever felt. Her skirts were still up and she watched as he stared at her naked sex, at his hands on her. As soon as her back was against the wall he ran his wet hand over her stomach, and it quivered. His hand stopped for a moment and he looked up at her face. His eyes caught hers, and she couldn’t escape from the burning intensity in their depths. He held her gaze while his hand began to move again, running down into her pubic hair, his finger grazing her hard clitoris, making her shiver, before once again sliding slowly into her slick passage.

“Christ, Sylvie,” he whispered as her eyes fluttered. “You want this so badly, you need it so badly.”

“Yes, yes,” was all she could say as he fucked her with his hand.

“Shall I make you come now, darling?” he purred. “And then keep going? Keep fucking you even after you climax? I love how wet an orgasm makes a woman’s cunny, how hot and swollen you get after you come. Will you let me play in your cream, Sylvie? Will you let me taste it and rub it on my cock? Will you?” His voice didn’t match his words. He wasn’t asking. He was telling her what he was going to do.

“Oh God,” Sylvie moaned, feeling the muscles in her vagina clenching on his finger as he built her pleasure to unbearable heights with just that one touch.

Edmund laughed, the sound seductive. “I can make you come with just a finger, Sylvie. Christ, you are amazing.” His other hand came up and pulled her dress down. He pulled hard enough to force it over her breasts, until it cut into her upper arms and pushed her breasts up. “But I want more. If I can’t fuck you, then I’ll do everything else.” He bent down and sucked her nipple into his mouth, voraciously pulling on the hard peak as Sylvie’s back bowed against the wall, driving her hip into his hard cock. He pulled back swearing.

“Be careful, darling. You don’t want to set me off too soon. We’ll both be sorry if I can’t come down your delectable throat.” He head swooped down and he kissed her throat just as she swallowed hard at the image he conjured with his words. He felt the movement and laughed against her neck. Then he moved his mouth back down to her breast and kissed the slope on the inner side. “Thank God you’re not wearing a corset,” he murmured. Without warning he sucked hard on the spot he’d just kissed, and Sylvie cried out, her hands coming up to fist his hair. She didn’t want to pull him off. Instead, she held his head there as he sucked so hard she fought not to cry out in pain. He pulled away with a gasp, his hips thrusting against hers. Sylvie looked down and saw a dark, angry bruise forming on her breast, and felt her sex bathed with wetness at the sight. He’d marked her. She was his.

Edmund felt the beast stir again when he saw his mark on her breast. He looked at her face, and lust slammed through him at the sight of her desire, the satisfaction and surrender in her gaze as she looked at the mark. She was his, in every way. The thought was thrilling and right and the beast roared his approval.

He thrust another finger into her and she cried out. Sylvie was not a quiet, passive lover. She moaned and cried out and writhed and twisted in her passion. He adored it. Now that he’d heard her cry out in desire, he knew he would never hear her speak again without remembering it. She was tight, too tight for a woman who’d had frequent lovers. He was calmer now, and realized that even if she’d had one or two, she’d been a widow for a very long time. She was probably almost as innocent as he’d first thought her. The idea of that innocence waiting to be plundered excited the hell out of him.

“I’ve got two fingers in you, Sylvie, and you’re so tight, so incredibly, wonderfully tight. My cock is aching at the thought of how tight you would be around it. And so wet. I’ve never known a woman to get so wet without my mouth on her, licking and sucking.” At his words she moaned and twisted against the wall, and her felt her sex strangle his fingers. Oh, she wanted it, she was desperate for it. She just wasn’t ready for it, yet. Suddenly her hands, still thrust into his hair, tightened and pulled his face down to hers.

“Kiss me, Edmund, please,” she begged so sweetly, so full of passion and surrender that kissing her became the most important thing in the world. He leaned down and the heat of her breath against his lips sent a shock through his system, lodging, as these things often did, in his cock. She smelled of tea and cookies with jam and the disparity of her scent with her hot breath and open, carnal mouth fanned the flames of Edmund’s desire. He’d meant the kiss to be as sweet as her plea, but the hunger burned out of control and he fell on her mouth, devouring her.

She tasted as sweet as she smelled, but her kiss more than lived up to the carnal invitation she presented. She took his mouth, his thrusting tongue and biting teeth, and gave them back to him, as rough and desperate as he was. He heard himself moan against her lips as she sucked his upper lip into her mouth and bit it, just shy of drawing blood. He slid his fingers deep into her as her reward and she sobbed, letting go of his lip and her inhibitions.

“Yes, Edmund, God, take me darling, deep like that,” Sylvie begged in a husky voice, not caring if she sounded wanton and desperate. She was both those things. She’d dreamed of him like this for weeks, and to finally have him touching her was heaven. She pressed down on his fingers, loving the feel of them inside her, loving her breasts bare to the open air in the folly, her nipples rubbing on the rough superfine of his jacket. She loved her skirts tossed up so he could watch his fingers moving in and out of her, loved the wet sound of each thrust of those fingers. Loved especially the enthralled look on his face as he watched her pleasure spiral out of control.

“Sylvie, come for me. I want to see you fly apart on my hand, feel your cunt clench my fingers. Do it, Sylvie. Come for me.” Edmund’s demands were spoken harshly, in a voice ragged with desire and she could do nothing but obey him. Her head fell back hard against the marble, but the pain did nothing to lessen the pleasure as she climaxed for him, loud and long. Her sobs filled the folly, his name falling from her lips again and again as he curled his fingers inside her and rubbed her roughly, deliciously so. After her peak he continued to possess her, her slit so wet she could feel his hand drenched in her juice as it rubbed between her thighs. His thumb replaced his palm against her clitoris and began circling, making Sylvie cry out at the extreme sensitivity there. It felt so good it almost hurt. She shuddered, the pleasure one long, endless thrill.