by Lisa Torquay
Frantic, her hands pulled at his shirt in a struggle to put them skin to skin. He lifted his torso to allow her to strip him of the offending piece at the same time he lowered her gown to her waist. This gave her room to cradle him in between her thighs. His gaze drank in her dusky peaked breasts, filling her with more starvation.
His hand moved to cup one swell, his thumb teasing it to complete hardness. Hester arched into him, but all he did was to repeat it with its twin.
“Drake,” she moaned.
“Do you know what I want to do?” He growled. “To ravish you and make you scream in less than five minutes.”
That caused her arousal to go sky-high. “Yes.” She approved.
“But I won’t do it.” He disappointed her. “I’ll tease you until you can take it no more.”
She thought of saying she already couldn’t. But that would give him too much leverage.
He wasted no time in doing what he promised. And came down on her, cupping her both breasts while his mouth toyed with them. He licked the underside of one. Trailed to the other without reaching the centre. His hand stroked the sides, slid down to her ribs, never giving her what she was dying for. She arched, she bunched his hair and tried to bring him to attention. Nothing worked.
She became so feverish that her head thrashed from one side to the other. The man would kill her before the night was out. The accursed idea of sneaking into his bed wasn't producing the intended effects. Instead of pacified, he transformed her into a mess of desperation. The nub between her legs stood so puffed that she feared the mere thought of him touching it would send it to the blazes.
He finally had pity on her and took one peak into his mouth. The ragged relief caused her to expel a loud moan. He suckled her breast deeply, his other hand rolling the other nipple until she saw stars. Her palms locked his head on the task. Wickedly, he kept at it while one hand trailed down to her core beneath the pooled nightgown. The moment his finger made contact with the pearl she was a lost cause. His mouth sought the other breast, he circled the wet nubbin mercilessly. His mouth more intense, his fingers quicker. And she burst into pieces, flying everywhere. He rode the crest until there was nothing left of her, and she fell on the bed like a ragged doll. A despicably sated ragged doll.
He moved to stand beside the bed. It caused her to open her eyes. His large hands had come to his flap, his focus totally on her. “I want you naked.” Gravel layered his order.
Jelly-like fingers reached her gown to lower it down her legs while he undid his breeches’ buttons. Jerkily, he rucked his garments down as his cock huge with arousal popped out causing her mouth to water. She’d never forget what it could do to her. As he straightened, she boldly watched the darker tip protrude shiny over the veiny girth. Proudly, he stood there for her appreciation, hands on his hips, braced legs, a giant god looking at her as though she was a mere mortal.
At last, he put a knee on the bed as she filled her lungs with air in the expectation of revelling in his possession.
Sweet delusion.
“Not so soon.” He warned, seeming to read her mind. No, not her mind. Her body, arching, opening, offering. “I barely started.”
And knelt between her legs, eyeing her folds as if a dish from the best cook in town currently inhabiting his kitchen. Then, he hawk-dived to prey on her core. Hands on her thighs, he neared her dripping sex but didn't gobble it all at once as he used to do.
Another sweet delusion.
He flicked his tongue on one lip. Sucked lightly the other. Alternated the flick with the suck. Did it again. Hester moved her hips fairly to foist herself on him. To no avail. He kissed the cluster of hair above. The tip of his tongue made a feathery route down, so light she almost didn’t feel it. The tip lightly circled where she craved him most, diverted to her inner thigh. She bunched his hair though he wouldn’t be guided. More little flicks here and there, getting her aroused and flustered.
“Drake!” His name made him lift his head.
“What?” His eyes simmered.
“More.”
“All things come to those who wait.” And grinned knowingly.
“I’ve waited enough.” The murmur came anguished.
“Not by my standards.” He silenced, his scrutiny sweeping over her entire naked body. His gaze found hers and held for an eternity.
Then, and only then, did he go for the kill. His mouth ransacked her poor core. Licked her nubbin, explored her channel, made its way back, suckled wherever it reached and drove her to sheer insanity before he allowed her to disintegrate in mindless pleasure. Her spine contorted, then arched, head fallen back as he didn’t relent.
And if she thought he'd go up her body and fill her with his delicious cock, she was deploringly mistaken. Because it was not his cock, but his finger that filled her as his mouth resumed the torture. He'd finish her up if he kept this going. But he did, his stubble-lined mouth exclusively on the pearl, his finger entering and exiting with tantalising dissatisfaction. He vanquished her yet again anyway. And this time it felt as though he'd torn her open with an explosion three times as intense.
And she’d become so spent that she lay on the rumpled sheets at his complete mercy.
At last, he climbed up, his erection bobbing as he did so. Arms braced at her sides, he looked at her, flushed cheeks, dishevelled hair, parakeet-hued eyes, lips ajar. The blasting giant dwarfed her, making her feel delicate. Dominated and protected. And possessed, overtook, defeated.
“I think we can proceed to the next level.” He drawled.
She searched him as if she doubted that he’d really give it to her. But she had no chance to elaborate an answer as in one swift move, he plunged in her to the hilt, the pleasure so overwhelming she closed arms and legs around him, her flesh sucking him in gluttonously. She imbibed in him, disappeared under his enormous size, let him take possession of all of her, the difference in their heights arousing her to madness.
“Hester,” he called in laboured breaths. “You’re so petite.” And pushed further into her. “The mere difference in our sizes drives me to hell!” He gritted out.
At that minute, she wouldn't be able to say who won and who lost. His eyes on hers, sweat beading his front, ruddy colour covering his cheekbones, ragged breath escaping his lips. He moved; his arms trembled. He lunged and growled and deepened, and slogged. The agonised spectacle he offered mixed with how small she felt added to her madness. Taken to extreme arousal, she was reduced to pure sensation. With each lunge, he coiled her further. He sped, grinding her sensitised nubbin repeatedly until a new conflagration bloomed, heated, spread, and threw her off the world for the fourth time. She dissolved in it, going out of her mind with delight.
Erratic, Drake grunted and thrust faster, his taut abdomen contracting as the remnants of her orgasm clutched at him. One final thrust and a loud groan, he shuddered and rode his release in curt bumps into her.
He sagged on her, ragged breaths, seemingly unable to move.
Drake crumbled to the mattress, taking Hester with him. His mind blank, his body exhausted, his insides crushed, he wondered how he survived this cyclone. She took him off kilt like never before. In the year as his mistress, she’d been delicious, albeit docile, taking what he gave, yielding to what he asked.
But tonight? Bleeding circles of hell! She’d been a gale quaking his bed to near destruction. Thrashed him to a pulp of such wrenching satiation he might not move again. And he craved a repeat until he died of it. He lay there half dead already while he caught his elusive breath.
It gave the measure by which he’d missed her. The measure of how he wasn’t ready to let her go. And couldn’t make sense of it. Better, his senses were completely engaged in savouring her until he perished. Right at that moment, he cared not a whit. All he cared for consisted in the warmth of her body, the scent of her skin, her hair feathering him, and the sated expression on her.
Her fingers started toying with the h
air on his chest. He turned to her, dishevelled light-brown tresses framing that perfect face. After the storm of his possession, her eyes went back to a light shade he recognised as peaceful.
“I’m so glad you surprised me.” He drawled, collecting her closer to him.
Those green beacons lit on him. “I’m surprised myself.”
“Damn, but you almost finished me up.” He said, his hands sliding down her side.
Her index finger pointed at his pectoral. "And you, my lord, are in for retribution."
“Why is that?” His hand moulded to her slim waist.
“For your, say, insistence in tempting me.”
“I’ll be sure to do it several times every night, then.” A naughty side-smile on him. “To watch you falling into pleasure is unprecedented.” His lips grazed her shoulder.
“You’re hopeless.” Her voice came in a whisper, her eyes drifting shut.
Drake kissed her lightly on the lips, covered her better and watched her fall asleep. For a long time, he kept his gaze on her as her breathing slowed, the shape of her soft body lit by the fireplace after he blew the candle she had by the side-table. He buried his face in her fragrant hair, inhaled deeply in her scent, marvelling in her precious presence filling his arms.
Because she’d wrung him dry literally, he fell in an exhausted slumber.
He awoke to the fire nearly extinguished and soft hands roaming his shoulder and biceps. He looked down at her. She lay half over him, one leg between his, hair falling everywhere. Her lips lowered to place a kiss on his collarbone.
And there was no resisting her. He flipped over her, cradling himself between her thighs, seeking her mouth, his hands sliding over every piece of skin he could reach. Her hips moved and took him in her tight, petite channel. From there, they were two lost souls haunting the night away.
In the morning, both sat at breakfast though Hester had little appetite. Her cheeks flooded at the thought of the reason. As Drake had promised, she'd gained very little sleep, the result being that now she felt more tired than hungry. But the memory of what they'd done the whole night became enough to dispel any droopy eyes and elicit an excited response from her. They'd sought each other so much she lost count. Upon leaving the bed, he'd ordered baths, and she took hers in her usual chamber.
With light pouring in the morning room, she found it hard to hide the effects of the night as well as its delights.
“I’ll have Mrs Walters send your things here.” His tenor washed insidiously over her.
Hester had to be a phenomenally wanton woman to stir at his mere voice, even after their sensual explorations in the dark.
The meaning of his words registered though, as she snapped her eyes to him. And froze because his entire focus lay on her and it had nothing to do with what he said. It spoke of shared secrets and sated bodies.
“Why would you do that?” Her blurted question caused one of his brows to quirk up.
“You’ll be staying here evidently.” He answered meaningfully.
Her attention focused around to see he'd dismissed the footman who'd been waiting on them. "No, I will not." Her reply came firmly. "I'm leaving as soon as your friend the duke forgets his nonsensical grudge."
"That's out of the question." He retorted, crumpled features.
Her lungs filled with air as she stored herself with patience. “Drake,” she started. “I’m not going back to being your mistress. Ever.”
If she lowered her guard, he’d walk all over her. Worse, he’d have her eating out of his hand with just a faint caress of his expert hands. She’d not fall in that trap again, the trap of his physical gratification or the one in which he’d place her in a box labelled ‘for bedding whenever the mood strikes’. In her deliberation, accepting that situation anew would be a huge step back. And it had been a year of too steep a learning curve for her to do that. What drove her was the fact she had been in awe at him and the sultry world he unveiled for her. But it was past time to grow out of it and move on.
“No need for that.” He stated. “We can just carry on as we’ve been doing.” But the way he said it, in that lord-ish tone of his, indicated he’d make sure everything went back to his way of doing them.
Exhibiting a calm, she was losing, she took a sip of tea. “Precisely.” Her hand rested the cup delicately on its saucer. “I’ll carry on working and living in the house I inherited from my mother.” Her fingers laced before her on the table. “And you’ll go about whatever it is you do with your life.”
The vexed glint darting from his brandy eyes told what he thought of her plans. “Fine.” His nostrils flared with his intake of air. “Until Haddington is out of the way, you remain here. And then we’ll see.”
She found no way of countering that simple logic; she nodded and made herself eat a toast. The day ahead promised to be challenging, for they’d be doing rehearsals.
Hester sent a note to Miss Bolton inviting her for luncheon in a nearby tavern. Bruce on her heels, she headed there and found Amelia sitting at a corner of the busy place, a maid in tow.
Since she’d been staying in Worcester House, Bruce didn’t need to watch her house at night and retired to sleep when she did. Now, he followed her during the day.
Despite this being lofty West London, the surrounding areas of the theatre lodged many shops and its taverns served meals for their owners and those who worked there, men or women. Ton ladies didn’t have access to public life as those of the working stations did, another reason Hester considered them underprivileged in the way they enjoyed less the city they lived in.
As soon as Amelia spotted Hester, she smiled. "I'm so thrilled to be in a tavern," Amelia said as Hester neared the table. "My first time." Their hands connected in greeting. Hester nodded at the maid who kept her own counsel.
As the daughter of a rich mine owner, Amelia also had a sheltered existence even if she had limited access to the higher echelons of society.
“And finding it pleasant, I hope,” Hester answered as she sat across from her friend. Bruce had stationed at a discreet spot.
“Indeed.” Her voice came enthusiastically. “In Northumberland, everything is so black and white.” Her tone lost a little of its cheerfulness. “There are the mine owners and the miners, mostly. Makes for a rather polarised society.”
"I can imagine." And Hester could. The gated mansions and the sooty slums. "Here in town, there is more of the middle ground." With clerks, shop-owners and other businesses that afforded standards that were neither too high, nor too low.
“And that’s so positive. Gives you more interesting friends, and—” the girl paused for a few seconds, “matches.” And lowered her gaze shyly. She referred to marriage, naturally.
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Hester didn’t know if she should have asked, but the question just flowed out.
Amelia shrugged, still keeping her eyes downcast. “Well, no, not here at least.” Which meant she might have hopes for someone up north. “I suppose my father and brother will have a say in my choice.” She met Hester’s eyes then. “They’re aiming for a baronet or higher.” She disclosed.
As wealthy as her family was, she’d attract impoverished nobility, the usual entryway for bourgeoise families into the impervious circles of the ton.
After a few minutes of introspection, her friend smiled. “Enough of me. Now tell me about the new plays I’ll be sure to attend.”
Their meal arrived and Hester told her of the new play and how they’d been working hard on it. Luncheon time flew, and she nearly became late to return to the theatre.
Hastily, Hester gained the theatre’s back entrance leading to the hallway where her father’s and brother’s offices were.
“Where the hell have you been?” Drake’s harsh voice boomed in the dim light.
Her eyes adjusted to see Oliver, Eli, and the marquess standing in the middle of the hallway looking at her with a frown.
She gazed
quizzically at them. “I had luncheon with Miss Bolton,” she replied, trying to make sense of the commotion. As hurriedly as she left, she’d forgotten to leave word of her whereabouts.
“Lord Worcester told us about the Duke of Haddington,” Eli explained.
Oh, fantastic! She jeered internally. Now her father would be worried sick over it.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Oliver asked in a strained voice.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” And directed an accusing glare at the blasted man, to have him merely hitch a brow. “The duke will find another intrigue to amuse him soon enough.” She derided.
“Even so, we should look out for you.” Eli reasoned.
"I searched for you everywhere." Hands fisted on his tapered waist, legs braced, Drake was the very picture of the adamant nobleman.
As their eyes clashed, there was no avoiding sharing the memories of their night together, and the ripple of awareness that took her body by storm. A scalding blush smothered her cheeks.
“I had my eyes right on her, my lord,” Bruce contributed as he entered the hallway.
“Good job, Bruce.” Drake rewarded the footman with an approving nod.
“After all this drama, can we go back to work?” Hester suggested vexed with Drake for alarming everyone.
“Promise us you’ll be careful,” Oliver insisted.
“Of course, papa.” And gave a light grin as she moved in the direction of the stage.
When the rehearsal ended, the actors dispersed, and Drake went looking for Hester. Again, that day.
During luncheon, he'd gone to find her and talk about one scene in the play. Having not found her had made his guts plummet, a cold sweat breaking on his skin. The tension in him as he approached her father and brother had made them ask what had been afoot, and Drake had no choice but tell the truth. The surprised expressions on them told Drake she'd not alarmed them. But it'd been too late to undo it.
The depth of his concern was something he’d not felt before. Even if Bruce was tasked with shadowing her, he always wanted to have her in sight. Only then would he be sure she’d be safe. With her absence, the dread that nearly dominated him had him reeling. The slight notion of anything happening to her caused fury to unleash inside. At the perpetrator, and at himself if perchance he failed in protecting her.