A Bit of Rough

by Jackie Barbosa

  Oh, he was going to regret teaching her that word. Hearing her say it nearly brought him to his knees. Though, to be fair, his knees were exactly where he planned to be quite soon. “There is kissing,” he told her.

  “Well, of course, but—”

  “There is kissing,” he interrupted, tucking a knuckle beneath her chin and tilting her head back, “here.”

  He touched his mouth to hers and groaned with satisfaction when her lips parted eagerly in invitation. Had it really been only three days since he had kissed her? Those stolen moments inside Rickert’s hidden chamber seemed like a lifetime ago, and he felt as if it had been that long since he had taken a proper breath. He kissed her as though kisses were air and air was a finite commodity, and she seemed no less needy, for she drank in his kisses as if they were water and she was dying of thirst.

  Recalling that his purpose had not been simply to kiss them both senseless, he dragged his mouth from hers and feathered his lips across her cheek to the tender flesh beneath her ear. “But also here,” he murmured, catching her lobe between his teeth and tugging gently.

  A shiver coursed through her frame, and she let out a gasp of both pleasure and surprise. Her hands clutched the edge of the desk, as though she feared toppling backward.

  “And here,” he whispered and kissed his way down the column of her throat to her shoulder.

  At the same time, he reached around and began to undo the hook-and-eye fastenings that closed the back of her gown. When his lips reached her collarbone, he had loosed the last one and the pale blue bodice gaped away from her torso, although the exuberantly puffed sleeves kept the garment from slipping all the way to her waist. Nonetheless, the gap was sufficiently large for him to slide his hand inside and loosen the front of her stays so he could free her breasts from their confinement.

  She made another muffled sound as his palm cupped one plump mound. The dusky pink nipple stood taut from the center of the lighter areola, and he bent his head, dragging his lips from her collarbone to the arc of her breast.

  “And also here,” he said, before closing his mouth over the distended peak.

  “Ohhhh!” Her whole body jerked, her hips rocking against his thigh, which had become, unbeknownst to him, ensconced between hers. He situated that limb more firmly against her quim, encouraging her to use him to assuage the tension he stoked with his lips and teeth and tongue.

  And then he dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the spot his leg had vacated. His heart thudded beneath his ribs and his cock seemed determined to burst through the fall of his trousers as the scent of her arousal accosted his nostrils.

  “And finally, here,” he muttered thickly. “If you will but permit me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Romantic feeling is a terrible reason for a woman to marry and make herself little more than the legal of appendage of a man; it is only palatable because the alternative rationales for embarking upon the wedded estate are so much worse.” – Polly Dicax

  Honora went utterly motionless, though her pulse raced at a breakneck pace that left her breathless and unsteady. Surely what Lucas proposed to do was scandalous, shocking, appalling.

  Thrilling.

  “You can— That is, you want to do such a thing?” she asked, caught between alarm and fascination. “Put your mouth there?”

  He raised his head and gazed up at her, his eyes dark and feverish with longing. “Oh, aye, querida. I want to do that as much as—or perhaps even more than—I want to fuck you…and I want to fuck you very, very much.”

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  Except goodness had nothing to do with it. Every word from his mouth was a wicked temptation, and resistance was not merely useless but impossible. He must be mad to want to do such a depraved thing and yet, when she imagined him pressing his lips to those lips, she not disgusted by the idea but wildly aroused.

  “You can say no if you really dislike the idea,” he assured her. “And once I start, you can ask me to stop if it does not please you. But I think it will please you very much indeed.”

  Her stomach fluttering as if an entire flock of birds had become trapped inside it, she nodded. The smile that lit his face was brighter and warmer than the sun on a clear summer day, and she was fiercely glad she hadn’t the will to refuse him.

  He gathered her skirts up to her knees and then disappeared underneath them, the voluminous blue fabric settling back around him and almost entirely concealing him. The fancy struck her that, if anyone were to enter the room and find her perched there, they might not even realize he was crouched between her thighs unless they happened to see his booted feet poking out from beneath the hem. She had a fleeting image of attempting to carry on a conversation with someone while Lucas, hidden from view, kissed and licked and petted her most private and sensitive places, and a gusty moan escaped her.

  “I haven’t even begun,” Lucas said in mock reproof. His fingers coasted up her hips to the waistband of her drawers. “First, let’s get these off.”

  He untied the string that cinched them in place and, with her assistance, drew them down over her hips and bottom. When the garment was free of her feet, he placed his palms on the insides of her knees and pulled her forward until she was balanced so precariously on the edge of the desk that she feared she would slip off. She needn’t have worried, however, for he settled her legs over his shoulders and gripped her hips, anchoring her securely in place.

  And then…oh God, and then his bearded cheeks grazed the delicate skin on the insides of her thighs. His breath gusted across her wet, swollen flesh, somehow managing to be simultaneously cool and hot. Instinctively, she tightened her inner muscles, bracing herself for the debauchery that was to come. Hidden as he was from her view, she might as well be blind. Certainly, she had no way to predict when or how he would begin his sensual assault upon her person, and the uncertainty heightened her anticipation.

  Whatever she had been waiting for, however, it was not for him to nuzzle her with his nose. But that was what he did, inhaling deeply as though her sex had the aroma of a fine wine or expensive perfume. All thought fled and sensation narrowed down to one throbbing, needful point. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, and she scooted her hips further forward in a desperate effort to increase the pressure.

  “So sweet,” he growled, his mouth close enough that she felt his words as much as she heard them.

  Surely now he would kiss her. Honora held her breath, afraid she would cry out when he finally did the terrible, wonderful deed.

  She felt the slight rasp of his mustache first, just above the cleft, before he set his lips fully upon her. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have fallen off the desk, for the sensation was so exquisite that her body jolted in response. He hummed, steadied her with strong, gentle hands, and deepened the kiss.

  And it was recognizably a kiss, although of course she had no way to return the slanting, stroking pressure of his lips as she would when he kissed her on the mouth. What he was doing had to be wrong, could not be something that normally transpired between men and women, yet that certainty only increased her pleasure. The peak remained just out of reach, however, and she whimpered and wriggled in frustration.

  “Shhhh,” he murmured, the vibration sending tremors through her limbs.

  So close. Too far.

  He said something else, low and rough, though she couldn’t make sense of the syllables, and then he licked her. She flinched in pure astonishment, but his tongue drew a languorous line through her quim—yes, that seemed the proper word, just the right balance between the vulgar-sounding cunt and the more playful pussy—before swirling around her entrance.

  She had no time to register astonishment at this intimacy, however, for he replaced his tongue with a finger. Between his saliva and her own juices, she was so wet that the digit slid easily into her channel, even though her muscles tightened as if to repel the invasion. Except she didn’t want him to remove the finger. No, she wanted him t
o move it, she realized. To fuck her with it.

  He seemed to read her mind—or, more likely, he had done this often enough to know what she desired—because he withdrew almost all the way and then drove back in, slowly the first time, quicker the next. She canted her hips to afford him better, deeper access. When a second finger soon joined the first, there was a brief twinge as her body stretched to accommodate the thicker intrusion, and the thought flashed through her mind that his cock was much bigger than two fingers. The pain was mild and swiftly forgotten, however, when his mouth descended once again and his tongue stroked the aching focal point of her tension.

  The two sensations—plunging fingers and caressing tongue—merged into one, and the pinnacle that had eluded her surged like a winter storm. She might have tried to hold back the tide if she’d had the wits, but the pleasure was too much and too good. Smothering a cry with the back of her hand, she came, her inner muscles clamping down on his fingers as bliss spiraled through her, leaving her limp and languid and deeply satisfied.

  He’d been right; his kisses pleased her very much indeed, wherever he applied them. In fact, the more forbidden and intimate the location, the better she seemed to like them. If anyone had asked her half an hour ago, she would’ve told them she could achieve no greater ecstasy than he had given her with his fingers in the hackney. She would have been terribly wrong.

  Her skirts billowed around her legs and Lucas emerged from beneath them, wiping a hand over his mouth and chin as he rose to his feet. His dark eyes glittered with happiness but also with heat and hunger. He stood, resuming his former position between her open thighs, and kissed her mouth again. Suddenly, this was the most erotically indecent thing she had ever experienced, for she could taste and smell herself in the sweet, musky tang of his lips and tongue. Sated though she was, a fresh bead of longing welled up in her core, and she found herself returning Lucas’s kiss with wild urgency. Curling one hand around his neck, she threaded her fingers into the dense, soft hair at the base of his skull, reveling in the needy growl that rose in this throat. The realization that she had so much power over him aroused her more powerfully than she could have dreamed.

  With a groan of obvious reluctance, he broke the kiss and pulled back far enough to study her face intently. “You’re making it very difficult for me to act like a gentleman, querida.” His voice had a serrated quality, as if the very act of speech lacerated his restraint. “I won’t lie; I want to fuck you. So much, it hurts. But you must want me to. So if you don’t, say the word, and this ends here. You have already given me more than enough of yourself for one day.”

  Honora cupped his bristled cheek in her hand and smiled. He might intend to dissuade her from taking this final and irreversible step, but every word was more seduction than discouragement. How could she fail to want what he wanted when everything he had wanted up to now had been entirely to her benefit? She could not imagine that she would enjoy the act of sexual union any less than anything that had come before. In fact, based on previous experience, she rather expected to relish this consummation even more. “I want you to fuck me, Lucas,” she told him.

  A shudder ran through his body, and he let out a snort of amusement. “I should not have taught you the meaning of that word. Hearing it from your sweet mouth is going to kill me.”

  Once again, the sheer immensity of her power to affect him swamped her in desire. “Fuck me, Lucas,” she repeated, half teasing, half demanding. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

  “Gods, woman,” he barked, but there was laughter—and barely restrained lust—in his tone. “You are a menace. But you’re also going to get your way.” Sliding his hands under her bottom, he lifted her off the desk and then adjusted his hold so he cradled her across his chest, one arm supporting her back, the other beneath her knees. “I do feel, however, that I should warn you,” he continued as he strode in the direction of the half-open door that separated the sitting room from what must be his bedchamber, “it’s liable to be a bit uncomfortable.”

  Nestled against the sturdy warmth of his chest, Honora recalled the mild twinge she’d experienced when he had added that second finger to the first. She also remembered how quickly the soreness had been replaced by bliss. “I’ve heard it can be the first time, but I think I can manage it.”

  “I have heard that, too,” he admitted, sounding rueful, “but that wasn’t the sort of discomfort I was thinking of.” Turning sideways, he put his shoulder to the door to push it the rest of the way open, revealing the chamber that lay on the other side.

  As he carried her across the threshold—very much in the fashion of a bridegroom, she noted with a flash of irony—Honora saw that this room had none of the exuberant abundance that characterized the one they had departed. Indeed, its furnishings, limited to a wardrobe, a bed, a straight-backed chair, and washbasin with an accompanying mirror, were as spare and utilitarian as a monk’s cell. Also ironic, given what they meant to do here.

  Lucas eased her to her feet and then gestured in the general direction of the bed. “That is what I had in mind.”

  Which was when she noticed—really noticed—just how very apt her instinctive comparison of his bedchamber to a monk’s cell had been, for the bed frame was exceptionally narrow and clearly intended for only one person, and not a large person at that. The mattress, though concealed by several woolen blankets, would be tick-stuffed with straw or a similar material, likely thin and prone to lumps. The single pillow was probably also straw-filled and equally uneven.

  “It is not exactly what you’re accustomed to, I imagine,” he added apologetically. “So if you would prefer not to—”

  She whirled to face him, her loosened bodice sliding further down her arms with the sudden movement, and said with a touch of asperity, “I would prefer you stop treating me like some pampered princess who cannot bear the slightest inconvenience.” Softening her tone, she traced a finger from the slightly tilted corner of his left eye to his clenched jaw. “I am tougher than you seem to think, and I’ve no intention of sleeping, in any case. I need this. Need you.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest again as he swept her into a tight embrace and pressed his lips to her temple. “You had certainly better not sleep,” he muttered before setting her away. “Turn around.”

  With a nod, she spun her back to him, and his fingers worked their way down her spine as he unfastened the remaining hooks until the gown gaped away from her body. She tugged her arms out of the sleeves, and the entire garment swished into a puddle around her ankles. With an alacrity that suggested more than passing familiarity with the workings of female undergarments, he loosened her petticoats and unlaced her stays, and these followed the dress to the floor, leaving her in chemise, drawers, stockings, and boots.

  A shiver shook her, and he kissed the nape of her neck. “Cold?”

  “No,” she said. In fact, if anything, she was overwarm. “Excited.” And nervous. She had never wanted anything more than she wanted this, but she had also never been so far out of her depth. And she had never been—nor had she ever imagined being—almost naked with a man, especially not one who was still completely clothed. The imbalance made her feel…vulnerable.

  But somehow Lucas seemed to understand her apprehension, because he asked, “Would you like to help me undress?”

  The familiar curl of heat and hunger twisted in her belly. “Yes, please.”

  Working together, they stripped him of frock coat, cravat, and waistcoat. She opened the buttons of his shirt from the base of his throat to the center of his chest, revealing an expanse of rich brown skin covered with a sprinkling of black hair. When he lowered the braces of his trousers and pulled the shirt off over his head, she saw the strands were longer and sparser across his pectoral muscles but became both shorter and denser further down, coalescing into a line down the center of his chest that disappeared into his trousers.

  A line that led her eyes straight to the unmistakable bulge where his cock strained against
his trousers. Her mouth went dry and her quim became wetter.

  “Open it,” he urged, his voice guttural.

  Fingers trembling, she undid the buttons that secured his fall, almost painfully aware of the way the chiseled muscles of abdomen rippled and flexed every time her hand brushed the ridge of his erection. When she was finished, that portion of his anatomy was concealed only by the thin linen of his drawers. Her body thrummed with anticipation as she untied the string that held that final garment in place.

  The appendage sprang free, jutting thick and upright from the base of black curls at the apex of his thighs. She squeezed her own thighs together as another gush of moisture gathered between them.

  “Can I touch?” she asked, fascinated by the contrast between the poker-hard member and the velvety-soft appearance of the skin at its tip.

  He flashed a grin and nodded. “But not for long. Or this will be over before we get to the bed.”

  When she wrapped her palm around him, he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and she released him instantly. Before she could draw away, however, he grabbed her hand and guided it back into position, encouraging her to continue her exploration.

  “I’m tougher than I sound,” he said lightly, in obvious echo of her earlier pronouncement about her own ability to endure discomfort. “Having you touch me just feels very, very good.”

  Thus reassured, Honora closed her fingers around his length, marveling at the silky, dewy texture of the skin that covered the rigid shaft beneath. His flesh was fever-hot and pulsed with life, pressing into her hand as though actively seeking her attention. She dragged her thumb across the petal-soft tip and through a droplet that seeped from the tiny slit at the very top. The liquid was clear and slick, much like the wetness gathering between her own thighs.

  Lucas uttered a strangled sound that might have been a curse and gently removed her hand. “I think that’s enough for now.”