by Sahara Kelly
And she smiled, a feminine curve of the lips, an invitation to what, he wasn’t quite sure. But by God, he wanted to find out.
*~~*~~*
Gwyneth, unaware that plans for her night had been made, was enjoying every moment of the Hallowmas celebration. Her throat was growing hoarse from the number of conversations she’d held, and although her gentlemen had been with her the entire time, she was still getting quite tired.
She caught Harry’s gaze and smiled at him. He’d been a big support this evening, his first real exposure to something like this.
She had handed out all the scrolls, speaking to every tenant, laughing with some, shaking hands with others, and watching as the increasing number of lighted candles danced like fairies in the darkness around the bonfire. The bread had long since vanished and the mulled wine had been well received by many. Others probably were looking forward to their own beers, but overall the evening had gone well.
The scrolls had occasioned some curiosity, and she had pulled Mrs B aside, asking her to explain to anyone who didn’t quite understand what they meant.
Word had spread, and after everything had been distributed, she found herself strolling around with one of her gentlemen on her arm, chatting and explaining the new school project to those who asked about it.
Royce steered her toward several well-built lads, so she promptly invited them to be a part of the renovation project. Evan led her to several women who were keeping an eye on a number of little ones, and she encouraged them to talk to the children about the new school.
The enthusiasm was high, since most of the tenants knew full well the value of a good education.
Jeremy walked her to Joe Fillwell, who held his scroll like a precious sceptre in his arms.
“Time was, a man didn’t need t’ read to milk cows, or plough a field,” he said. “Time was, all a man needed was an eye t’ see the sunrise and a woman t’ ease his nights.” He stared at the bonfire. “Times be changin’, eh?”
“They are indeed, Mr Fillwell.” Gwyneth rested a hand on his arm. “And your grandchildren will be reading as well as milking cows, ploughing—maybe even teaching. They could be taking up a career in law…who’s to say?”
She had to laugh as the old man rolled his eyes.
It had been an evening of unalloyed pleasure for all, and she knew it would be the topic of conversation for quite some time.
She straightened, an effort to ease the ache at the bottom of her spine, and jumped when a warm hand touched the exact spot.
“You are probably tired, my Lady. And if my assumption is correct, there’s a weary spot growing right here.”
Even though her cloak lay beneath his hand, she could feel Harry’s warmth, and only barely managed to resist leaning against him.
“You are right,” she sighed. “But what a wonderful evening, and how well everything has gone.” She looked around to see tired children still sitting and laughing with their parents, and older children dancing to the lilting sound of a violin. Old Joe Fillwell was banging out the rhythm on an upturned bucket, and it looked like the party was far from over.
Evan came up to her. “Go inside now, my Lady. This will go on for a while. I promise we’ll make sure all’s well.” He glanced at Harry. “Will you see that she retires, Harry? She can be quite stubborn about taking care of herself.” His sweet smile robbed his words of any sting.
Gwyneth sighed. “You know me too well,” she said, shaking her head. “Harry…” She turned to him. “Shall we go back inside? We must put out some of those candles too.”
“A pleasure, my Lady.” Harry bowed, then looked at Evan. “I shall see she retires early. Jeremy tells me you’ll be finishing the mulled wine.”
Evan chuckled. “It is rather good mulled wine, even if I say so myself.”
Gwyneth laughed. “Then a late morning it shall be, Evan. Tell the others. I don’t foresee any reason to be up at the crack of dawn.”
“As you wish, my Lady. Sleep well.” Evan bowed and headed back to the festivities, leaving her alone with Harry.
“Come now, Gwyneth,” he used her name, making it a soft caress.
She shivered. “Yes. Yes, I confess I’m a little tired.” She gave a wry laugh. “Also, there will be plenty more partying once I’m gone.”
Harry walked her across the terrace and into the house, closing the French doors behind them. “Do you think your presence is prohibitive?” He slid her cloak from her shoulders.
“Yes, in some ways. It has to be.” She sighed as she picked up a candle snuffer and began to put out the branches of candles.
Harry matched her moves on the other side of the room. “You have to keep up appearances, don’t you, Gwyneth.”
“I believe so,” she answered. “I was a Countess for seven years, Harry. I learned then that kindness and friendliness is one thing, but there will always be a slight gap separating me from others.”
“Very true,” replied Harry, snuffing the last of his candles. “Should the time arise when some dire event requires you to take control, then you need to possess the authority to be accepted and obeyed.”
She paused, her side of the room finished, and one branch left for the gentlemen should they need it later on. “You understand.”
“I’ve served King and country. The best officers are those who treat their men with the respect they deserve. Friendship, camaraderie, whatever you wish to call it, helps build trust. But when the time comes, those men must obey their commanding officer in all things.” He took a breath. “Their very lives depend upon it.”
He walked to her side and looked at her, his blue eyes bright in the shadows, twinkling in the light of the few candles left near them. “I want you, you know.” His hand came up to cradle her cheek. “In many ways.”
She felt her heart race. “What ways, Harry?”
“Ways that satisfy some deep needs…” He was gazing at her lips.
“I think I might enjoy such wanting.” She waited to see what he did next, curious as to his meaning and his intentions.
“You will,” he promised.
Then he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, marching straight upstairs to her chamber, before she had a chance to catch her breath.
Chapter Ten
He had caught her completely off guard, she realised. Something that hadn’t happened too often, especially not of late. Here at Wolfbridge she had found a place where the few surprises had been mostly of the pleasant kind.
This…this was something else.
She wasn’t afraid of Harry. His hand strayed to her bottom and stroked it as he strode up the staircase and down the corridor to her chamber. He had simply behaved so unexpectedly as to render her dumb with shock.
And she managed a brief moment to assess her situation. It wasn’t, to be truthful, unpleasant. Although she’d not like to be upside down for too long.
Fortunately, she wasn’t. He kicked the door shut behind him and unceremoniously dropped her onto her mattress.
“Well,” she sputtered.
“Hush,” he said, ripping his coat off and moving down over her on the bed. “Gwyneth…” he murmured.
His eyes were brilliant blue, the only light in the room coming from the bonfire some distance away. His hands found her, moulding her breasts, stroking her belly and her hips, then returning to cup her face as he kissed her once again, a groan emerging into her mouth as he did so.
“God, I’ve wanted this,” he pushed away and stared at her. “I need to see you. Don’t move.”
A little dizzy from his kisses, Gwyneth obeyed, wondering what he would do next and watching as he left her, crossed the room to light a branch of candles and draw the curtains tight.
“Better.” He strode to the door, and she heard the lock click. “I don’t want an audience tonight,” he whispered. “Not with the things I want to do to you.”
His words made her tremble. His face, as he stood next to the bed and started removing his
clothes, made her tremble even more. She saw need and desire, a yearning and a wanting that lit the same kind of emotions inside her and she moved to sit up.
His hand pushed her back. “Stay there. I will undress you soon.”
The command was there, the tone that said obey me. Her gentlemen were always loving and attentive and passionate. They were also eager to please, and she felt free telling them what she wanted. It was consistently an exchange that brought pleasure to all.
But this…this was different. He was physically solid, his chest revealed as he stripped off his shirt and then his breeches. His male attributes were…magnificent, and she swallowed as she saw his rigid cock, thick and heavy, shadowing firm sacs and thrusting from a nest of black hair.
There were scars too. Curling around his waist, probably on his back. Gwyneth recalled mention of his injuries. Here was the physical evidence. She wanted to touch them, but there were other things she wanted to touch more.
“Stand.” He held out his hand and helped her off the bed.
He placed a finger on her neck, tracing the line of her muscle down across her chest to the cleft between her breasts.
He gripped her bodice—and tore her dress away from her body.
“Harry,” she gasped, the pieces of fabric falling to the ground.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he answered, ridding her of her chemise as well.
Her nipples hardened as he gazed at them, then surveyed the rest of her with silent appreciation.
She could feel the heat radiating from his body as he neared her, and her pulse raced at the sight of such a beautifully aroused man in the candlelight.
“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered.
She couldn’t help a step backward as he came near, then caught herself up. She was the Lady of Wolfbridge. She was in command.
Or at least she thought so.
He closed the distance between them, and picked her up again, but this time, he held her close.
“Put your legs around me, Gwyneth.” His hands found her bottom, and he lifted her against his cock.
Then he turned and walked to the nearest wall, pushing her against it, squeezing her between his body and the panelling. She gasped at the sensation, the cold surface, the hot man and the iron hardness rubbing against her most sensitive places.
“You’re wet already. Good.” He moved again, a sensual massage that made her moan with pleasure.
His chest abraded her nipples, his hips pressed hard and then he lifted her, bent his knees and brought her back down, directly onto his cock.
She cried out, partly from surprise and partly from the amazing feeling of his thick, rigid length deep inside her.
“God, Harry…” she whispered.
“Oh yes,” he whispered back. “Kiss me. Now.”
Her hands lifted from where she had grabbed his shoulders to slide through his hair and pull his head toward hers. Locking one arm around his neck, she opened her mouth wide and found his, sucking on his tongue, breathing his air, fiercely claiming his lips for herself.
Their bodies writhed against each other as he began stroking himself inside, a half bounce, half thrust that immediately drove her own arousal higher and higher.
He wouldn’t let her draw free, making her fight for each breath, pounding himself harder and harder, driving her against the wall. Her ankles locked as she met him, wriggling her hips to take as much of him as she could at this angle.
It was wild, erotic, almost savage; a battle between lovers where there would be no winners and no losers. She ripped her mouth from his, grabbed a breath, and returned to his kisses, giving as good as she got.
His body was so muscular, his thighs lifting them both with ease, his cock never ceasing to rub the right places. He filled her almost to the point of pain, but she welcomed it, knowing her release was beginning to build and losing herself in that wonderful sensation.
Suddenly he withdrew, and she was staggering on the floor.
“What…”
Scarcely were the words out of her mouth than he picked her up once more, walked her to the bed and put her on top of it. “Hands and knees,” he ordered.
Feverish with need, Gwyneth wanted to make her own wishes clear, but the look on his face as he gazed at her—it froze the words in her mouth and she did as he asked, rising up on her hands and knees.
He moved onto the bed behind her, caressing her hips as he grasped his cock and rubbed it over her slick sex.
Head turned awkwardly, she watched his face as he entered her once more, slowly, deeply this time, deeper than before.
“Take me. All of me.”
She nodded, not sure if her voice would work.
“Good. So good.” He pressed home, and she sucked in air as he filled her, stretched her a little and drew a groan of pleasure from her as his body met hers.
Then, once again, he began to move.
She was close, so close. One hand found her breast, swinging beneath her in time with his thrusts. He tweaked her nipple, pinching it, a pain that only intensified the thrill of her mounting desires.
Gwyneth’s world spun madly as Harry worked his magic, finding new spots to rub, forcing her to ride with him, and then sealing her fate by a solid smack on her buttock. She cried out, but not with pain—with surprise.
“You like that,” he muttered, more to himself. He did it again, and yes, she found she liked it. The sting, the heat rushing to the spot and then his palms stroking her…sensations were rising that caught her completely off guard. Once again, Harry had surprised her in the very best of ways.
His hands seemed to be everywhere, his cock driving her ever higher, her skin heated beneath his slaps and then gentle strokes. She panted, little whimpers of need accompanying the sound of their bodies colliding in the age-old ritual.
His fingers drifted over her roundness, over her hips, then back to trail down the cleft between her buttocks, lingering on the tight ring of muscles and pressing against it.
She moaned, so aroused that this touch brought on a wave of almost violent sensation.
“Harry,” she cried, “please, oh please…”
She didn’t know what she was begging for, only that he would do something, anything, to finish her.
He heard. And he granted her wish.
Hips thundering against her, he reached down between her legs and pressed her mound, rubbing beneath in just the right spot.
The dual assault pushed her over the edge, and she grabbed a pillow, screaming into it as her world vanished into a maelstrom of erotic spasms that racked her body.
She barely heard his groan, but the flood of hot liquids releasing within her stimulated even more spasms, and a part of her knew he was sharing this moment.
Her muscles were out of control, grabbing his thickness, milking him so hard it was almost painful.
“Harry,” she gasped again, her fingers scrabbling on the bedclothes as she weathered the storm erupting within, helpless against the forces he’d awoken.
But at last her body eased and relaxed and her release faded, leaving her panting for breath. Harry withdrew, and she felt bereft, empty without him inside her as she collapsed, face first, onto the bed, limp and sated.
“Jesus God, woman,” Harry groaned as he fell beside her. “You are incredible.”
If she’d had the strength, she’d have agreed. But all she could do was mumble into the sheets. “Mmm.”
*~~*~~*
He woke her twice more during the night.
He craved her, surfacing from sleep to find himself painfully hard and already seeking the warm place between her legs.
She seemed to share those feelings, since within seconds of him touching her she was parting her thighs in welcome, and moaning a little as he entered her.
The second time he pulled her on top of him, and she sleepily straddled his hips, sliding down onto his cock as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Gwyneth,” he whispered. “W
hat have you done to me?”
At that, she smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Nothing you haven’t already done to me,” she whispered back.
And then she began to move, displaying a natural grace and rhythm that took his breath away. A pale shadow in the darkness of the room, she rose and fell, her breasts swaying, her hands rising to push her hair out of the way as she found a rhythm that pleased them both.
Long strokes, silken fire cradling his cock, Harry was convinced he’d found heaven.
He moved, half-sitting up, and pushed a pillow behind his back. Now he could hold her breasts, tweak her nipples and feast on them if he desired.
Which he did, bringing soft sighs of pleasure from her throat.
Once again he let his hands cup her buttocks, stretching them apart, holding on as she rose and fell. With his body bent slightly, he could rub himself against her swollen nether lips, while running clever fingers down that darkened cleft, teasing the sensitive nerve endings he knew were awaiting his touch.
He felt her shudder inside as he pressed, then rubbed, then pressed again, finding the soft skin opening for him.
He explored her gently, slipping a fingertip into that tight darkness.
She gasped, and he let his other hand drift between them, finding her swollen mound and the treasure that had hardened into a nub beneath.
The erotic touches, combined with her movements, tipped them both over the edge, and on a silent scream Gwyneth shattered around him, her sheath gripping him with violent strength, milking him once again with savage spasms, breaking his focus and sending him flying.
They clung to each other, shuddering, an eternity of time spent floating in a void of utter ecstasy.
It ended too soon, and she tumbled on top of him, gasping for breath. “Harry,” she said. “I think I may be dead.”
“In that case we’re both dead,” he muttered, delicately adjusting their positions so that they could breathe.
She slid from him willingly, landing on her back, her chest still heaving as she panted. “Say hullo to Saint Peter, will you? I don’t have the energy…”
Within seconds she was asleep, her body lax and limp beside him. He carefully eased her beneath the covers and then settled himself.