Two Wicked Nights

by Quince, Dayna

  Bernie could hear it.

  Her skin, her nerve endings, her blood, they sang the sweetest aria she’d ever heard. He dragged his lips over her throat and shoulders, kissing, licking, sucking. His mouth moved lower, and Bernie shivered. He took her nipple into his mouth and a sigh escaped her, followed by a cry of delight.

  Violet had mentioned this, hadn’t she? Something about being kissed everywhere. But Bernie hadn’t thought she meant nipples, maybe arms and legs, neck, feet, but this was so much better. She looped her fingers behind his neck and leaned back, giving him lots of room to kiss her wherever he wanted, however he wanted.

  He lifted her, twisting and dropping her lightly to the bed and his mouth came right back to her, this time on her other breast. Bernie sighed. His mouth was pure bliss. She didn’t even feel shy anymore, not when he was devouring her so completely. His mouth moved lower, his tongue skating along the sensitive skin under breasts. She would add this to her list of fabulous places to also be kissed. Spangles of delight shot down her legs, and pleasure wound its way through her, pooling low in her stomach where her legs joined, making every movement of her hips urgent, and every brush of his clothing and the ridge of his arousal exquisite torture to her senses. He moved lower still, his lips and tongue bringing a symphony of heaven to her nerve endings. He dipped his tongue into her naval and gooseflesh erupted over her arms and legs. She giggled, her skin ticklish there. She could feel his smile against her stomach, and he moved lower still and her giggling stopped. Her breathing hitched as he nuzzled her thighs, urging them to part. His hands dug under her bottom, and he lifted her hips to his mouth.

  The first touch of his tongue was like a lick of fire. She melted against his mouth, her legs falling open, her neck arching as heaven swept through her body like a fever, hot, dizzying, and consuming.

  “Chester,” she moaned, her heart pounding, her mouth dry as she licked her lips and panted for air. One moment she was spiraling outward, and then coiling tightly as her legs began to shake and her nerve endings stretched like the strings of a harp. He stroked her with his tongue, slow and languid, and then he sucked, gently, slowly, in pulses that wound her tighter. Then he flicked his tongue against a part of her so fragile and sensitive she snapped, her back arching, a soundless cry ripping from her throat, and pleasure shimmering through her body.

  Magic.

  That’s what it was.

  Light sparkled behind her eyelids like sunlight on moving water.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t lift her lids. Chester picked her up, laying her back against the pillows and pulling the coverlet over both of them. He settled in beside her, and Bernie willed herself to open her eyes.

  Violet never said anything about this, the lights, the full body experience, the—the—Bernie didn’t have the words. She turned her head just enough to see his face and met his gaze. His mouth wasn’t smiling, but his eyes had little crinkles at the corners and he appeared as pleased as a cat with a belly full of cream.

  “You’ve quite the talent for a man with so little experience.”

  He chuckled, the chuckle turning to laughter, into belly-hugging guffaws. He wiped his eyes once he was finished, and Bernie didn’t know whether to be pleased she amused him so thoroughly or upset.

  “Only you could say such a thing after your first orgasm.”

  Bernie scoffed. “First?”

  His face blanked, his throat working in a swallow. “I beg your pardon?”

  Bernie sat up, holding the coverlet to her chest. She just knew she was about to shock him to his toes. “Do you think women don’t touch themselves? That we’re afraid of our own bodies—well, I can imagine some of the women I’ve met might be, those poor dears. To think they spent all that time alone, never knowing what fun could be had and the delight of a... What did you call it?”

  He blinked at her. “An orgasm.”

  “Oh. Right. Anne and I called it the little explosion.”

  He blinked at her again. “You touch yourself until you reach completion?”

  Bernie nodded. Completion? An interesting word for it. She cocked her head to the side and studied him, his breathing had turned rather short and swift.

  “Don’t you share a room with your sister?”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m never alone. Our door has a lock for privacy. Really Chester, is this so unusual to you?”

  He fell back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.

  He was flushed again, and Bernie couldn’t help but glance at the tented coverlet over his manly area.

  She bit back a grin and shifted to her side, facing him and propping herself up on her elbow. Did the idea of her touching herself arouse him? Was he thinking about it? She couldn’t help but poke this beast and see what would happen.

  “Don’t you ever touch yourself?”

  His swallow was audible this time and then he licked his lips. “I—” He went silent.

  “Be honest with me. I just told you. There is nothing shameful in it.”

  He turned his head to glance at her. “I know that.”

  “Well?” Under the coverlet, she walked her fingers toward him. Her next aim was to take hold of him herself and satisfy her curiosity at last. She’d seen illustrations of male anatomy and drawings of statues in elegant museums far from her home, sporting rather cute depictions of the male organ, but she was ready to touch one, and she had a few ideas about what to do with it, thanks to Violet’s little drips of information. She was even more curious since Chester had so thoroughly demonstrated how one’s mouth is a tool of pleasure.

  “I—of course. Men—alleviate themselves—occasionally.”

  Bernie giggled. His flush grew darker under his stubble. He still hadn’t shaved this morning. This was the most unkempt she’d ever seen him. Now she wanted to see more. She danced her fingers to his thigh. His body stiffened as she reached his leg.

  “Can I?”

  “Can you what?”

  “Touch you?”

  He let out a great sigh and nodded. “You’ll be the death of me.”

  “But think of all the fun we’ll have before we die.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Bernie grinned as she fell into his side and kissed his bare shoulder. His firm warm skin begged to be explored so she repeated the kiss, sliding even closer, her hand itching toward the strained flap of his breeches.

  Chester didn’t move but he did relax somewhat. Bernie accepted it as a small victory. He was wound so tightly. He needed this, to spend hours in debauchery being wicked, tossing responsibility and worry aside. Bernie smiled with satisfaction as she leaned over him, sliding the coverlet down to explore his broad, muscled chest with kisses. She was the woman who claimed his heart and the only one he would let his guard down with. A precious gift she would guard with her life.

  Her hand slipped the buttons of his breeches free while her mouth tasted the salty muskiness of his skin. She touched him with her tongue and his breathing changed again, a little groan slipping out. She reached his nipple at the same time the last button slipped free. Bernie did not hesitate to grab hold of him.

  He bucked into her grip. “Oh, God. Tighter.”

  She gripped him tighter, sliding her hand along his length with the movement of his hips. She continued to rain kisses and licks over his chest, exploring the pebbled pads of his nipples with her tongue and watching his face. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as if he were deep in concentration.

  Bernie shifted herself lower, moving just as he had done to her, trailing kisses down his chest to his taut abdomen, raking her free hand through the chest hair she’d never known he’d had. She kissed her way down from the thin crop of springy gold hair that spread across his upper chest to the thin trail that disappeared into his breeches.

  His abdominal muscles bunched and twitched beneath her mouth and his breathing grew ragged. She loved his reaction to everything she did. She felt powerful, womanly, wic
ked. She realized touching him made her want to be touched again. Her skin grew sensitive and she hooked her leg over his, rubbing her foot along his calf. She licked her lips, getting ready for the next stage of her attack. She prayed he wouldn’t try to stop her. Should she warn him? Or ambush him?

  She moved the coverlet lower, revealing her prize. She gasped. He certainly hadn’t felt like those depictions of marble statues, and he most definitely did not look it. The heat of his silky soft skin was one thing, but his staff was larger and longer than she would have thought. She had nothing to compare him to but those pictures in books. He was fascinating to look at and touch. Strange and yet…arousing. Her hand slowed as she investigated the round, seemingly delicate domed top of his manhood, her mind filling with questions. As she continued to touch him, a dewdrop of fluid crowned the very tip and Bernie slid her hand over it, spreading the moisture, easing the sliding of her hand.

  Chester’s hand came to her hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. “Yes,” he said, his voice strained.

  Did he like what she’d done or did he know what she intended to do?

  There was only one way to find out.

  She touched her lips to the round tip lightly, tasting him with a little flick of her tongue.

  He groaned, arching his neck.

  “Oh, God, Bernie,” he moaned.

  Well, he certainly enjoyed that.

  She boldly took him into her mouth, and he groaned, fueling her curiosity further. Could she make him explode like he’d done to her? That single experience had been greater than she’d ever been able to accomplish herself, and she wanted to do the same for him.

  She moved over him, straddling his legs. She continued to move her hand up and down his length, following her fist with her mouth as far as she could. His legs shifted under her, his thighs tensing.

  The faster she moved her fist, the more she could taste that tangy fluid mixing with her saliva. His hand tightened in her hair and he curled toward her, groaning.

  “Oh God, Bernie, I’m—I want—” He panted and groaned, thrusting into her fist. More fluid filled her mouth and Bernie pulled way, wiping her mouth with the edge of the sheet. Chester fell back, his legs going slack beneath her, his fingers loosening, and he cupped her head.

  What an unusual way to make love, but he was thoroughly spent by the looks of it and Bernie was satisfied with her work. His eyes slightly open, she lay down beside him, tangling her fingers in his chest hair, his arm coming around her to tuck her close.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice drugged with satiation.

  “I wanted to do it.”

  “How did you know to do it?”

  “I’m sure you can guess. All my intimate knowledge comes from one source.”

  “Violet?”

  Bernie nodded.

  He smiled crookedly, his eyes closing.

  “How did you know how to do what you did to me?” She prayed the answer wouldn’t make her insanely jealous.

  “Men talk quite extensively about sex.”

  “They do? I thought all manly talk involved horses, crops, boxing, and investments.”

  He snorted. “That’s what we tell you, and it’s a little true, but most talk centers around our experiences and desires. I never have much to share, but I listen.”

  Bernie grinned. “And learn well.”

  He swatted her bottom lightly. “Minx.”

  “So I’m the only woman to experience your heavenly gift and vice versa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She nestled her head against his chest, closed her eyes, and smiled smugly. She was going to keep it that way.

  Chapter 15

  Chester woke first as the day waned from midmorning to afternoon, setting their empty breakfast plate outside his door. He summoned Jensen to order a bath for Bernie, a tray of food for luncheon, and a pot of tea in a half an hour. In the meantime, Chester wanted to see what his parents were up to. He changed into fresh clothes and took the back stairs toward the main floor where his mother’s guests were still gathering. He passed his father’s study and nodded to Mr. Crumb, his father’s land agent, in passing.

  Chester decided his father must be busy with his usual duties and that Crumb would mention passing Chester, alleviating the need to speak to his father.

  Moving in the direction of the drawing room where his mother likely was, a lad popped out of the water closet and nearly collided with him.

  Chester caught the boy and set him right before recognizing him.

  “Mr. Rupert?”

  “My lord.” Rupert tugged on his neckerchief. “My apologies, I did not see you there.”

  Why did he look so damned young? And weaselly? Chester almost felt bad for slugging him the other day. The man’s nose was still swollen from Bernie’s punch.

  “I’m surprised your still here, Rupert.”

  “Well, Lady Kirkland insisted I stay.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Rupert shifted from foot to foot. “As a guest. I came quite a long way, after all.”

  Chester grunted as a response. “I hope you’ve learned to behave yourself.”

  Rupert blanched. “Nothing but the best of my behavior for the remainder of my time here. I promise.”

  “And you don’t intend to let my father pay you to marry anyone against their wishes?”

  Rupert swallowed. “Of course…not.”

  “Good.”

  “Right. May I go now?”

  “Don’t speak of this to anyone, will you?”

  Rupert grimaced. “Absolutely. And for what it is worth, I am sorry for how I acted. My mother would never approve.”

  “You’re young, Rupert, and you have a lot to learn.”

  Rupert nodded.

  Chester stepped aside and let the boy escape. He couldn’t be more than twenty-two. Still wet behind the ears, still imagining himself invincible. He hoped Rupert learned a valuable lesson, but Chester could never forgive him for cornering Bernie. Bernie could charm the horns off a bull if she wished. She could talk circles around a whelp like Rupert. So the fact that she’d had to resort to physical conflict only angered Chester more. The bounder must have been relentless and aggressive.

  Watching Rupert’s slight figure disappear down the hall, Chester almost wished he had another reason to hit him.

  Instead, he headed for the kitchens. If he were seen there, then his mother’s maid would report his actions, keeping his mother and father satisfied about his whereabouts and away from speculating on Bernie’s.

  Chester grinned.

  She was in his bed.

  Naked.

  The delicate skin along her neck, breasts, and thighs were lightly reddened from his unshaven jaw.

  And Chester had never felt so calm, so centered. So…content in his own skin.

  She loved him.

  Her words rang in his ears like the soothing clang of church bells, the reverberation spreading though his soul.

  Why hadn’t they done this sooner?

  Never mind that, it didn’t matter anymore. They were together now and it was as glorious as he’d imagined.

  Bernie was worth the wait.

  He was now happy—ecstatic—that he’d so little intimate experience with other women. They would explore their passions together, learning exactly who they were, likes and dislikes, pleasures and pains. And that was exactly how their life would be. Every new experience now shared together. Joy, sadness, relief, fear. They would weather the changes of life together, a true partnership. Unlike his own parents, who loved from a distance most of the time, his father here or at another estate, or in town only to meet his duties in the House of Lords. His mother in London for the season or circulating through house parties.

  He and Bernie would be inseparable. And though they may never be welcome in society if his parents chose to cut them, he’d still want to take her to London, to show her the museums, the menagerie, and to Gunter’s for ic
es and shopping on Bond street.

  He would shower her with his love and ridiculous material things, then they’d go home and climb back into bed.

  Why wasn’t he in bed?

  Oh yes, he thought as he entered the kitchens to put in appearance that would be reported to his mother, and then he’d go back to Bernie in bed.

  He smiled. The kitchen staff eyed him strangely.

  Chester swallowed his smile, snatched an apple from the basket on the table, turned, and headed back toward his room.

  To bed.

  To Bernie.

  But there his mother stood, blocking his path.

  “Mother,” Chester said.

  “I was expecting you to return to the castle since you made a commitment to their party.”

  “But…then their numbers would be askew. Viol—Her Grace excused my presence given the circumstances.”

  His mother folded her arms. “I suppose that makes a great deal of sense as a hostess.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then you have no reason to avoid my party.”

  “Won’t your male to female ratio be unbalanced then?”

  “I’ll allow it this one time,” she said with clenched teeth. “For my own son. We’re crafting papier-mâché ducks for tomorrows shooting adventure. Come along.” She turned away, so certain he would follow, and it rankled him.

  “I haven’t shaven or bathed yet today.”

  She paused. “I expect you to join us, Tiberius.”

  “I’m very tired mother, I did not sleep well last night. Jensen is bringing up the tub to my room. I promise to join you for dinner and the festivities afterward, but for the afternoon, I’d like some time to myself.”

  “Well—”