Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle

by Natasha Blackthorne

And she was such a little slip of a thing. The first time he’d set eyes on her he had dismissed her as a nervous, green girl. Until he had seen her enjoy a glass of fine wine so deeply she’d practically been making love to it.

  And that full, red velvet mouth. The way she could kiss, the things she could do… Christ. A fresh surge of blood roiled through his body and made his cock throb.

  He could pull her down the corridor and into his bedchamber right now. No one was upstairs. They could be quick and quiet and none would be the wiser. But he didn’t want her like that. He wanted to be able to take the time to make her beg and fuck her hard enough to make her scream.

  But she wasn’t going to mark him up again.

  She moved to wrap herself tighter to his body and he stopped her by grasping her shoulders and turning her to face the other direction.

  He leaned close to her ear. “Go sit with Rachel in the parlor.” She laughed softly and he gave her a slight push. “On now with you.”

  She gasped and half turned back. “Well, that’s a fine good afternoon to you, too.”

  “Go.” He smacked her rear. “And try not to appear so sultry.”

  She descended the stairs, her little arse swaying saucily the whole way. After that, he waited long enough so that his urgency was not so apparent to the casual observer. Long enough that it might not seem suspicious. And then he went downstairs and into the parlor.

  Aunt Rachel sat in a satin brocade and mahogany Chippendale wingchair, with her little dog Willie in her lap. With her black hair arranged in an elegant upsweep, she was gowned in dark plum velvet. A queenly appearance he gladly financed, for she was his late mother’s beloved sister, abandoned after the war against the British by her feckless loyalist husband and made penniless by the vengeful courts.

  “Come, Emily, you said you wanted to go to Main Street,” he said.

  High spots of vivid color stained Emily’s cheeks the moment before she glanced down. “Oh, yes, but I had thought you were too busy.”

  “Well, if you hurry yourself, I won’t be.” With his blood still half heated, it was easy to sound snappishly impatient. This kind of subterfuge was ridiculous. Once married to Emily, he was going to have to find his aunt and her daughter, Nancy, a new house.

  From all appearances unaware that her days ruling over this house were limited, Rachel set her book down and gave Emily an arch look. “But you’ve been shopping three times this week already.”

  Emily jumped to her feet, smoothing her skirts as she did so. “That is the way it is with art supplies. One just never knows how much one shall need and they are so costly I hate to buy more than I require at a time.”

  Alex caught her eye and the flush on her cheeks grew brighter. He smothered a chuckle and winked at her.

  Aunt Rachel shook her head. “Oh, my, I would hate to always have to be running to Main Street in this frigid weather. You may ask Cato to go and get what you need.”

  “I must inspect the items personally, else I cannot be sure of the quality,” Emily said.

  Aunt Rachel shrugged and opened her book again. “It’s your risk for an ague.”

  ****

  “I couldn’t sleep last night. Not until dawn.” Alex’s deep voice rumbled against her throat.

  The warmth of his breath against her flesh sent delight chasing through her. Emily laughed and let him take her hand.

  He stripped off her suede glove then he pulled her bared hand to his lap and pressed it to his erection.

  “I was bone-hard for you and I couldn’t seem to think of anything else but you. You and your clever little hands.”

  She laughed again, maybe a little guiltily, for she had pleasured herself to sleep. So much for her capacity for self-denial. She spread her hand over his throbbing shaft which strained against his velveteen breeches. She caressed him with slow, firm strokes.

  He inhaled sharply, fastened his lips to her neck then moved them over her flesh as if he were ravenous for the taste of her.

  She redoubled her efforts but it was hard to get a good grip on him through the restraining cloth. He groaned deep in his throat then lifted her hand away. The jerking motions of his body told of how he already worked the buttons loose on his breeches.

  “You are ever so ready,” she said in dry, disinterested tones as if wetness wasn’t also slipping down the insides of her thighs.

  “I am, my love, I am.” The words were a breathless sigh spoken into the curve of her neck. He took her hand and led it back to his erection.

  She gripped him tightly and stroked the velvety hardness.

  He groaned softly. “God, yes, just like that, my love.”

  It was like this every time they went ‘shopping’. He was never able to wait.

  She slid from the seat and dropped to her knees. Looking up at him, she noted the sharpness to his features, his dilated pupils. She bent forward until her mouth almost touched him then parted her lips, ever so slightly, letting her breath caress the crown of his cock.

  His harsh inhalation of breath made her heart skip a beat. How she loved giving him pleasure. His flesh surged. She put her lips to the smooth, hot silken head. He inhaled again, parted his legs wider and scooted his hips to the edge of the seat, bringing himself closer to her.

  She opened her mouth and slid her tongue out slowly, all the while staring at his face. His attention was fixed on her mouth. He groaned, quietly, softly, as though he dared not disturb a reverent moment. She kept moving gradually, dragging the action out until finally her tongue touched the underside of him and then she lowered her mouth until she could close her lips about his girth.

  Warm fluid, the consistency of honey, flowed onto her tongue, the taste salty. The taste of his urgency. She took as much of his thick length into her mouth as she could manage. She adored the satiny saltiness of his cock in her mouth but, even more, she gloried in his trembling hands upon her head, his beautiful blue-gray eyes still riveted upon her face.

  He was so involved with other people. All day long they came to him, asking for money or advice or that he should negotiate or plead on their behalf. And, for the truly deserving, he was always generous with his time, influence and funds. He remembered everyone’s name, knew all about their families. He could make anyone believe they were the single most interesting person he had ever met and people adored him for it.

  For a man wealthy enough not to have to engage in a vocation, he stayed remarkably busy, always out to some dinner party or meeting. He was working now on persuading members of Congress to pass the Naval Bill.

  However, in these moments he was completely hers.

  She wanted to swallow him whole but she couldn’t. She hadn’t mastered the art of taking him deep into her throat without suppressing the urge to gag. She suspected he was unusually large, but she had never seen any other naked men but for in paintings and works of sculptures; and, needless to say, none of those men had appeared fully engorged. She’d asked him once and he had laughed.

  “Yes, yes, I am. Huge.”

  But then he had laughed again, low and sensual, making her feel that he was merely teasing her over her inexperience. She’d felt too foolish to pursue the issue, so she still didn’t know.

  She tried, this time, to take him more deeply. To relax her throat and swallow as he had tried to teach her. She seemed to be succeeding: there was a little tickle, a bit of irritation, but she ignored her discomfort.

  A convulsive gag overcame her and she backed up quickly, her heart racing with panic.

  He withdrew completely then he caressed her hair. “Easy love, not so deep.”

  She gulped for air. “But I want to do it properly.”

  He laughed softly. “What makes you think you’re not?”

  “I should be able to take it deeply, right?”

  He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Some women can’t.”

  “I want to.”

  “Don’t take any more than is comfortable.”

  “I want to
please you.” Her words were full of passionate emotion.

  “A man is just happy to have a woman’s mouth on him.“ He took her hand. “You make up for it with your hand.”

  “And you’re happy with that.”

  “Deliriously happy.” He grinned at her then touched a fingertip to her lower lip. “You have such a lovely mouth.”

  She knew her mouth was considered too full to be pretty by conventional standards. But he had told her so often that he adored that very fullness.

  He continued tracing her lip. “You make love to me so sweetly with it.”

  She couldn’t help suspecting that he was simply saying this last part. To make her feel better about things. Because he loved her. How incredible that he should want her when she knew he’d had so many other, more beautiful, more experienced women. They could probably all swallow him whole. But he did want her.

  And she loved him so much. She leaned forward and put her mouth on him again. More salty fluid seeped from him, like nectar on her tongue. She laved the crown then focused on the point beneath that always seemed to please him so well. He tightened his hands on her head and groaned.

  With her heart racing with the joy of his pleasure, she intensified her efforts, wetting his rod.

  “God,” he said breathily.

  She stroked her hand up and down his length in a slick, silken slide.

  “You’ve got a wicked mouth.” His voice sounded husky above the clatter of the wheels on the street pebbles.

  Yes, it did make her feel very wicked to service him like this in his fine carriage. To be on her knees as they rolled through the city. She laughed deep in her throat with his cock in her mouth, letting the vibrations carry to him.

  “God, oh God.” His hands tightened even more.

  Her blood was raging in her veins; desire tingling deep in her belly, in her nub. Wetness flowed freely over her swelling intimate flesh. She thirsted for the taste of his hot seed surging on her tongue. She wanted to own every part of him. And very soon she would, if only for those brief moments when climax consumed him. She laughed again, this time with the elation of the moment, and she redoubled her efforts, working her mouth and her hand.

  “Now,” he said huskily. “Oh, God, now.”

  He needn’t have spoken. She felt the jerking in his cock and her breathing quickened with her rising excitement. She loved to make him come like this.

  He groaned and his hips arched, pressing into her. A second later his seed shot into her mouth in fierce jets. She swallowed while trying to maintain her hold over his still jerking flesh, trying to milk his every last drop. But his hips bucked and made it hard to do so.

  She fell away from him and laid her head against his velveteen-clad leg, panting from the extent of her recent exertions. He caressed her hair. Several moments passed and she knew he had recovered by the lessening of his labored breathing.

  “Alex?”

  “Yes?“ His voice was languorous.

  “When are we going to be wed?”

  He laughed softly. “What’s the matter, don’t you like the excitement of finding time alone?”

  “Oh, come now, Alex. Tell me when.” She made a fist and hit the inside of his leg. “When?”

  He put his hand on the back of her neck and tightened gently. “Soon, my impatient love, very soon.”

  She resisted the urge to grit her teeth but she was frustrated still. He always said that. Always. “Soon” was fast becoming her most hated word in the English language. All her hot excitement faded. She gave a long and exaggerated sigh and shrugged out from under his touch.

  “Oh, don’t be this way,” he said.

  She ignored him and slid away. She pulled herself up and then tossed herself onto the opposite seat and threw a glare at him.

  “Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

  She traced a seam in the plush velvet seat cushion with a fingertip. “Yes, but I don’t see why we can’t even puff it up some.”

  “If we make a public announcement, everyone, including Aunt Rachel and my cousin Cornelia will expect a grand public wedding with all the celebrations.”

  She inhaled deeply. His widowed cousin Cornelia Hazelwood, at over a half-century old, was one of the most proper and powerful ladies in Philadelphia. Just the memory of Cornelia’s steely, sky-blue eyes was enough to freeze Emily’s blood.

  “Do you want that, Emily?”

  “No,” she admitted reluctantly. In fact, the thought of such a lavish spectacle, getting married under the curious eyes of a throng of wealthy, high-placed strangers, made her mouth go dry and her stomach churn. Alex knew so many important people.

  She was really still a sheltered, shy young woman. Oh, she could handle Alex well enough, but she didn’t know how to converse with those who moved in society circles. Not without some heavy fortification from wine. She was going to need to learn how to be a gracious hostess, but the thought of being suddenly thrust into it all on her wedding day wasn’t something she relished.

  She had spoken before she’d thought. No, worse! She’d been thinking as a seaman’s daughter and not a gentleman’s intended. Now she felt foolish.

  “Let me work past some things on my agenda and then, when the time is right, you’ll be the first to know.” He smiled and offered her a wink.

  She wasn’t comforted.

  ****

  Upon arriving at an inconspicuous boarding house near the Northern Liberties, Emily pulled her hood low over her face and allowed Alex to lead her to his rented rooms. Entering, she inhaled the exotic scent of sandalwood and vanilla from the beeswax candles he kept there.

  Alex’s personal servant, a free black man named Zachariah, had come here before them and lit the fire in the large hearth that opened on to both this sitting room and the bedchamber. Now the tall, thin, quiet man spoke in low tones with Alex.

  Zachariah had been present that first night she’d come here. Thankfully he was discreet, and unquestionably loyal to Alex.

  When he’d left, she dropped her dark wine-colored pelisse onto a wingchair then walked into the bedchamber. No one viewing the nondescript building from the outside could imagine the luxury of the furnishings and plush rugs within. Coming here always made her feel naughty, sensual, clandestine—like a woman of the world.

  A large mahogany bed hung with crimson velvet dominated the chamber. The sight of it reminded her, as always, of the night she had come here as Alex’s paid doxy and lost her innocence. With her grandmother recently dead and the city economically devastated by yellow fever, she’d been desperate for rent money.

  Behind her, Alex’s footfalls whispered on the rug. He brushed her ringlets off her neck and his warm breath tickled her nape. His lips touched her, sending shivers through her. Her nipples beaded and her knees went weak.

  He tugged on her laces, almost wrenching them. His haste startled her.

  “Don’t break them.” She whirled to face him and then beat at his chest with closed fists. “Brute!”

  He grasped her wrists. “Nymph.”

  She laughed.

  He bent forward then nipped at her neck.

  Her laughter grew a little breathless. Her face felt hot.

  Alex reached around and continued unlacing her.

  Her gown gaped away and, with a few more tugs, fell to the floor. Her petticoats and chemise followed. Shortly she stood naked except for her stockings and garters.

  His gaze warmed. Under his intent regard, her nipples pulled themselves into even tighter buds.

  Soon, very soon, he would sweep her up into his arms and carry her to bed.

  She trembled with the eagerness for him to thrust his hardness within her.

  He placed his hands on her bare waist.

  “No, no, no.” She laughed and grasped his lapels. It never paid to give in too easily. “I will not be the only one unclothed.”

  He pulled away and looked down at her, his eyes dark periwinkle and heavy-lidded with desire. “Getting dictatorial
now, are we?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He laughed, hooking a finger into his cravat and tugging the knot free. “You’re going to pay a price for making me wait.”

  She tilted her head and looked up at him through her lashes whilst undoing several of his waistcoat buttons. “Shall I?”

  “Aye, you shall.”

  Her belly fluttered with anticipation. She paused with her fingers on the first button of his fall and batted her lashes. “Maybe you’ll be the one to pay the price.”

  A smile spread over his thin yet sensual lips. “Oh, you are definitely getting above yourself lately.”

  He brushed her hands aside and made far quicker work of the buttons than she ever could.

  He was the most handsome sight she’d ever seen—the most handsome sight she’d ever been able to imagine seeing. And that was saying something, for, as an artist, Emily spent her time noticing and imagining all manner of things. And she’d been noticing and imagining all manner of things about the opposite sex for a lot longer than she felt was proper for a girl to admit.

  The most handsome sight she’d ever seen—that was Alex when fully dressed. Naked, however, he was absolutely beautiful. Tall, broad-shouldered with a wide, well-muscled chest that tapered to a narrow waist and hips, all covered in a fine dusting of pale gold hair. Perfection. A sun god. She never tired of staring at his body.

  Already, she had several notebooks full of sketches, attempting to capture him in shades of charcoal that always seemed so pale and inadequate to her. She certainly couldn’t show them to her quiet and kind elderly art teacher for a critique. Oh my! The thought sent a surge of heat over her face. She kept the notebooks stuffed underneath her other books in her chest. Locked, of course. Yet more than once, she’d broken out in a sweat while away from her chamber, imagining someone discovering them.

  But she couldn’t cast the sketches into the fire and she couldn’t stop making more.

  Alex came to her and put his hands on her. This time she didn’t stop him; she let him sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bed. He laid her down and her bare skin touched the soft velvet spread. She watched as he bent and retrieved his cravat.