by Nina Mason
She swallowed and licked her lips as she searched her soul for the right word. “It makes me feel … like I matter.”
He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Then, as he gently nibbled her lobe, he said in a voice like smoke, “You’ve always mattered to me, Penelope. More than anyone else in the world.”
He kissed her then, exploring her lips, teeth, and tongue with the same parts of himself. It was tender, seductive, and adoring. It was opium laced with sugar. It was heaven brought down to earth.
“I love you,” she mouthed against his lips.
“I love you more,” he breathily whispered as his mouth slipped from hers.
She let her head fall back, surrendering herself to him. She felt the heat of his breath on her ear, the scrape of his teeth along the cord of her neck, the brush of his lips across her collarbone, the flick of his tongue against the hollow at the base of her throat. Every sensual caress made her ache to feel his mouth between her legs, doing to her what he’d done that day in the woods.
As he moved lower, his hands cupped her breasts, lifting and shaping them like sculptor’s clay. He was her Pygmalion and she was his ivory statue brought to life by his caresses. Clamping her sensitive nipples between finger and thumb, he pinched and pulled, not enough to hurt, but just enough to pluck the sweet string that reached to her sex.
She whimpered with longing, wishing he would touch her where she ached for him most. As if reading her mind, he moved one of his hands to her leg and ever-so-gently raked his fingers up the trembling flesh of her inner thigh. Anticipation and need twined together, tying a knot low in her womb.
“Please, Rollo.” Her voice was hoarse with desire. “Put your mouth on me.”
“With pleasure.”
Pushing up on all fours, he brought his face to hers and ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, coaxing her to part them. She did as he bade and, when his tongue came into her mouth, she captured it between her lips and sucked with vigor. He moaned and cupped the breast he’d neglected thus far with a big, warm hand.
Breaking free, he pressed kisses down her neck, sucking, nibbling, and licking his way to her breasts. With the tip of his tongue, he circled and flicked the nipple, making it pucker and tingle deliciously.
She arched against him in frustration. “While that feels amazing, Rollo, it’s not what I meant.”
He released her nipple and met her anxious gaze with smoldering dark eyes. “Be patient, my love. I am getting to it.”
He returned to her nipple, taking it into his hot, wet mouth, teasing and tugging the sensitive flesh with tongue and teeth until she was writhing under him with uncontained desperation.
“Rollo …,” she said in a voice halfway between a moan and a sigh.
He moved to her other breast and, as he sucked and tugged, he snaked his hand down her body, stopping when he reached her pubic curls. When she parted her thighs encouragingly, he pressed his index finger into her quivering flesh and softly circled her pearl. The pleasure his touch afforded was so divine, she feared she might swoon.
Just as she was nearing climax, he withdrew his finger, frustrating her in the extreme.
Dipping the finger into her, he met her gaze. “You’re so wet for me, Sweet Pea. Would you rather skip the warm-up and go straight to the main event?”
“Only if you want to.”
He gave her one of his bone-melting smiles. “In that case, I shall carry on with the preliminaries until you beg me for mercy.”
In a matter of moments his shoulders were wedging open her legs while his thumbs peeled back her nether-lips. Then, he put his mouth on her, kissing, lapping, and suckling the delicate flesh within. The sensations his efforts awoke in her were utterly sublime.
Greedy for more, she pushed against his mouth and tangled her fingers in his hair. When he hit an especially sensitive spot, she sucked in a jagged breath and cried, “Yes. Oh, yes. Right there.”
His fingers joined in and, as he worked them in and out of her, the world fell away. Nothing else existed now apart from the intensifying ache his flicking tongue and probing fingers ignited in her loins.
“Oh, Rollo,” she whispered, trembling on the brink of rapture. “That feels so exquisite.”
He withdrew his mouth and, hooking her legs over his shoulders, he rose to his knees. Then, he buried himself deep in her needful flesh with one slow and superbly satiating stroke. Crying out her pleasure, she locked her ankles at the back of his neck and arched her pelvis to take him still deeper.
Groaning with pleasure, he drew back to the point of withdrawal and thrust into her again. He did this time after time, slowly to start and then with increasing speed. Higher and higher she arched her pelvis as her body accepted his ramrod-like thrusts; savage, ruthless, and oh so thrilling, until she reached a shattering climax. As she cried out in grateful ecstasy, he groaned, shuddered, and stilled as he spilled himself inside her.
Sated, weak-limbed, and out of breath, they clung to each other for several minutes before she let her legs slide down his arms. He was still hard inside her and, as he withdrew, she felt his viscid semen flow out of her.
As he came down over her, he pressed long, lovely kisses to her face, neck, and breasts. Reveling in the honey of his affection, she wanted nothing more than to stay with him like this for the rest of her life.
* * * *
Rollo came back to himself in the dim light of the fire with a cold nose and a raging erection. This was not uncommon in the mornings, nor was the aching fullness in the region of his bladder. What was unusual was finding Penelope asleep beside him. Well, not beside him so much as wrapped around him. She was turned on her side, her head resting on one bent arm with the other draped across his midsection.
His thoughts jumped back to the night before. She had agreed to marry him, after which he had ruined her to seal the deal. What had prompted her to change her mind, he neither knew nor cared. All that mattered was that, despite the trials ahead, he was happy.
Blissfully and gloriously happy.
Outside the blanket, the room was freezing and, through the window he could see dawn had not yet broken. Between the hour and the snow, everything was deathly quiet. He turned to Penelope, wondering if he should wake her. Later, he decided, after he relieved himself. Since it wasn’t yet light, they still had time to make love again before they faced the new day.
What would it bring? Heaven, hell, or a smidgeon of both?
His bladder was screaming to be emptied, so, holding his breath, he slid out from under her arm and got to his feet. Within seconds of leaving the warmth of the blanket, his teeth were chattering and his body was pimpled in gooseflesh. He considered dressing himself against the cold, but the need to relieve himself was too urgent to delay.
He put on his boots, muffler, and greatcoat and headed out into the snow. Fearing his cock would freeze off before the deed was done, he walked to the edge of the trees and strained to force the urine through his urethra. Just as he got a flow going, he heard snow-muted footsteps behind him. He resisted the natural instinct to turn, knowing if he did, he would wee all over whoever was there. Though, if he was right about who it was, pissing on him would be poetic justice.
“Where is she, you cuckolding whoreson?”
The voice confirmed Rollo’s suspicions. It was indeed Frank Blackmore, here no doubt to retrieve his ruined bride—and challenge the impudent interloper who compromised her virtue.
“She has chosen me over you.” Rollo fought to keep both his dignity and countenance. “This, I daresay, should come as no surprise, given our history together.”
Frank scoffed. “I should have known the two of you would be going at it like dogs the minute I turned my back.”
Rollo shook his now-limp cock to rid it of excess moisture. “Then, why did you turn your back?”
“Because I thought she was a lady,” Frank replied. “But obviously, she’s no better than a bitch in heat.”
Rage th
robbed in Rollo’s fists as he turned and advanced on his rival, his upper lip curled in a snarl. When he was close enough, he threw a right hook, catching Frank on the jaw. Unprepared for the blow, Frank stumbled back a few steps, hobbled by the snow.
Rollo stood there a long minute, radiating hatred. It was dark and freezing and he was all but naked. Hardly the best conditions for a scuffle. “Say what you want about me, you back-stabbing bastard, but slander the woman I love at your peril.”
“It isn’t slander if it’s true,” Frank retorted, eyes narrowing.
Fury slammed through Rollo as he stalked toward Frank. “Take that back.”
“Who’s going to make me?”
“I am.”
He threw another punch, but Frank saw it coming this time. He parried and shot out his fist, striking Rollo hard enough to make his head snap back. Then, he charged like an angry bull, crashing into Rollo with force enough to knock the wind out of him. He doubled over and, before he could catch his breath, Frank jumped on his back and pummeled him with his fists.
Rollo spun round and round, trying to throw him off. Frank grabbed hold of his scarf and attempted to strangle him. Rollo, gasping for air, threw an elbow backward. With a grunt, Frank let go and slid off, peeling off Rollo’s greatcoat as he dismounted. He threw the coat away, leaving Rollo to defend himself in only his boots.
Rollo was too livid to register the cold. He flew at Frank and slammed a shoulder into his chest hard enough to knock him down. Frank grunted as he landed on his backside. After he struggled to regain his feet, he kicked Rollo hard in the stomach.
Winded again, Rollo bent over, gasping for air. Frank went around behind him and booted him in the buttocks. Rollo flew forward, landing on his face in a deep bank of snow. This time, he did feel the cold.
Rollo struggled to his feet, shivering. “As you can see, I’m rather at a disadvantage for a fight in freezing temperatures.”
Frank stared him down. “You want a fair fight? Fine. Meet me at the old battlefield in an hour.”
Rollo knew the place he meant. It was the hill a mile outside the village where the last battle between the Royalists and the Roundheads was fought in 1664.
“Do you have a brace of pistols?” Frank asked.
“Yes, though no one to serve as a second.”
“Bring Penelope. She can be your second, as well as the prize.”
Rollo regarded him warily. “What do you mean by her being the prize?”
“I mean that whichever of us wins will marry her.”
Rollo fixed him with a surly glare. “She is a person, Frank. Not a trophy.”
“All women are trophies—or balls and chains,” Frank cynically retorted. “I’m surprised you haven’t learned as much by now.”
“You don’t deserve Penelope,” Rollo bit out with undisguised loathing.
“Then, you’d better shoot me before I shoot you, old friend, or I shall claim my trophy—tarnished though she is by your unscrupulous handling—just to spite you.”
“Is that not why you proposed to her in the first place? To spite me?”
Frank flashed him a villainous grin. “Come to think of it, yes. And vindictiveness was also the reason I bribed her maid to steal your letters and encourage my suit. I could not bear that she liked you better than me, you see—even after I industriously spread the rumor about your father’s bad habits and financial ruin. And, as for my future in-laws … well, let me just say that I gave them reason to believe the acorn had not fallen far from the tree.”
Fury rumbled inside Rollo’s brain. While he knew Frank was jealous of him, he never guessed he would go to such lengths to separate him from Penelope. Bribing a servant? Destroying his reputation? If not for Frank, Penelope would have had no cause to lose faith in him. Her parents, likewise, would have had no cause to frown on their marriage.
Rollo, though seething with rage, was too bloody cold to stand here arguing. So, after agreeing to the terms of the duel, he snatched up his coat and pulled it around him as he made his way back toward the house.
Upon entering the abbey, he bolted the front door and went into the parlor. Penelope was still asleep, so he built up the fire and stood before it a few minutes to warm his flesh before joining her under the blanket. They still had a good half-hour before they needed to depart, and he was determined to make the most of what might be their final moments together.
Yes, he was handy with a pistol, but marksmanship was no match for treachery, as he learned in Canada while witnessing a duel between two fellow officers. They were placed back to back and told to take six paces each and then turn and fire when the order was given. Before he’d taken the requisite six steps, the poorer shot turned and fired, hitting his opponent in the spine. The paralyzed man took three days to die and, in the meantime, his murderer escaped into the wilderness.
If Frank tried something similarly underhanded, Rollo stood no chance.
Heaving a sigh, he steered his thoughts toward Penelope. Snaking an arm around her, he pulled her closer and snuggled against her. Her reaction was to let out a shriek and sit bolt upright. “Holy God, Rollo,” she cried, scowling down at him. “You are as cold as a corpse.”
“That is because I have been outdoors in the buff.”
Her critical blue eyes widened and then narrowed to slits. “What the devil for?”
“For a piss to start with.” He tried very hard to keep his tone light. “But then your betrothed turned up and …”
Her admonishing expression turned to one of alarm. “Frank was here? Good God. What did he want? What did he say? What did he do?”
Rollo bit his lip as he considered how to answer. They had little enough time to be physical without squandering precious moments discussing the duel and Frank’s deceptions. And yet, their intimacy would be insincere if he kept the truth from her. So, he decided to be honest, but to keep his answer as brief as possible. “He challenged me to an interview.”
Skepticism colored her features. “When?”
“In about thirty minutes,” he said, “which gives you just enough time to warm me up.”
She scoffed and eyed him narrowly. “Knowing your life hangs in the balance? Surely, you can’t be serious.”
He wasn’t about to give up so easily. “Surely, knowing my life is at risk gives us all the more incentive to enjoy each other for what might be the last time.”
Anguish pinched her pretty face. “Such morbid pronouncements are far more likely to kill my passions than inspire them.”
He sat up and put his arm around her. “Forgive me, Sweat Pea, if I was morose or insensitive.”
She bent her neck and shook her head. “For the life of me, I will never understand why men insist upon settling their disputes by shooting one another.”
“Men duel to defend their honor, Sweet Pea. Or, in this case, to defeat a rival for a woman.”
Her head came up abruptly, showing him eyes blazing with the fire of indignation. “Good God, Rollo, I am not the spoils to be claimed by the victor!”
“I know that, my love,” he said, “and told Frank as much. Though I could hardly refuse his challenge, could I? Had I backed down, I would be labeled a coward as well as a scoundrel. And is that the caliber of man you wish to make your husband?”
“Certainly not,” she said with vehemence. “But neither do I desire to marry a man who is condemned to hang for murder.”
“It is not my intent to inflict a mortal wound, dear heart.” He nuzzled his whiskered cheek against her smooth one. “But even if I should, the chances that I’ll be prosecuted are exceedingly slim. Now, may I trouble you for a kiss?”
Gingerly, she offered him her mouth and, as he joined his lips to hers, she surprised him by pulling him down on top of her. Taking his weight on his elbows, he gave her his tongue and, as she sucked it, he rubbed his cockhead against her sex.
Tearing her mouth from his, she pushed him off her, onto his back, and set upon his nearest nipple. “Do
you remember that day in the woods?” She moved lower and pressed a kiss to the tip of his penis, sending thrilling shivers through him. “When I brought you to raptures with my mouth?”
Though her question astonished, it did not displease. The next moment, her mouth was on him, her tongue stroking in long, slow licks, curling almost unbearably at the place where his pleasure was most intense. He groaned with satisfaction and lifted his head to watch the show.
While this was not what he had in mind when he came into the house, he saw no reason to dampen her enthusiasm.
Disengaging, she met his glassy brown gaze with a smoldering blue one. “Tell me what you like, Rollo. What you need.”
He did, by God, whispering his guidance and encouragement as she excited him with her swirling tongue and gentle suction. She followed his instructions beautifully, driving him ever closer to the crashing finale. Given the time constraints, he didn’t try to delay the moment of crisis, as he might have done under different circumstances. Instead, he clenched his abdominal muscles, straining to get there with all due haste.
As he approached the breaking point, he gritted out through clenched teeth, “I’m going to come off, so you’d best desist.”
To his surprise (and delight) she did not withdraw. Instead, she ever-so-gently squeezed his bollocks. Under a rush of erotic euphoria, he violently spilled himself into her mouth.
Chapter Ten
In the sleigh on their way to his lodgings, Rollo told Penelope about Frank admitting to bribing her maid to steal his letters and encourage his suit. She seemed to take the news in stride, saying only that she was glad to know her parents were not the ones who’d betrayed her.
He did not bring up the special license he’d obtained. There seemed little point under the circumstances. If he survived the duel, he would give her the choice of marrying in England or Scotland.
Once they reached the inn, he rang the bell for the landlord and, when the fellow appeared in his dressing gown and nightcap, Rollo asked for two horses to be saddled. Then, holding tight to Penelope’s hand, he led her up the stairs, which creaked under their weight like an old man’s bones.