He reached for her at once.
“I can’t see what I’m doing,” she murmured. “You’re practically on top of me.”
He frowned. “I know I am.”
“Then how am I supposed to touch you everywhere?”
“You want to touch me there?” he rasped. Christ, he wasn’t sure he would withstand much of that.
“I thought that was the idea.”
He must have been mad. Blowing out a breath of air, Benedict lay back down on the mattress. He glanced down with a grimace at his engorged shaft. Lizzie shuffled closer until their sides were touching. Carefully, with exaggerated slowness, she reached across him and he felt her fingers brush lightly against him there. Steeling himself for more, he sucked in his breath. Again, she ran her fingers tentatively down his length, rather in the manner of one stroking a dog you were unsure of. He should find it amusing, but instead, he was stimulated almost beyond belief. Very, very lightly she cupped his balls, and Benedict nearly arched off the bed with a strangled oath.
“Did that hurt?” she asked, releasing him in alarm.
“No,” he panted. “I just … you took me by surprise, that’s all.” She looked at him doubtfully. “Do it again,” he ordered thickly.
Very gently she did so, and Benedict felt himself break out into a light sweat. Damnation. There was no way it should feel this good. “Take me firmer in hand.” She did so, lightly squeezing. “Fuck,” he groaned aloud. “It feels good,” he added, before she got the wrong impression and backed off again. He lifted a hand to show her. “I’m going to touch you now too, Lizzie. Alright?”
She nodded and he slid his palm over her flat stomach and down between her legs until he found the slickness there with his questing fingers. Lizzie let out a whimper as he stroked and sought out her hidden pearl. “You like it there?” he asked as she bit off a sob.
“Y-yes,” she answered breathlessly. “Oh, I don’t know. It feels strange.”
Luckily, her own hand grew slack as his ministrations increased. He was way too stimulated now for her to be tickling his balls. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on finding out her likes as her cleft grew increasingly wet, enough for him to push a finger up inside her.
“Ohhhh!” she moaned, but it wasn’t in protest. The blood pounded in Benedict’s ears as he felt her convulse around his finger. She was coming. Damn, that was fast.
“Good girl,” he praised her as her legs stiffened and shook. “Clever Lizzie. Let it happen, that’s it.” He stroked her sensitive little bud until she gave a choked sound and fell back, her face wet with tears and her expression dazed.
He was surprised. For such an uptight little prude, she had reached the peak with surprising swiftness. He’d have to be careful to build her up slower next time, he thought, taking advantage of her relaxed body to slip a second finger inside her.
He grunted, Jesus she was wet. Gloriously wet and tight. Maybe he could even work himself inside her already, he thought, drawing in a shuddering breath. He pumped his fingers tentatively and the sound of her slickness made his head reel. “Open your legs, Lizzie,” he ground out. “I want to see what’s mine.”
She groaned, but her pale thighs fell open, taking his breath away. He shifted down, cursing the fact the lamp was turned down so low. Ah God, he could come just at the sight of her pretty cleft stretched out on his thick fingers. “Fuck,” he breathed again and saw her shiver. Interesting. Was she cold … or? He brushed his thumb through her folds, seeking out her tender bud. Lizzie gave another suppressed whimper.
He looked up sharply and saw her quivering eyelashes and flushed cheeks. His heart began to beat twice as loud. “Ah, Lizzie,” he said richly. “What a lucky man I am. Such hidden sweetness and it’s all mine.” He lowered his face, inhaling her musky scent. His mouth was watering. He’d never intended pushing her so far on her first foray, but Christ, he wasn’t made of stone and his self-restraint was shot to hell. He lowered his mouth to her with a groan and started lapping and sipping at her wetness with indecent enthusiasm before sucking her bud between his lips and laving it with his tongue.
Lizzie gave a muffled shriek, and he felt his embedded fingers gripped so tight in her juicy cunt that he almost came on the bedsheets. Her whole body convulsed this time, and he had a hard time anchoring her with only one hand free.
“Ohhhhh!” she wailed, her legs thrashing. He gripped his fingers into her waist and pinned her as best he could while the storm had her in its grip. They were both breathing hard by the time she stilled, her chest rising and falling beneath the bunched-up nightgown.
“Do you think you could do that a third time?” he asked her hoarsely as he slid up her body. “With me inside you this time?” He yanked the nightgown up and over her head, tossing it to the floor as his eyes roamed over her small, high breasts.
She blinked at him as he ran the broad tip of his cock between her wet nether lips. “Fuck, Lizzie, but you’re a firecracker between the sheets,” he said lodging himself inside her with a grunt. He wasn’t sure if it was the words or the action that roused her, but her head lifted off the pillow.
“Benedict!” she muttered in faint reproach. He groaned as he pressed his hips forward and felt himself start to slide into her hot unused channel. Then he hit what remained of her maidenhead. “Ouch!”
“Shhh, it’s done now,” he consoled her gruffly. “We won’t have to worry about it again. Still with me?” Thankfully, she gave a nod as he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t cry if she demanded he pull back now. The sweat was beading his forehead, and he was precious close to losing control.
Bracing his forearms against the mattress, he held his weight off her as he covered her body with his. “Wrap your legs around my back,” he urged, shifting over her. He wanted deep inside her, but her shaky breath and the clutching fingers at his waist made him mindful of her discomfort.
The sensation of her limbs wrapped around him made him feel surprisingly giddy. “Now your arms,” he ordered gruffly. She slipped one around his waist, the other gripping his shoulder tight. “Yeah, like that,” he grunted. Inexplicably, he found himself seeking her lips again. As he stroked his tongue against hers, he thrust inside her, once, twice, until he was gloriously seated to the hilt. Lizzie gave a muffled squawk into his mouth, but it was drowned in his own groan of overwhelming pleasure.
She surrounded him. All he could taste and touch and see was her. He drew back his face, wanting to see her expression, but her face was in shadow. Her glorious pale hair was spread out across his pillow though, and that sight caused his heart to squeeze. Without stirring another inch, he tipped over the edge and found he was coming so hard he could scarce catch his breath. Fuck.
Luckily, Lizzie held on tight, entirely unaware he was disgracing himself. He shook violently through his release, eyes shut fast and jaw clenched in a vain attempt to stem the flow, but it was pointless. He could no more stop his seed from bursting from him than he could turn back the clock and change the object of his wooing. As though he had been craving Lizzie all along, he came inside her in a heady rush, and it was as much as he could do to prevent himself from shouting in triumph as he emptied himself into her.
In short, he was lost to all shame, and all he could do now was ride it out. He allowed himself a few shallow dips of his hips as he bit his lip and gave the last of himself to her, swallowing back the filthy curse that sprang to his lips. She would not appreciate it, and really it was the least he could do.
Only by a supreme effort did he prevent himself from collapsing on top of her like a felled oak. Instead, he gathered her in his arms and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Lizzie lay limply atop him, catching her breath. After a moment, he felt her turn her head so her cheek lay against his bare chest. He knew he should speak, but by this point he lacked the effort to muster his thoughts. Instead, he allowed his eyes to drift shut and gave up even the attempt.
10
Lizzie woke the next morning to someone shaki
ng her shoulder. She gazed blearily up at Benedict who was already clean-shaven and dressed.
“There’s hot water here for you to wash,” he said, setting a bowl down beside the bed.
Lizzie gazed about in bewilderment. “What time is it?” she croaked, sitting up. Feeling a draught at her back and decided stickiness between her legs, she lay back down again with haste. Where was her nightgown?
“Not long after seven,” he replied. “I’ve got the water back on the boil for tea.” When she lay there like a stunned mullet with the blankets held up to her neck, he added wryly, “Maybe I should have made you the tea first.”
She could barely meet his eye this morning. “I’d love a cup,” she mumbled. It was only recently she’d realized what a luxury it was having Annie bring her one every morning. His gaze seemed to dwell on her a moment and Lizzie colored. “But I can make it,” she stammered. “I don’t expect you to wait on me, and it won’t take me long to wash and dress.”
“Take all the time you need,” he answered and let himself out of the cramped confines. Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him. She must have slept like the dead for him not to have woken her when he rose. And small wonder after the way he’d used her the previous night. Her face flamed as she felt herself sore and aching in accustomed body parts.
What had he been looking at? she wondered self-consciously. She had no mirror to check, but she fancied it might have been the tumbled mass that was her hair this morning. She cursed the impulse that had made her leave it loose about her shoulders the previous night. She never had this problem when it was braided neatly under her nightcap. What had she been thinking of leaving it loose?
She lingered over her wash, scrubbing herself from head to toe, and felt much refreshed after it. By the time she had climbed back into her petticoats and sensible navy-blue gown, she was feeling more herself again. Her hair was extremely tangled, but she labored over it until she could smoothly arrange it into a roll at her nape and secure it with pins.
Her self-possession had returned, or something like it as she had clambered out of the wagon, and she felt able to face Benedict Toomes. He was crouched next to the fire, pouring hot water into the teapot.
“Just in time,” he commented, gesturing to a small three-legged stool.
“I just need to …” Lizzie gestured vaguely toward the woods and his lips quirked.
“I’ll set the tea to brew.”
Lizzie headed off with her cheeks on fire. When she returned, he was setting out the teacups on an overturned crate. She took her seat gratefully and watched him pour.
“So, what was the plan for this morning?” Lizzie asked, looking anywhere rather than her husband. He slid her teacup toward her on the packing case, and in her haste to take it, she inadvertently brushed her fingers against his. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she blurted, drawing back her hand as though stung.
“No need to apologize, Lizzie.” A smile lurked in his eyes she found most discomposing. “You can touch me all you like. It’s your God-given right.”
The oddest recollections from the previous night kept flashing into her mind’s eye, badly rattling her. Raising her teacup to her lips with shaking fingers, Lizzie promptly burnt her mouth, choking on a mouthful of scalding hot tea. She blanched and set the cup down so fast she nearly overset its contents. Pull yourself together, Lizzie! Giving her head a quick shake, she asked, “Y-you were saying?”
“I was?”
“About your plans for me today,” she said awkwardly.
Benedict frowned. “Oh, that,” he murmured. “I’ve half a mind to simply keep you with me now.” His expression as it lingered on her made Lizzie’s pulse race.
Oh God no, she thought with dread. I couldn’t possibly stand around all day watching him half-clothed all day from close quarters. Not after what they’d done last night! She cleared her throat. “I did not care overmuch for the boxing tent,” she said stiltedly. “The clientele is not the sort of company I am accustomed to.”
“Neither am I what you’re used to,” he reminded her. “But you’re doing a grand job of getting used to me.” The warmth in his eye astonished her. She took another distracted swig of hot tea and winced. “You’re not too- uh,” he broke off and scratched his neck. “Sore this morning?”
Lizzie was so aghast at him referring to such things, her mouth dropped open. She gazed at him speechless with horror. When Benedict’s eyebrows rose, she realized he was waiting for an answer. “No, no indeed,” she replied in stifled accents.
“Good,” he responded, his eyes travelling over her face as though measuring the veracity of her words. Lizzie gulped the rest of her tea, feeling thoroughly unnerved. He pushed the teapot toward her. “There’s enough for another cup.” Lizzie poured it gratefully. “I suppose I’ll have to take you to Connie, then,” he said without enthusiasm. “If that’s what you really want.”
“Connie?” She seized on the notion gratefully. “Is that not the lady you introduced me to yesterday? In the hat?”
“It is. I had some idea you might act as curator for her tent.” He shrugged. “I’m not so sure it holds up in the cold light of day, mind you.”
“I think it sounds a very good idea,” she argued staunchly. “Her tent comprises of female acts I think you said. I’m sure their society will suit me much better than that of boxing enthusiasts.”
“The acts may be female, but their paying guests are mixed,” he pointed out dryly. “You’ll be required to remind them of their manners.”
“Oh, I’m sure I could do that!” Anything, she told herself, would be better than gazing on Benedict Toomes’ half naked body all day, a-prey to mortifying recollections. Maybe in a couple of years she would be able to think of what they had done without flinching, but right now …
Twenty minutes later they were stood outside a round tent whose banner proclaimed it housed The Wonderous Females of the World. A scrawled piece of paper was pinned to the tent flap, stating their doors were currently closed but they would return shortly. The acts were listed in a scrolling hand painted onto a brightly painted banner on the side of the tent.
Lizzie surveyed the list with sinking spirits. A tattooed lady, a ‘living goddess’ whatever that meant, and a snake charmer were advertised. Lizzie’s eyebrows rose higher with each one. Top of the bill was Salome “she wears nothing but a smile” who apparently owned “the finest head of human hair you’ve ever seen”. Lizzie gasped at the lurid picture showing a naked woman strategically covered by great swathes of hair which hung down to her feet.
“The acts listed seem different to the ones you mentioned yesterday,” she commented. “Didn’t you say something about a giantess?”
Benedict finished the last bite of the pastry he had bought on the way. Lizzie had wrapped hers in the paper bag and slipped it into her cloak pocket uneaten. “She has to swap them out regularly to keep the public interested,” he told her and pulled the tent flap aside, ignoring the sign.
Lizzie followed him inside, wide-eyed with curiosity in spite of herself. An inner voice warned her that Connie’s clientele would be no more genteel than the ruffians in the boxing tent. The only difference would be that they were seeking salacious means of entertainment rather than violent ones. Still, she had wanted an occupation and breathing space, and that was what this tent would provide.
Inside, the tent was draped with many painted hangings with mystical depictions of stars and evil eyes and many of semi clad women with lurid claims under them. One of them was for a live mermaid in a tank and another for a ‘living doll’. Lizzie could only suppose that the banners of past acts were hung as decoration once they had left.
Various empty plinths stood about that had oval curtain rods rigged above them suspended from the ceiling of the tent. These were hung all about with draperies, some silky and filmy and others of heavy velvet. Curiously, to one side was a velvet fainting couch. Lizzie wondered if the spectators were offered a seat while t
hey marveled over the Wonderous Females. One of the platforms had a pile of cushions on it and a woven basket. Pointing to it, she asked in failing tones, “Please tell me that basket does not contain a snake.”
Benedict barely spared it a glance. “The snake charmer would hardly leave behind something her livelihood depended on. Not when someone could easily nip in and pinch it.”
“Unless they intended for it to act as a deterrent to thieves,” Lizzie pointed out. “Who would be mad enough to steal a snake?”
Benedict lowered his mouth to her ear. “I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence,” he murmured, and feeling his breath on her neck made her shiver right to her toes. “The snake’s probably not real.”
Lizzie blinked, wondering at the strangeness of the sensation. “Really?”
He shook his head. “Extremely doubtful.”
“Oh.”
The flap that served as a door to the tent swung open. “Who the bleedin’ ’ell – ” Connie started wrathfully. Then she recognized Benedict and fell back a step, suddenly wreathed in smiles. “My, my, I am honored! Mr. Benedict Toomes and if it isn’t his little bride.”
Something about the way she said ‘little bride’ had Lizzie narrowing her eyes, but the other woman was all affability as she listened to Benedict’s suggestion, if a little skeptical.
“Think you can keep my punters in line, do you my dear?” she asked, cocking her head to one side as she considered Lizzie in her plain garb and bonnet. She must be wearing an awful lot of hat pins, Lizzie thought, watching the large arrangement of wax fruit balanced on her brassy head. It did not move an inch.
“If you ask me, I think you’re in for a rude awakening,” Connie continued gustily. “But you’re free to try, by all means. Far be it from me to throw a damper on your scheme. And I never could refuse one of the Toomes boys, now could I?” she said, brushing the front of Benedict’s waistcoat and eyeing him with a good deal more warmth than she had Lizzie.
A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 14