The Dukes' Christmas Abductions

by Doris O'Connor

  “A condom. A prophylactic, rubber, Johnny, raincoat, French letter, willy cover, whatever, take your pick. Birth control other than the slap hazard manner of pull out and shoot elsewhere.”

  He flicked the condom onto the floor. “I have a linen sheath, but if you remember correctly you said it was, and I quote, akin to filling you cunt with sand. Abrasive you said was an understatement and we declared it unusable. If you don’t wish my seed in you, I’ll withdraw and spill onto a towel.” But why would he need to? They were married and he needed an heir. “However, you said you loved the feel of me filling you, coming deep inside you and making you shout out in pleasure. The heat of my seed as it gathers pace and floods you is a sensation that surpasses all others. Therefore why deny us that?”

  Victoria wriggled until his cock no longer tickled her pussy, and Kit relaxed enough to let her. He wanted her as soon as possible in all ways imaginable, but knew at this moment she needed to set the pace.

  “Look, I seem to have had a weird few hours,” she said slowly. “Hours? God knows. Anyway. As much as I’d like to have you in me bareback, not at this present moment in time I wouldn't. I need time to assimilate everything. So it’s cover up or no nookie.”

  Kit found the funny side of it— after all he was to all intents and purposes in these enlightened Regency times allowed to dictate their lives and here was his wife laying down the law. Not only that, he was happy to let her. He laughed, even though he had no idea what nookie was. He could, however hazard a guess. “Who wears the breeches?”

  His lovely Victoria glowered. “Literally? For the next hundred and so years you do. Metaphorically? Both of us.” She wriggled and damned if his wayward cock didn’t register the movement as one designed to entice him to announce his presence even more forcefully and let several drops of essence coat her tummy. “And tell that,” she pointed at his pego, “to mind its own business. This is between you and me. Argh.” She hit her forehead dramatically. “Grr. Now I’m giving your prick a mind of its own.”

  Kit grinned. “Sometimes I think it already has one.”

  Chapter Seven

  Vicky stared at him until his lips twitched, and then began to laugh. “Now if it starts to talk back to us, we’ll know we’re in the twilight zone.” Her laughter increased until he wondered if he’d need to slap her. Then she shuddered and swallowed several times before she wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. Perspiration dotted her skin and he was certain tears clung to her lashes. He ached to kiss them away, but forced himself to stay where he was. First things first.

  “It’s all true isn’t it?” she asked, slowly. “It really is 1815, I really am married to you and well, I either flashed forward to the future, am a seer, or a candidate for Bedlam. I think I prefer the first.”

  “No Bedlam. It wouldn’t do the credibility of my line any good. For the rest? Whichever way you chose to interpret it, you are my wife. Believe it, my dear.”

  Kit leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips. That brief touch grounded her more than any words ever could. Somewhere deep down inside her she recognized it. Recognized him. If she were honest it scared the shit out of her.

  The whole scenario did. Here she was in her mind a 21st century girl, a fully paid up member of the ‘women are equal’ society, accepting without an argument that no, actually that was a load of shite.

  “Okay then.”

  He raised one sculptured eyebrow. Did they even have tweezers now … then … oh lord whenever? And would a bloke use them anyway. Shit this back in time crap is fraught with danger.

  “Do you pluck?” she blurted out.

  “Pluck?” His expression was puzzled and then it cleared. “Ah you mean fuck? Well, my dear, you should know.”

  Evidently no he didn’t. Okay then. “Well no, but okay let’s sort this. No plucking lots of fucking and why not now?”

  Vicky groaned. Was that potty mouth really her? She, who was so bloody closed mouthed she never even told her last partner she dared to go bare and did ‘it’ in the dark, was bandying words with a drop dead gorgeous guy from her … her what? She might have thought it was her past but was it? Really? And with hindsight her reticence was so unusual she should have known Maurice—what a wussy name—was not her taste. Actually she had, but chose to ignore it. The guy tucked his shirt into his underpants for goodness sake and Superman he wasn’t. Now, her husband, for instance? By god he was a different matter entirely. Good grief, her pussy dripped, she salivated and her libido shouted mine now, hurry up and fuck me.

  Oh lord, how times had changed.

  “Look, if we’re…” She paused, unsure how to express herself forcefully enough without cussing to high heaven. “Intimate,” she said finally and cringed as his eyebrows disappeared under his hair line and he chuckled. Vicky punched his arm. “Oh you. You know what I mean. If we have that, then maybe I need a wee wakeup call?”

  “Wee? You’ve been associated with the heathens from up north too much.” He flicked her nose with his pinkie. “Oh no, my heart. Nothing short is allowed. Long drawn out sweet stings and tingles, rediscovering each other and learning how we mesh.” He kissed the spot he had flicked. “Deep kisses that touch the soul, tiny touches, that sear the skin and leave a lingering mark of ownership. A tongue on the cunt, a hand on the cock, and finally, a hard pego ready to slip into a deep welcoming honeypot.” He stroked her cheek and let his hand slide lower to stroke the circle of her neck, the swell of her breast and finally to encircled her nipple and pinch the hard nub one, then twice with enough force to make her gasp wince and sigh.

  “Oh. More.” Her pussy clenched as she imagined …what next.

  “Onto the bed, my heart. Welcome me. Show me you want my touch.” Kit spun her round, smacked her arse with enough force to make her stagger, and laughed as she squawked in surprise. “Now, get yourself ready and let’s consummate the next phase of our journey together.”

  Vicky didn’t think she’d ever moved so fast in her life.

  With one hand she shoved condoms, tampons et al onto the floor, and with the other smoothed out the creases in the sheet so she didn’t get crease lines on her butt. The only marks she wanted there were Kit's. Vicky wriggled and smiled.

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Kit’s heart missed a beat and his breath hitched as he looked at her less than submissive demeanor. If only she meant it in every way possible. Even so, he chuckled as he followed her down with alacrity and pushed her to stretch out on her back, arms above head and legs apart with his knees wedged in between them.

  His cock grazed her navel and she giggled. “Mr. Impatient there.”

  “Oh yes.” With little or no finesse he nudged the entrance to her channel with the tip of his cock. If he had been of a fanciful bent he would have said her body unfurled for him like a flower in first bud. As he thought of himself as straightforward and without frills or furbelows, Kit discarded the thought as soon as it formed, waited a scant second, and thrust forcefully into her.

  Victoria gasped, moaned and shook her head from side to side. “Oh yes, more now.”

  He’d never understand women, Kit thought as he set up a steady thrust and release that she followed smoothly, impeccably, beautifully, as her body tightened and loosed as required to give them most pleasure. Why the need to simulate rejection when all the while begging for togetherness and completion?

  Too conscious of himself buried deep inside her, of her muscles tightening and contracting around him, Kit had no time to think of anything, other than he was where he wanted to be. He pinched each rosy nipple in turn and was rewarded by his wife’s sweet mewls, and a new sheen of perspiration over her already sweat slicked shoulders.

  She began to pant and Kit renewed his efforts. He wanted—needed—to fill her at the same time as he made her fly. To tumble into the abyss with her, to shout his completion and hear his voice mesh with hers just as their bodies did likewise.

  Victoria shook and dimly in the recesses of
his mind, Kit registered that telltale sign, let his iron will fall, and his senses take over. His seed gathered and with a roar he let it go to fill her.

  She screamed and stiffened. Clutched his back so tightly he’d swear she drew blood, arched up towards him, and shuddered her own release around him.

  It was a long time before he found the energy to move.

  Eventually Victoria sighed. “You’re squashing me.”

  Kit opened one eye and gazed down at her flushed face. “Pity. You make the perfect mattress.” She giggled and punched his shoulder.

  As a blow it was about as effective as a butterfly landing on your hand. As a mean of separating their bodies it worked perfectly. Her giggle combined with his mock jump and ‘ouch’ meant his pego slipped out of her with a gentle plop.

  Kit rolled to one side, pinched her nipples in turn, kissed her cheek, and nose, and then let his lips linger on her mouth, before he rolled off the bed, stood up and stretched.

  She watched him closely and did something strange with her thumb. He titled his head in question.

  ****

  “A thumbs up. It means I like and appreciate what I see,” Vicky said. “Like a Greek god.”

  He blanched. “Our God forbid. They have miniscule pegos and over inflated egos from what I can judge.”

  Hmm, maybe not the best comparison. “Like everything I desire?” she suggested instead. “All I ever want or need is you. My husband.”

  “Much better, dear heart.” Kit bowed. “’Tis just as well. Now I’m about to play lady’s maid as the servants have the night off to go to the ball. I’ll fill your bath for you. The water should still be warm. Meanwhile,” he gestured toward the elegant writing desk near one long window. “I noticed you’d filled your last journal, so I thought you might like a new one.”

  Vicky kicked off the tiny portion of sheet that still covered her feet and ankles and scrambled off the bed and across the room, heedless of her naked state. It felt so comfortable to be undressed she knew without a shadow of a doubt that when they were together it was the norm. Also she understood that she unreservedly accepted she was his. Whatever happened, she should be with him.

  The whys and wherefores she’d ponder over later.

  As she pulled out the velvet covered chair and sat down at the desk, Kit laughed. “I’ll shout you when the bath is ready.”

  “What? Oh yes, right thank you. Oh Kit.” She lifted the leather bound book up reverently and stroked the soft hide cover. “This is beautiful. Perfect.”

  “My pleasure to please you, ma petite.” He disappeared and she heard him whistle cheerfully over the sound of buckets of water being poured into the overlarge and ornate bath she’d glimpsed earlier.

  Then water, whistling and men forgotten, Vicky returned her attention to the book in her hands. Slowly she rested it on the surface of the bureau, opened the cover and careful not to crease it, pushed it back to leave the first page ready to write upon.

  With an almost childish glee, she found her quill, dipped it into her inkpot and set the sharpened quill end to the pristine page.

  Victoria… Victoria who? Vicky realized she had no idea what her title was now. She shrugged and added, Hopewell. Kit could tell her otherwise after if need be.

  December 1815

  Dear diary,

  Today has been a day full of surprises, not the least to discover that… Vicky lifted the quill, mindful she didn’t want blots on the vellum. How could she explain all that had happened and not sound as if she needed committing to Bedlam?

  She sniggered to herself. She’d be long gone before anyone read it anyway, so what did it matter? She bent to her task and continued to write until an itch on her spine made her lift her head.

  Kit sat in a nearby armchair, with his robe loose around his shoulders.

  She blinked and wiped her eyes. “Have you been there long?”

  “Not too long. Come.” He stood and held his hand to towards her. “The water is cooling.”

  Vicky nodded. “I’ve done enough for now.” She pushed her seat back and took his hand to let him draw her onto her feet and rest against his chest. The silk of his robe whispered a caress over her shoulders as he shifted to hold her close.

  “Kit, My Lord?”

  He looked at her in enquiry as he stroked her hair in soothing rhythmic movements. “My Heart?”

  “I do love you,” Vicky strove to reassure him, and was rewarded by the loving smile that spread across his face. “I can see that you love me and I understand, and rejoice in the knowledge that, deep down you’re mine. Only you and—” A large clap of thunder rent the air.

  Vicky screamed. Behind Kit a door she hadn’t noticed before stood open with a bright white light shining through it and created a pathway toward her. It gleamed and beckoned to her. Somewhere she heard a voice, hers? His? She had no idea

  “Go or stay, only you can decide.”

  Go or stay where? How? Vicky took a step away from Kit. His face was expressionless, a blank canvas where so recently animation showed. His eyes were dark and shadowed. Unfathomable. Then she saw the agony there.

  Go or stay… go or stay… go or …

  Another deeper clap of thunder shook the window panes.

  Go…stay…

  “Victoria.”

  “Vicky.”

  “Mama…”

  Mama?

  Chapter Eight

  Faversham House, December 2015

  Clara gasped behind him, and seemingly having thought better of her pretense of hiding, appeared next to him. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, she fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, which, now that she was standing, fell to mid-thigh. With her arms clasped around her middle, trying to hold the gapping ends together she looked uncomfortable, as confirmed by her next words.

  “Don’t say it, James. I’m not explaining why I’m half dressed, and wipe that smirk off your face. If you want to be helpful, run to my rooms and find me something decent to wear.”

  She shrieked when Daniel pulled her into his side. He needed the contact right now, because he knew that life as he knew it would change forever the minute he broke the seal on that envelope.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. Besides, there is nothing wrong with being in a state of undress in the bed chamber of your affianced.”

  Clara gave a strangled cough, and Daniel found himself on the receiving end of the full imposing glare only the butler of a great house could give while maintaining a perfectly polite smile on his face. He had been the recipient of a similar glare from James’s predecessor far too many times to count, when he’d come home after one of his youthful escapades.

  Before he could say anything, Clara pulled away from him. He instantly missed her soft curves pressed into his side, and had to resist the urge to yank her back into his arms. The way her whole frame was quivering in seeming outrage, she’d probably kick him in the ballocks if he tried that.

  “Stop this godforsaken Regency crap already. This is just us, and I know full well, you never approved of me taking over as curator, even though I’m damn good at my job. I’m not affianced to anyone, let alone Daniel, I—”

  She stopped talking when James interrupted her by holding up his hand. The older man shook his head, and glanced toward Daniel as though he was looking for confirmation.

  “You might not have been affianced, but you’ve been caught in a compromising situation with the Duke of Hockwell, and as is befitting his station, he will of course marry you to save your reputation.” Again that sharp look at Daniel, which made him feel about five and meant he nodded his agreement. Strangely enough the thought of marriage didn’t fill him with his usual dread. Quite the opposite. To be married to Clara, to have the right to explore her luscious body, and to know that no other man would ever touch what was his, felt right in a way that nothing had for as long as he could remember.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is 2015, not 1815, and there is no need to marry anybody. Jeez
, will you tell him, Daniel?” Clara whirled round to address Daniel, and paled when he shook his head.

  “You’re not agreeing with him, surely? That’s just…”

  “Imperative,” James said.

  “Logical,” Daniel said, and James inclined his head as they spoke those words in unison.

  “You two … you cannot be serious. Who marries someone for those reasons? I sure as hell won’t.”

  She was infuriating and adorable in equal measures, as she blew her hair off of her flushed face and stomped her foot for good measure. He would have such fun stamping out this behavior. Then again, it would be all kinds of amusement to encourage that bold side of her, because it would give him ample opportunity to think of punishing his duchess.

  His cock jerked at those thought processes, almost as much as Clara’s head as she looked between James and him.

  “You will, my lady, because it is imperative that the Duke marries and provides an heir, according to the will of Lord Reginald Danvers.”

  “Well, bugger that.” Clara’s outburst made Daniel’s lips twitch. She was clearly swearing even though he didn’t understand the term. James in the meantime drew himself up to his full height.

  “As to that, it is really not my kink, but who am to say what you and Duke Hockwell desire to get up to in the privacy of your bedchamber. In any case I shall retire, to leave you to settle this one way or the other.”

  James bowed to Daniel again, and ignored Clara’s outraged spluttering.

  “Unless my lord requires me for anything else, of course?”

  Daniel shook his head, all too aware of the quietly seething woman in front of him.

  “Well it’s not all right with me. And what about the ball and—”

  “The guests left when the electricity went down, my lady. I am shutting up the house and taking to my bed. I will be back in the morning with refreshments, and his lordship should be aware that the estate solicitor has been alerted of your presence. He will be making a special visit to talk about the practicalities of the duke’s return.”