by Sahara Kelly
“That, my dear, is a sad truth.” He sighed. “But come. ‘Tis time to sign for our latest purchase. And that makes me one very happy man indeed. I trust you are pleased?” He led her to the small shelter where the transaction was to be finalised.
She accompanied him, little short of ecstatic.
At last someone was not only listening to her opinions, but taking them seriously and even acting upon them. She could not have been prouder of that mill had she bought the thing herself.
But that night she couldn’t help wondering what Piers would think. There had been no word from him for the time he’d been gone, but his father had noted that this was not unusual at all. Once sheep were involved, he told her, everything else was left by the wayside.
She’d nodded, understanding Piers’ commitment. So it was with a certain amount of shock that she heard a key in the lock of her front door late that evening.
She had already prepared herself for bed, Ben and Thompkins had taken care of their last duties, and she was alone, wearing her only nightgown and wrapped in a long warm woollen shawl.
Hoping it was Piers, but nervous that it might not be, she quietly picked up a poker from the fireplace and stood behind her bedroom door as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Jessie…”
The door swung open and she managed to not hit him on the head.
“God, Piers, you frightened me.”
“So I see,” he said dryly, removing the poker from her clenched fingers. “Let me take this, sweetheart. I’d rather we use it to stoke up the fire. But my compliments on your forethought. It would have rendered me senseless, had I been a thief.”
“I doubt a thief would attempt to break into a humble cottage. He’d go straight for the Hall.”
“Where my father would have picked up his poker, I expect.” He glanced at the fireplace. “Handy things, pokers.”
Jessie’s lips curled into a smile. “Hello Piers. Welcome home. Your sheep missed you.”
“Did they?” He slipped from his thick coat and walked to her. “How about you? Did you miss me?” His hands caressed her face, her neck and slid inside the neckline of her nightgown, stroking her shoulder gently.
“Not at all, sir,” she chuckled. “Why I scarcely noticed that you were gone.”
“Cheeky and disrespectful,” he scolded, moving back and stripping off his waistcoat, cravat and shirt. “I believe you must be disciplined, wench,” he continued, struggling with his boots. “Here. You can start by helping me.”
He sat on the side of the bed and extended one leg as she tossed her shawl on the pillow.
Knowing what he wanted, Jessie hid her grin and walked to him, stepping over his knee and bending to grab his boot, presenting her flannel covered rear end. “Go ahead, push.”
She felt his other foot on her bottom as he pushed himself out of the first boot. It fell with a thud to the floor, and he put that foot down, raising the other.
“Ready?” He asked.
“Of course,” she answered.
Then she felt a foot creep beneath her nightgown and slither upward to her bare buttocks. The softness of his sock and the wiggling of his toes made her catch her breath.
“Grab my boot, girl,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” she responded, her voice rough as his touches lit the fires within. “Go ahead and pull free…”
The second boot fell to the floor as Jessie’s hands released it. “There. Is that satisfactory, sir?” She stifled a giggle as she turned.
He was freeing himself, his breeches undone and halfway down, his cock thrusting toward her. She licked her lips at the sight.
“Oh my,” she breathed, barely realising the words had been spoken aloud, watching as he kicked free of his remaining garment.
“Now, woman. About that cheekiness you’ve displayed toward me.” He stared at her, his eyebrows together in a fierce frown. Only the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his actual amusement. “That nightgown must go.” He flicked his fingers. “Get rid of it this instant.” He folded his arms across his chest. His lovely bare chest with the smattering of hair over the ridged muscles…
Distracted, Jessie fumbled with the ribbon tying it at the neck. He grabbed her arm, tore the garment away from her and pushed it to the floor, leaving her quite naked.
“Better.” He sat and pulled her, face down, across his lap.
“Ohhh…” She drew in a breath as she felt the hardness of his arousal digging into her soft flesh. His knees were solid and spread a little, her backside on display.
“Now, cheeky wench.” He stroked the round globes. “Time for lessons.”
He smacked her, a sharp stinging slap from the palm of his hand.
“Ow,” she said, more from surprise than pain.
“This is what happens to cheeky wenches.” He smacked her again, a little harder this time.
She groaned, her body heating, her sex already wet and aching with growing desire. His fingers touched the fiery skin, delicately tracing patterns on her buttocks.
Then he put a hand on her back, holding her down.
And smacked her once, twice, several times, alternating which cheek would receive his punishment.
She cried out, her breathing frantic, her breasts rubbing against the bedding and adding to the erotic sensations racing over her body.
“Piers,” she sobbed. “Oh, Piers…”
*~~*~~*
He struggled for control as she squirmed on his lap and cried out his name.
Her rosy buttocks stirred his senses, and he delicately traced the marks of his hands on the hot skin. Then he leaned down and kissed them, licking his way over the firm round globes, stroking her thighs as he did so.
She melted, her muscles relaxing, her breath a whispered moan as he touched her again, sliding his hand down into the darkness between her legs.
Wet, so wet, and eager too, spreading herself as wide as she could, offering him the freedom to touch her as he wished.
“Jessie,” he murmured, finding the slick hot lips and pressing two fingers past them, smiling as she gasped and moaned, wriggling to get those fingers where she needed them.
There was another cry as he pulled them out, this time one of distress. “Hush now. We’re only just beginning…”
Sliding her off his knees and onto the bed, he pushed her to the centre and turned her onto her back. “Now, Jessie. It’s time to play…”
She nodded, her eyes wide, staring at him as he picked up his cravat.
“Lift your head.”
Obediently she did so, allowing him to blindfold her.
“Is that comfortable?” He tightened the knot a little and adjusted the fabric around her eyes and nose.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, Piers.”
“Good girl. Keep it on until I tell you otherwise, all right?”
“Yes, Piers,” she repeated, her voice low and breathy.
Clambering onto the bed, he settled between her legs and taking one in each hand, he spread them wide and then bent them, her knees rising as her feet balanced them. Completely open to his gaze, he drank his fill of the sight of her.
Every shade of pink, shadowed, shining—no longer hiding beneath the sweet soft curls—she was a delectable feast of colour and brilliance, and for a few moments he yearned for the ability to paint. For thus he would have painted her, a woman trembling, her secrets bared to her lover, her body rich with the knowledge of the release to come.
Her scent aroused him to almost painful hardness, but he pushed back, wanting to pleasure her before allowing himself his own satisfaction.
So he adjusted his position, lying between her parted thighs, his mouth where he wanted it, hovering over all that luscious flesh.
A quick dart of his tongue and she jumped, her hands scrabbling on the covers. She muttered his name.
“Shh,” he admonished. “You must not speak. Just feel.”
He did it again, then followed with long, languorous strokes,
lapping at her soaked folds like a cat with a bowl of cream.
Immersed in her, he sensed her skin rippling with tremors, and daringly grazed her with his teeth.
A sharp gasp told him her response, and he bared his teeth again, finding the little pearl lurking just beneath its hood.
With care, he delicately nipped, noting how still she had become at his action. He held her like that, lost in the amazing sensations of controlling her in such a unique way.
One tiny whimper and he released her, rising above her and licking his way upward to her breasts. He repeated his action, taking a hard nub between his teeth, only this time he tugged gently, bringing more whimpers to her throat.
“Jessie,” he murmured, moving to the other breast. “Oh, Jessie…”
She mumbled something, then moaned again, arching up to meet his mouth, completely engaged in whatever he chose to do to her.
Rubbing his body against hers, he let her writhe blindly, knowing her physical sensations would be multiplied without her sight to rely on.
He glanced up and saw her shawl on the pillow.
Hmm…
Pulling away, he reached for her shoulders and lifted her up into a sitting position. “Hold on to your arms, Jessie.” He pulled her hands to opposite elbows, tucking her in.
Then he drew the shawl slowly across her back and began to wrap it around her. It was long, very long, probably doubling as a blanket if needed, but once he had folded it to the correct width, he was able to cocoon her tightly, containing her upper body in a warm, neat bundle.
“I can’t…” she said hesitantly.
“No, you can’t. You will not be able to move your upper half, sweetheart. So I can do whatever I wish to your lower half. Whatever pleases me…”
He laid her down again, blindfolded and tightly bound. From the waist down, her nude body gleamed in the low light of the candles, and the temptation to touch it, to bury himself inside her, was pounding at his brain.
He cupped her, his hand resting on her mound, his fingers squeezing the fleshy folds between her thighs. She was soaked with her own moisture, hot honey pouring freely onto his skin.
“Mmm,” he whispered. “I like this.”
He turned her over, smiling at her sudden intake of breath as he did so. Once again her glorious buttocks shone and this time he settled her, spreading her legs and positioning himself between them. It took very little movement for him to rest his cock against the dark split separating her bottom, and even less for him to start moving. A gentle rocking motion set him into the groove and his own heart threatened to explode as the need to come built as firmly as the flesh he was stroking with his own.
He deliberately slowed his pace, controlling himself every bit as much as he controlled her. The fierce need to take, to plunder, was repressed, even though he was sweating and starting to tremble. He would have loved to plunge inside her, spread those cheeks, find that rosy puckered hole, and take her like that. She would be so tight, he knew, but he did not want to hurt her. That would come in time, not at this moment.
His lust rose thickly, intertwined with every physical need that thrummed through his body. Could she have sensed it? The passion within him that so well matched the erotic desires within her? Something made her move, slide from side to side as he pushed, and then lift herself…not an easy thing to do when her arms were secured by the shawl.
He could not refuse her invitation—it was too close to his own needs. So he slid a hand beneath her and raised her to her knees.
And there, shining and swollen, was her womanhood, her sex, offered freely and ready for him to take. He was only human.
He put his hands on her hips, his cock between the lips of her pussy, and pushed inside.
She moaned, he bit back a gasp of pleasure, and then the dance began. Piers rocked himself slowly at first, relishing the bliss of her hot wet fire licking at his cock. Every tiny movement shimmered through him, and her tiny cries urged him on.
He thrust more forcefully now, on his knees behind her raised arse, unable to stop a slap or two, adding the sharp sound to the thickly luscious noise their bodies made as their flesh met, engaged and merged into one strange and sexual beast.
He could see her arms struggling to break free, but he held her thus, knowing he could not withstand the ecstasy for much longer.
“Jessie,” he groaned. “Come now. Come with me…”
“I need…” She howled as she parted her legs as far as she could, thrusting herself back to capture him as deeply as she could.
He freed one hand and reached beneath her, finding her folds and that one tiny spot. He rubbed it as he pounded into her fire, attacking her from both behind and now in front.
In no more than a few moments, she was lost.
With a muffled scream, her body exploded around his cock and her legs forced themselves against him as the spasms of her release shattered her.
He felt them, felt the vise grip of her inner muscles—and it was all over for him.
His groan filled the room as he let go and pumped himself into her, filling her, losing his ability to do anything but focus on the maelstrom of sensations racking him from his toes to his eyebrows.
At last, when he was drained, sated, with no more to give, he let himself fall free, administering a loving caress to the beautiful bottom of the bound and blindfold woman in front of him.
She still shivered a little, the aftereffects of her own release lingering as she slumped to the bed.
Gently he moved to her side and undid the cravat, then helped her free herself from the shawl. “Ah, my sweet Jessie,” he whispered.
“Piers,” she murmured. “Kiss me goodnight for I cannot stay awake.”
He leaned over and his lips touched hers. “Goodnight, my love.” Then, covering them both, and heedless of the consequences, he succumbed to his own exhaustion, and fell asleep beside her.
Thompkins’ shriek of surprise woke them both the next day.
Chapter Seven
Jessie wished she’d had more time to complete her toilette. She felt less confident with her hair rapidly bundled up and pinned willy-nilly, and was convinced there was an undone button on the back of her dress.
Piers wasn’t much better off. His cravat was crooked and his jacket sadly crumpled.
They walked silently together into Crawford Hall, obeying the summons that had come from Sir Gerald no more than half an hour after Thompkins had received the shock of her life, dropped the tray holding Jessie’s morning tea, and fled back to the Hall.
It had been a scramble, but they were mostly garbed, something they hadn’t been when the maid had walked in. Perhaps it was the bare skin that had stunned her, or perhaps the sight of two lovers entwined around each other, for that was indeed how they had slept.
Jessie felt fingers at her back and slowed her steps as Piers fastened the errant button. She shot him a grateful glance, but said nothing. What was there to be said? They had been discovered.
How Sir Gerald would react remained to be seen.
Piers steered her with an arm on her elbow. “He’ll be finishing breakfast, I expect.”
She nodded, biting her lip, nervous now as never before. She was surprised at how happy she’d become here in such a short time, and Piers was only part of that pleasure. A large part, to be sure, but when she’d taken the estate manager’s chair, and her natural intelligence flowered with the challenges it presented—that had brought her much joy. And pride in what she had accomplished, let alone what was possible in the future.
And now…had their desire for each other jeopardised it all?
Piers knocked and his father immediately answered; a brief invitation to enter.
“Miss Nightingale is with me, Father. May she join us?”
“Of course,” came the hearty response.
Hesitantly she followed Piers, her gaze coming to rest on the relaxed figure of Sir Gerald sipping tea. He rose as they approached, a smile on his face.
>
“Good morning to you both. There’s still breakfast here, and I would be most happy if you could join me. Especially you, Miss Nightingale. Since you’ve been buried in estate work, I hesitate to interrupt your routine, but a few minutes over tea will be quite welcome.”
His bonhomie disarmed her, and she swallowed, smiling and dropping a curtsey as best she could. “You are very thoughtful. Thank you, tea would be lovely.”
Piers seated her and a servant poured them both cups; anyone observing the scene would think nothing was amiss.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Piers,” began Sir Gerald, as soon as the servants left the room. “I think we might explore the possibilities of your wool over the winter. I heard yesterday, through the village grapevine, that a weaver is coming to stay with her sister. Possibly live here.” He put down his cup and leaned back in his chair. “What do you think of giving her some preliminary bundles from your most recent shearing? Let her spin it and see what sort of cloth we can expect from it?” He looked at Jessie. “If Miss Nightingale’s predictions are correct, then we may all be in for a surprise…”
Piers frowned a little, and Jessie wondered if it caught him as much unawares as she was. Neither had expected such geniality, given the events of this morning thus far. Had Thompkins not revealed what she’d seen? That would astound Jessie, who was more than familiar with nature of gossip in country homes.
No, he knew. She was certain of it, and yet he did not, by the flicker of an eyelash, betray either his knowledge or his sentiments.
“It sounds like a good idea,” answered Piers. “Since it is a young flock, I didn’t get a large amount of usable fleece the first time we sheared them; certainly not enough to take to any large weaving establishment. And as the breeding seasons go on, we’ll expect to see some more changes in both colour and texture. So yes, I think trying it as it is would be an excellent experiment. It might help me learn more about that side of the business and perhaps make breeding changes if necessary to improve the overall quality.”