Undoing One's Enemy

by Camille Oster

  He’d even gotten introduced to one of the ‘available’ young women, a pretty girl with large eyes and a vacant head. The girl and her incessant promoter were trying his patience. He felt a real sense of gratitude when Lord Hariston suggested that they leave the women and complete the evening with more male orientated pursuits, which led to his reintroduction to one of London’s gaming hells. He’d been a frequent visitor in his youth, but had avoided them since his return. He had concluded after his fall down that gambling and whoring wasn’t going to achieve anything for him, so he lost his appetite for it—not that he was a celibate. He had needs that he took care of discreetly when required.

  If chumminess with Lord Hariston required bonding at a gaming hell, he was certainly prepared. Lord Hariston, he knew, did enjoy a turn of the cards every now and then, but he was not to witless gamblers, successful men rarely were. They settled down for a few games at one of the more sedate tables. He knew that Lord Hariston was sizing him up, judging whether he was suitable for involvement in his investment affairs. Gambling did sometimes show one’s ability to make judgements and to handle pressure.

  Lord Hariston seemed to be making good judgements about him, and his friendliness increased as the drinks flowed. Acquaintances came and went, and before long Lord Hariston’s attention was caught up elsewhere. Richard was happy that his objective for the evening had been completed. He had made a good impression and could now relax and let the evening finish. He sat back and nursed another whiskey in an attempt to get rid of the taste of the horrid liquors he’d been served earlier. The alcohol was suffusing through his veins, heating him and giving him the languid feeling of pleasantness. He should go home soon as he was a whisker away from being drunk.

  One of the hall’s girls caught his attention, rather her bouncy chestnut curls and the sinful body displayed to show all its merits. She reminded him of Amelia Hessworth. The face was different, and the girl across the hall had a painted face which he found distasteful, but when she turned around she looked a bit like his unwanted house guest. He thought back to the previous weekend when she’d come back from her introduction to the demi-monde, her languid body movements as her inexperience with alcohol showed clear as day. The way her finger tips ran across her collar bone had stuck with him—a complete unwitting action on her part. He imagined her running her fingers down her neckline toward her cleavage, the thought heated him more than the alcohol did, almost to the point where he should stay at the table for a while so as to not advertize where his thoughts had been.

  The girl across the room who had a moderate likeness to her sat down on a gentleman’s lap and poured him a drink. Richard’s sense of distaste increased as he realized that there was a distinct possibility that this is where Amelia Hessworth might end up if she wasn’t careful. He didn’t quite understand his anger at the thought as it, for all intents and purposes had been his goal. He didn’t quite understand his own mind sometimes. He had been determined to ruin the girl, but then he ended up rescuing her at the first sign of distress. Perhaps the manners and values his mother had driven into him as a child were deeply ingrained.

  Time passed and the world slowly shifted. He was drunk now. He had to take care not to start any more gambling. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. It was time to return home. He walked out of the gaming hell into the street outside where a line of hacks were waiting for retreating gentlemen. He fleetingly wondered how much of London’s economy ran on the vices of the ton.

  The house was quiet as he got home. His gait wasn’t all together stable, but he was not falling down. He knew he would have a headache in the morning, but he enjoyed the sense of drunkenness and the anaesthetic effect it had. He poured himself another whiskey and sat down in his chair. He had no idea what time it was. The streets were quiet outside so it must be past midnight. He considered sending for one of the girls he sometimes used, but it would take too long so he didn’t bother, he just stewed in the tension for a while.

  He didn’t register the noises in the hall at first. Someone was up. Probably Granson who tended to ensure he came right at the end of an evening, even though he rarely required help.

  “It’s alright, Granson,” he heard a soft voice, “I will see to him.”

  “If you are sure Miss.”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “I will let you know if help is required.”

  Now this was an unexpected turn of events, Richard conceded. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was about to have a racy dream about his undesired house guest. It wouldn’t be a surprise considering how elevated he had felt toward the end of the evening.

  She popped her head around the door and saw him. She was wearing a dressing gown, something he would never have picked for a dream.

  “It’s late,” she said. “You must retreat upstairs. I will help you.”

  Definitely a promising start to a dream. Her hair flowed freely around her shoulders. He wanted to wind his fingers in it, pull her hair back and kiss her. For some reason he didn’t, that would have been the logical step for a dream. She took his whiskey glass carefully out of his fingers and placed it on the desk.

  “Come on,” she said and tugged on his hand. He let her pull him up and toward the door as she helped him up the stairs. He was a little whoosey, but he could make it up the stairs. He felt a flash of annoyance, which again, was not part of his usual colorful dreams. He suspected he wasn’t dreaming, which meant Miss Hessworth was helping him up the stairs in a dressing gown. She had put her arm around his waist to assist him, which wasn’t necessary, but he allowed it. He also took the opportunity to caress the joint of her shoulder slightly, and then felt guilty about it. This definitely wasn’t a dream—guilt was never a part of his dreamscape.

  His mind tried to grapple with her intent, but the thoughts melted before he could get them to function properly. He had absolutely no chance of forming reasonable thoughts when she started to undo the buttons of his coat. He could only watch.

  Amelia’s fingers were shaking as she undid the buttons running down his chest. She had decided that she was going ahead with her plan. She had worked on her courage all evening, listening to every noise outside for his return. She had lost her courage at least a dozen times. The agitation of the evening sat like tension in her stomach; she didn’t even dare think what the evening would entail. Her courage only stayed if she ignored that part entirely.

  In the end, she was grateful that he was drunk. Drink had softened those sharp blue eyes considerably. She wasn’t sure she could do this under the unwavering stare he sometimes had when he looked disapprovingly upon her. Instead, his eyes were soft and they sparkled in the light as his intoxication made his eyes a bit glassy.

  “What are your intentions, Miss Hessworth?” he said in steady tones. He wasn’t entirely inebriated. There was only a slight softness to the end of each word.

  “I am helping you,” she said trying to keep the shake of uncertainty out of her voice.

  “I think you are taking me up on my offer,” he teased. “This is unexpected.”

  “Am I unwelcome?” she asked. She was beyond grateful that he wasn’t his normal harsh self tonight, but she wasn’t about to force herself on a man either. It took a while, but he shook his head. She continued to unbutton his coat, feeling the warmth of his body as her fingers touched the shirt and waistcoat underneath. When they were all off, she slid the coat over his shoulders, noting the definition of his muscles underneath. She had never touched a man so. It was at the same time fascinating and incredibly scary. The coat made a sound as it hit the floor. She repeated the process with his waistcoat, but she almost lost her nerve as he was watching her intently though out.

  She struggled with indecision when he only had his shirt left. The buttons were small and neatly sewn. She felt warm skin as her fingers slipped around the tiny mother of pearl button at the top of his shirt. She panicked when his hand moved up and caressed her hair. She could hear his deep heavy breathing and it sent thri
lls down her body. He stroked her jaw line and she froze, her panic heightened further as he leaned down and kissed her fully on the lips. She had been unprepared for the sensation it caused. His lips were soft and warm, not what she had been expecting. They moved against her demandingly and she jumped slightly as she felt the wet warm tip of his tongue against her upper lip.

  She was distracted by sensations as his fingers ran down her sides, then toward the tie of her dressing gown. She wasn’t sure she could do this. This hadn’t been what she’d expected—it was too much. The lips and the kiss, the touching; she couldn’t keep track of it. Her gown opened and he pushed it aside slightly at the neckline. She had her night gown on, but his fingers travelled down her neckline until he placed his hand on her breast and Amelia jumped again.

  He pulled her closer to him. She wasn’t sure she could proceed, she wanted this to be an orderly thing, but there were sensations everywhere, his hands were in places she couldn’t keep track of. It wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that the sensations were stronger than she’d anticipated.

  The strenght of his body was flush against hers. There was definitely something to the melting of two bodies, even though it was a bit overwhelming. Maybe this was just what it was like, something that she couldn’t monitor and control each step of the way. There was no denying she was curious, but her lack of experience was distressing. She didn’t know if she was doing the right things. Experience was the point of this whole exercise. He had experience; he knew exactly what he was doing. His movements were assured and confident and she envied it, while hating her own timid reactions. Celeste definitely had a point; it was necessary for her to do this, but it was becoming clear that it was impossible for her to manage this. She was going to have to let him do what he wanted to just let it unfold.

  His hand was cupping her backside as he was squeezing her to him. She felt his hardness on her belly. Her fear was still there, but she gave her curiosity rein. She had to trust him not to hurt her. Well, she knew there would be some hurt as her maidenhead was breached, but she had prepared herself for that. She wasn’t exactly sure at what point that would come, but she knew at some point there would be pain. There certainly wasn’t pain yet, but closeness beyond anything she was familiar with.

  He lifted her legs up around his waist and as she had decided, she just let him do what he wanted. She couldn’t do this without opening herself up to him, being vulnerable to him and to the sensations he was causing in her.

  He had her on the bed now and he was lying down on top of her and she felt the weight of him—it was oddly satisfying. His hands were travelling up her thigh and she fought an urge to push his hand away and stop the sensations that were flowing through her like a storm surge. He was kissing her again; his tongue was in her mouth. It felt like every form of wickedness. He then broke the kiss and proceeded to doing incredible things to her neck. She felt completely exposed as his lips were travelling down the column of her neck, the sensations of it assaulted her.

  Her fear slowly gave away to the sensations in her body and the heat that was building in her stomach. He pulled her dressing gown over her head and sank back down. He lay down and she felt skin on skin for the first time. She wanted to trust him completely at this point, she felt like she needed to. She knew in her heart that he wouldn’t hurt her and it felt profound to trust a man. Like it showed her the way it should be, the answers to some questions she never knew she had.

  He moved lower and she was affronted anew when he took her nipple in his mouth. The warmth radiated throughout her entire body. The sensations were so intense, she couldn’t be still. His tongue was torturing her with unknown sensations and she couldn’t escape it—wasn’t sure she wanted to. Something in her wanted to be assaulted with these feelings.

  His hand snaked down her belly and down to her most private place. Her mind sent a panic alarm, but she ignored it and new much more powerful sensations flooded her. His touch felt so mesmerising. She barely knew the layout of that part of her body, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He touched a place that made her body jerk with intense sensation. It had been completely unexpected; she’d never thought her body was capable of reacting this way. He continued pressing on this unknown point and tension grew inside her. She wasn’t sure if it was pain or something else; it was a completely new sensation. Then he stopped.

  “You are untouched,” he said. “I can feel it.” She had always been told that men could tell through the existence of her maidenhead even though she wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He didn’t sound drunk anymore. He was staring into her eyes now, searching for an answer.

  She nodded. “I trust you.”

  Something softened in him. “You are trouble, Miss Hessworth.” He leaned down and kissed her again; his weight returned on her and she still felt the tempest of sensation he had caused in her private region, but it was his body now, his hips rather than his finger. Sensation shot out as his hips came to join hers. He still had his breeches on. She didn’t dare think what would happen now if he didn’t, but she was about to find out as he was undoing his buttons.

  “This is the point of no return,” he said. His voice was gravelly like he’d just woken up from a long sleep. She considered backing down, but she’d come this far and it had been an unbelievable experience so far. The fear was still there, but she refused to acknowledge it.

  “It will hurt.” He continued watching her. She nodded her acknowledgement and he prepared himself. She felt pressure at her private place. He was leaning of his hands on top of her, his muscles straining with intent. He was utterly beautiful, she realized just as the pressure grew, she felt herself, her body slowly being invaded. It was the oddest sensation, foreign and familiar, filling. Then came the pain, it was sharp and she gasped as it hit her.

  He was still settled until the sharpness of it retreated. She wasn’t aware that he could go deeper, it seemed impossible, but her body stretched around him. The sensations were unique; she had never experienced anything like it. He was completely enveloped in her and strange thoughts raging through her mind. Pride, fear, and other things she couldn’t identify.

  He moved and the world shifted, then he returned to the position completely inside her. He repeated this again and again. She felt tension building inside the core of her body, a curious feeling that she couldn’t pin down. He was moving in and out of her faster until he faltered and ground into her with a strong cessation followed by a guttural groan. It looked primal, it felt primal—oddly satisfying and not at the same time. The tension in her body was still there and there was something in her that wanted it not to be over.

  His body left hers and he fell down on the bed beside her. She felt incredibly hot and the cold air was most welcome. It was done; she knew she was no longer an innocent. Now that it was over, she could look back on the experience. It had been profound in nature and she felt changed by it. She was also incredibly confused, particularly about the man she had trusted to be inside her person. He had his eyes closed and was running his fingers along the plane of her stomach. She looked him over; his naked form was too distracting to ignore. He had no concern about his own nakedness and she saw every part of his body including the part of him that had just been inside her. The contradictions in her head refused to cease. She wanted to do it again, and she also wanted to hide and forget it had ever happened.

  The change in his breath indicated that he had fallen asleep. She stayed for a moment and just watched him in repose. His face was soft and almost innocent looking. His dark hair snaked around his neck and his whole body was covered in a slight sheen from exertion. His chest expanded slowly with his breathing. She wanted to touch his skin again, but she feared waking him up, so she just continued to look. Hair ran down from his bellybutton to crown his manly part and there were dark hairs covering his strong thighs.

  She got out of his bed as carefully as she could. Part of her felt a bit shocked abou
t what she had just done. She was a woman now. She had been with a man and the dull ache between her legs proved the surreal thought. She found her nightgown and dressing robe and dressed as quietly as she could. She had one last look at the male body on the bed before covering him with a sheet and snuck out the door as quietly as she could manage.

  Chapter 8

  Richard woke up with blood on the sheets and blood on his cock. It caused significant confusion at first as he searched for whatever cut he had suffered. It took a few moments for his memories to suffuse through his mind. He hadn’t been alone last night; he had deflowered his house guest. He could have kicked himself, but he settled for swearing loudly.

  More thoughts bounded through his mind, the sweetness of her body, the frantic need as he spilled himself in her. A sharp thought stabbed him. He’d spilled in her, she might be with child, seeking to find leverage over him by presenting him with a bastard. The blood proved beyond doubt that she’d been a virgin. Admittedly, blood could be faked but he’d felt her maidenhead himself. He also remembered the insane pride he’d felt when he’d breached it.

  How stupid could he possibly get, he wondered. One night drinking and he went about doing idiotic things. He thought he was past the youthful foolery when his cock would lead him about like a dog on a leash. And worse was that he wasn’t entirely satisfied, his cock strained for more, which he refused to give it in any form out of spite. Instead he leaped out of bed and let the cold air assault him.

  He left the house without breaking his fast; he was in the foulest mood. She had another thing coming if she thought she could get one over on him. He did not cower like a dog because some girl spread her thighs for him, no matter how delectable they might be, and hers were milky smooth, shaped to drive any man wild.