by Louise Bay
He rolled me to my back as he pushed his tongue into my mouth and sought mine as if he were taking all my worries from me with every touch. Slowly, he created a blurred screen between me and my concerns about the next day, my embarrassment at saying the wrong thing, my pain of losing my husband.
He pulled back. “God, I like kissing you.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth, dampening down a smile. I nodded. “I like kissing you too.”
“And this?” he said, his hand sweeping down my body. “I like all this, too.”
It had been a long time since I’d felt attractive—even longer since I’d believed someone was attracted to me. I’d forgotten how much I liked that feeling.
I reached for my thighs and gathered my nightdress, collected the silk to reveal my legs. I pulled it up and off my body, arching my back, to remove it entirely.
Ryder’s eyebrows pulsed up. “Now, I like that even more.”
He kissed me again. The scrape of his shirt against my skin made me shudder.
He made his way down my body with his mouth, slow and deliberate, his hands following as though he was trying to commit every part of me to memory. He took his time to explore every angle, every ledge and dip. I held off a groan until he reached my lower belly.
“You’re going to have to be quiet,” he said, shifting farther down the bed. “These walls are thick, but they’re not going to withstand a scream.”
He dug his tongue into my slit as I grabbed the back of my legs, pulling them open wide. Why had we not done this since the last time? It felt so good, so right.
His thumb pushed into me like a plug, circling as he licked, dragging his tongue up and around and back. My body seemed to float off the bed, buoyed up by the pleasure. In seconds I was climbing toward my orgasm.
“You promise you’ll be quiet?” he asked, breaking his rhythm as he looked up to track my reaction.
“Yes.” I reached my hand to the back of his head, urging him to finish what he’d started. “Don’t stop.”
“Relax and trust me,” he said, before diving down to ease my throb.
I didn’t need to trust him. I knew only too well that he could make me come.
His thumb slipped in and out, my wetness dribbling out between the cheeks of my butt. He slid his index finger against my crack, pressing hard as if he wanted to ensure I knew it was intentional. He found a smooth, rocking rhythm, in and out with his fingers, up and down with this tongue. I floated on the steady pleasure until he slid a finger over my asshole, pressing in just the slightest bit and making me groan. My whole world was awash with sensation—his mouth, his tongue, the slight graze of his teeth every now and then. The press of his hand under my hip bone, holding me still. His thumb sliding in and out, his finger mirroring the rocking motion.
It was all too much. And he knew.
He released my hip and pressed his hand to my mouth, clamping down so I could release the cries that I’d been trying to hold inside. I gave in, pleas and curses and moans vibrating against his palm as I came, writhing against him, into him, my only thought how much I wanted to be with him. Right here. Right now.
Nothing else mattered.
Not Cecily Fragrance, not Marcus.
Not my future or my past.
Fourteen
Ryder
I was so hard I could hardly breathe. I slid my zipper down carefully, not wanting to scrape it across my erection and blow my load.
Scarlett hadn’t been quiet. Even knowing that people might hear, she hadn’t been able to hold back and I totally fucking loved it. She’d barely said a word at dinner, no doubt intimidated by the alien chatter and the jostling for dominance that had taken place. But here? In this bedroom, just her and me? She wasn’t intimidated and she certainly wasn’t quiet.
I carefully maneuvered myself to lie beside her. Her belly rose and fell in the most delicious way. I couldn’t look. Jesus. I tried to think about hunting with Frederick.
“You look angry,” she said. “What’s on your mind?” She rolled toward me and I kept my eyes on the ceiling, trying to ignore how her breasts sat high on her chest, her nipples pointing at me, daring me to squeeze them.
“You want to ask me what I’m not thinking.”
“What?” She slid her hand over my stomach and I grabbed her wrist.
“No,” I barked.
She pulled her arm back as if I’d bitten her.
“Sorry, I’m going to come if you touch me.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt the mattress dip beside me. What was she doing? I couldn’t help but think about the way she moved so unselfconsciously when she was naked.
“You are?” she asked, her voice sounding farther away. I opened my eyes a fraction. She sat cross-legged, her elbows on her knees, looking at me from the middle of the bed.
I groaned. She was going to be the death of me. Her still-wet pussy faced me, her dusky pink nipples jutting out as if desperate for touch.
I fiddled with the fastening of my pants. I needed to get naked. Now.
“You want me to help you with that?” she asked, as if I were unloading the trunk of a car.
I glanced at her. The glint in her eye told me she was clearly teasing me.
“If you don’t behave, I’ll bend you over my knee.” I couldn’t look at her, but managed to slide off my trousers despite the mental image of her ass in the air, red from my palm. Removing my clothes had calmed my cock. Slightly. For now.
I stripped off my shirt and boxers, sighing as I stuck my hands behind my head. I was ready for round two.
I caught her staring at my dick. “Like what you see?” I asked.
She tilted her head toward my face, her eyes following as if she couldn’t bear to turn away from my erection. I almost grabbed her right then and pulled her onto me, but I wanted to make this last.
“Well, I know what it can do, so yeah, I like what I see.” And there it was—that complete honesty. It wasn’t something she said because she thought it was the right thing to say. It was what she believed, what she felt.
I chuckled. “Come show me how much,” I said. “Straddle me.” I wanted an uninterrupted view of those tits as I fucked her.
She crawled slowly toward me, her breasts swaying as she moved. Christ she was beautiful—like a more intense and perfect version of every woman I’d ever fucked. Was it because I knew her a little now? Was it because I liked the open, fresh woman she was?
“You’re bossy,” she said as her palms flattened against my abdomen and she settled atop me.
“You like it,” I replied.
Her shiver in response was all the confirmation I needed. She liked to be told what to do. Maybe not outside of the bedroom, maybe not even outside of the two of us. But she liked me telling her what to do in bed.
And I liked that.
I grabbed her hips and pulled her toward me until she slid over my cock, her wetness coating me. She tilted forward and pushed her hips back, her clit connecting with my root.
Her head fell forward, her long hair skirting my body. She moaned and swiveled her hips. Pressing her clit to my cock. I let her rub herself against me, let her think she was in charge for a few moments before I tightened my grip. “I want inside you,” I whispered.
She paused and then nodded. Did she have to think about it? I reached for my wallet on the bed stand and pulled out a condom. She watched as I slid it onto my cock, which jerked under her greedy gaze.
“Be gentle,” she whispered. “I want it to last.”
“You do it,” I replied, happy for her to take charge for a bit.
I wanted to shove my way inside her tight, wet heat and fuck her without mercy. I didn’t want to hurt her, and I definitely wanted her to enjoy it. But more than anything I wanted her to come. Hard.
I released her hips and fisted my hands at my side as she took a hold of my dick, her small fingers wrapping around it tightly, like she might drop it. She placed the tip at her entrance and sighed. It was as if it w
as what she’d been waiting for, and now she’d got it, she could relax. I liked the idea that she’d been waiting for my cock.
She squeezed my tip with her muscles and I had to stop myself from thrusting off the bed, slamming into her. She panted as she lowered herself a little, squeezing her eyes shut. “So big,” she muttered.
She let out a half breath and then began to move in small, sharp shifts.
The sight of her parted mouth, her bouncing breasts, her flexing thighs—heaven.
She sank lower and the pressure of her muscles surrounding me was just perfect. I almost blacked out—overdosing on pleasure. If drugs felt this good, I’d be an addict.
“Ryder,” she said, panting.
I’d been lost in her until then, watching every part of her except her eyes. She looked panicked. Why?
“It’s too much.” She placed my hands on her hips and it took a second or two for me to connect the dots. She wanted me to fuck her, didn’t want to be the one in control.
I clenched my fingers into her flesh and brought her down fully onto me. She whimpered. “Yes,” she whispered. “More.”
Jesus, it took everything I had not to explode.
I sat up and flipped her over. “I’ll give you more,” I said. At that moment I didn’t care if she screamed the house to the ground. I was about to overflow at the feel of her, at the sight, sound, touch of her. And I wanted her to be where I was. “I’m going to give you everything.”
I thrust up and she squealed and bent her legs, taking me deeper until I couldn’t get any further inside her. I pulled out and pushed again in long, slow strokes, dipping my head to her shoulder and sucking up a mark on her neck that tasted of tangerine and heat.
My glutes spasmed as I pushed into her, forcing her legs wide. She slid up the bed and I hooked my hand over her shoulders to keep her in place.
“Like that? Like it when I fuck you good and hard?” The words came out sharp as she moaned in response. She loved it.
It was as if she hadn’t had this before—like it was all new and fascinating to her—what I could do, how her body responded.
She grabbed my neck, her fingers curling around the nape. “I like how you like it,” she choked out. “How you like fucking me.”
She’d summed up exactly what made it so good. We were two opposite sides of the same coin, enjoying how we made each other feel—each relishing the pleasure of the other—it heightened every move we made.
“I do, I rejoice in fucking you, in making you come.”
She stiffened and gasped then scrambled for a pillow, brought it over her face and screamed into it as she climaxed.
I didn’t care about the noise. Not anymore. My grandfather was on the other side of the house, my sister had heard worse, and I didn’t give a shit about the staff. I was fucking my fiancée. So what? I pulled the pillow from her face and sped up my rhythm. Pushing against her pulsating muscles, chasing my release.
My orgasm was seconds away, carried from her to me. I came in sharp, desperate strokes, groaning out loud.
I collapsed on top of her, every last bit of energy drained from me.
Absentmindedly, she wound the hair at the back of my neck around her index finger. It was such a small thing, but so intimate I almost couldn’t bear it.
I pressed my lips to just behind her ear to interrupt her touch. I couldn’t move to do more even if I wanted to.
“I think we were loud,” she said once my breathing had slowed. I rolled off her to my back, laying one of my legs over hers, somehow wanting to keep touching her but having had no practice in postcoital cuddling.
“I don’t give a shit,” I replied, turning my head as she put her hands over her face.
“I hope no one heard. I tried, Ryder. I really tried.”
I grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm over my belly. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I don’t think I exactly held back either.”
“But your grandfather,” she said. “It’s so disrespectful.”
“Don’t sweat it.” I threaded my fingers through hers. “He’s on the other side of the house. He definitely won’t have heard.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely.” I glanced at her tight nipples, flat belly and glossy hair that spanned across my bed in a fan of black. “You wanna test my theory and go again?”
If I was going to fake-marry someone, I could have done a lot worse. Scarlett King was clever, beautiful and fucking fantastic in bed.
Fifteen
Ryder
Even nice days in October began with bleak, cold mornings. That I’d been pulled out of bed and away from Scarlett’s warm body to go hunting with Frederick, of all people, only added to the misery.
Still, I knew I was going to have to have a conversation with Frederick on my own at some point. I just had hoped it wouldn’t be while we both were carrying guns.
Merriman, the gamekeeper, pulled up and put the hand break of the Land Rover on. “Let’s go from here,” he said.
I opened the door and headed to the trunk, Bracknell, Merriman’s golden retriever, following me.
I hated shooting. Some people enjoyed it because of the land, the fresh air or being with their dogs. But for Frederick I knew it was the sense of power he had from killing things. He made me sick. For Merriman, it was all about estate management. That was the only way I could justify it. I knew Frederick went on organized hunts, where they were shooting pheasant especially bred to be shot. That was just fucked up as far as I was concerned—creating something to kill it.
“I doubt you do much shooting in New York,” Frederick said. “You a little worried about being rusty?” he asked, handing me a shotgun.
I’d always been a better shot, even though Frederick did it so often. “Not that worried, no. No doubt Merriman will be better than both of us as usual.”
Merriman pretended he couldn’t hear us bickering as he always did. Everyone at Woolton had gotten used to our fighting. Even as children, there’d never been a time when we were friends, despite us being just a year apart in age. Frederick had always been so resentful. So keen to find fault in everything and everyone. Being near him had been exhausting, even as a kid.
Merriman led the way with Bracknell and the cartridges, luckily, and Frederick and I followed over the uneven, dew-covered ground.
“You should have worn walking shoes,” I said as Frederick stumbled. Why had he worn wellies? And why the fuck was he wearing tweed? Merriman and I were happy in our wax jackets and jeans. This wasn’t a formal day shooting with all the pomp and ceremony. It was two cousins out with the gamekeeper.
“Rubbish. Just because you live in America doesn’t mean I have to let my standards slip.”
I sighed but didn’t reply. There was no point. He was always so keen to look like he fit in, rather than just relaxing and letting it happen.
I glanced up at the sun, pushing through the mist of the morning. I hoped Scarlett would be okay at the spa. I knew Darcy would look after her, but Victoria? There was no telling how she’d treat my fiancée. I was even worried that Aurora would be less than friendly when I wasn’t around. She was a sweet girl, but I had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t married by now because she’d thought I’d eventually come to my senses. She’d been close to my mother, sister and grandfather as a child, but why she still spent so much time here as an adult? It didn’t make sense to me.
Merriman stopped and took off his bag, setting it on the ground. Without glancing behind him, he tossed a small bottle of water toward us. It was unexpected and I didn’t quite catch it, and it bounced at my feet.
Frederick chortled as he caught the second one. “You still think you’re going to beat me?”
“What can I say? If it happens, it’s because my beautiful fiancée kept me awake and, rest assured, it will not bother me in the least.” I grinned, happy to fuck with Frederick and tell the truth at the same time.
“Yeah, right. What an excuse. As if you two are actually
sleeping together,” he said. Interesting. He clearly suspected my relationship with Scarlett.
I chuckled, trying not to show any weakness. “You think we’re saving it until our wedding night?”
“I doubt she’ll go through with it. If she’s got any sense, she’ll take the money you’ve obviously paid her and walk away. Unless, of course, you’re paying extra for the sex.”
If I hadn’t been holding a shotgun, I was pretty sure I’d have taken a swing at him. Scarlett wasn’t marrying me for money—not really. She was only trying to save the company she’d put everything into. Just like me. And she wasn’t sleeping with me for money, that was for sure.
“Or maybe she just wants to be a duchess.”
“She didn’t know about the title when I proposed.” That was true too. I hadn’t deliberately left that part out but I’d not really considered the fact that while she was married to me, she’d be my duchess.
“Yes, all very convenient. She’s the perfect woman, who suddenly has you popping the question, and just in the nick of time, too.”
“What exactly are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I think I’m saying it quite openly. There’s no way your romance, or whatever you want to call it, with that woman is real. You just want to inherit.”
“You’re a dick, Frederick. If what you were saying is true, why on earth wouldn’t I have married before now? Why didn’t I simply marry when Grandfather had his stroke?” Lying didn’t sit easily, but what choice did I have? “Or at any time in the last decade?”
He didn’t know anything had changed. There was no way he could know how the Westbury Group was linked with the estate.
“I’m not quite sure yet.” He shrugged. Confidence and swagger weren’t attributes that fitted him and he looked stiff instead of relaxed. “But these things tend to have a habit of revealing themselves as I’m sure that woman will.”
That was a threat if ever I heard one, but I was too incensed to worry about what plans he had to try to reveal the true nature of our relationship.
“That woman? My fiancée’s name is Scarlett. You might not like it, Frederick, but Scarlett is going to be my wife.”