And then I realized what it was: he was kissing Murray right out of me.
When he finally released me, he drew in a long breath, still refusing to put me down. “Let’s get back to the mansion,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Louise
At the mansion, I insisted on checking on the plants before we did anything else. But they seemed to have survived the move just fine: they were shooting up and we were nearly ready for the final phase, where they’d flower. Maybe, just maybe, we could still pull this off.
Sean took me by the hand and led me up the staircase, both of us watching carefully for rotten planks. I hadn’t even gone upstairs when I rented the place: I’d only been interested in whether there was room to grow. Now I looked around in wonder at the antique wallpaper and the wood paneling. It was a beautiful place, even if it was in an appalling state. With enough work, it could make a great home for someone.
Then Sean pushed open a set of double doors and I just stopped and stared in amazement.
The master bedroom was missing nearly all of the glass in its windows, but the holes had been sealed with cardboard and the summer weather meant it wasn’t too drafty. The roof was intact and even the floor seemed to be solid. But none of that mattered.
What mattered was the bed.
It was a huge four poster built out of dark, varnished wood. There were no drapes but it was easy to imagine them hanging down from the thick cross-beams. And lying ready on the bed springs was the mattress from the grow house.
“I mean, y’know…” Sean sounded embarrassed. “I know there’s no sheets or anything. But...I thought you’d like it.”
“I love it!” I yelled and dived on, bouncing on my back on the mattress. Even without drapes, being on the bed was like being in a separate little room, intimate and magical. It didn’t matter that there were cracks in the room’s plaster and peeling paint: instant princess! And along with all the innocent, little-girl dreams that brought back, a few full-on adult ones swam into my mind. This was the sort of bed you didn’t so much make love on as got ravished on.
Sean joined me on the bed, but even as he reached for me, I jumped up and crossed the room, hungry to explore. There was a huge, silvered mirror hanging on the wall opposite the bed. Like the bed, it must have been too big or too much trouble to move when Mrs. Baker left. And next to it was a free-standing closet taller than me—taller even than Sean. You could have driven a small car through its huge, polished doors. I ran my fingers over the dark wood in wonder and then opened it up, just to see how big it was.
And found the dress.
It was emerald green with a low-cut, almost square neckline and a long, flaring skirt. A dress that was so simple and classic it could have passed for anything from medieval gown to modern day red carpet. I had no idea how old it was—twenty years, fifty, more? I sniffed it, but it didn’t smell musty at all. I turned around holding it, to show Sean.
He was kneeling up on the bed and looking at me in a very strange way. “What?” I asked, glancing down at the dress in case there was a killer spider or something crawling up it.
“Put on the dress,” he ordered. His voice was actually strained with lust—I could hear it in every silver-edged, panty-melting Irish syllable.
I swallowed and looked at the dress, excited but uncertain.
He tilted his head to one side and gave me a don’t make me come over there look.
I took the dress and hurried out into the hallway. It felt wrong to change in front of him and spoil the effect. Whoever the dress had been made for, she’d had the same hips as me, but slightly smaller boobs. Fastening up the eyelets on the back of the dress made it lift and squeeze everything together and—well, there was a lot of cleavage on display. Or perhaps that was the idea.
Barefoot—because sneakers didn’t feel right—I looked like some princess stealing out of the castle to see her secret lover...or possibly a maid, summoned to the king’s bedchambers, I couldn’t decide. “Close your eyes,” I told Sean as I opened the door.
When I walked in, he was sitting up on the bed with his hand over his eyes. I took a second just to admire him: his soft, glossy black hair, the hard line of his jaw with its rough stubble, those lips that could snarl or grin or kiss the hell out of you, but were never cruel. Those shoulders, solid as rock and smoothly tan. The forearms, dense with muscle and thickly veined, and those hands that looked as if they could crush rocks.
“Open them,” I whispered. I was suddenly nervous—did I just look stupid?
All my reservations were blown away with the very first look he gave me. “Sweet Jesus,” he croaked. He’d given me the full heat of those Irish eyes before, but this was beyond that, beyond just sex. He was entranced. It felt as if he was drinking in every detail, as if I was some priceless piece of art. And there’s no feeling like that in the world.
He got off the bed and strode towards me. Without words, he stripped his tank top off over his head and tossed it away. I tried to look up into his eyes but I was suddenly having a hard time tearing my gaze away from that tanned, sculpted chest. He was breathing slow but deep and, when I finally managed to look up, the look in his eyes was almost primal. Sure, I was some piece of art...one he had to have. Right. Now.
He came closer and closer, close enough that he could put his hands on my waist. He touched me almost gingerly: not as if he was scared, more as if he knew that, once he touched me, his self-control was going to disappear very, very fast. I’d never seen him so turned on, so animal. It would have been scary, if it had been anyone else. But I knew he’d never hurt me or do anything I didn’t want him to. And that made it just incredibly hot.
“You...” he said, his breathing so harsh now that he almost had trouble getting the words out. “Look…” He shook his head as if, in his eyes, words couldn’t do me justice. He ran his hands up the dress, following the bodice as it went in and then out, staring at my neckline. Those powerful fingers moved closer, closer….
“Wait—are you thinking about ripping it off me?” I asked.
His thumbs stroked the point where the fabric met the sides of my cleavage as if to say, Fuck yes. I started to rapidly melt, but: “Don’t rip it,” I said quickly. “It’s not ours. You can do anything else, but don’t rip it.”
Out of nowhere, a twist of dark heat darted straight down my body and exploded in my groin. I really liked the way that sounded. So I said it again. And this time, I threw in to me. “You can do anything else to me.” Another twist of heat, even stronger than before.
Sean tilted his head to one side questioningly. His eyes widened and he mouthed Louise! looking mock-shocked. But then his lips twisted into a dark, knowing grin.
I swallowed. My mind was swimming back to those historical romances I used to read, where the heroines wore dresses not so different from this one. I’d started to breathe fast and, every time I panted, my breasts lifted. With the tight dress, low neckline and no bra, there was a lot of...well, heaving.
I pressed just a little closer to him. How would those heroines have said it? I looked up into his eyes and gave him the full thing. “You can—You can do what you will with me, but please don’t rip my dress you...you...Irish beast!”
I wasn’t sure beast really came off right, without a British accent. But it didn’t seem to matter.
With a sudden yell, Sean grabbed me around the waist and threw me—literally threw me, in a yelping bundle of kicking legs and flapping skirt—to land with a soft wumf on the mattress. By the time I managed to sit up, he was stalking towards me. His eyes were gleaming in a way I’d never seen before.
“Do what I will, Lady Louise? Are you sure?” Oh God, he was good at this. And he had the accent for it, too, He stripped his jeans off, taking his jockey shorts with them. He was already hard and he ran a hand up and down his shaft, brandishing it like a weapon.
I stared at it, transfixed. Maybe it was the fantasy, but I actually went a little heady, the bl
ood pounding in my ears. Much more of this and I was going to full-on swoon. Between the dress, the four poster bed and his Irish gorgeousness, I really did feel like I was a maiden about to be ravished. He started to lift the dress up my legs, baring them, and I started to struggle—well, thrash around on the bed. I didn’t want to actually get free. “Un—Unhand me!” I shrieked.
He pressed my ankles down on the bed with one big hand and continued. At which point I learned, to my delight, that when a big Irishman decides he’s going to ravish you, you can struggle as much as you like and you won’t put him off his game. I started to buck and wriggle, feeling the heat spike higher and higher inside me with every inch the dress climbed. God, what’s happening to me?
I began to strain upwards with my ankles but by now he’d used his legs to pin me, leaving both hands free to pull the dress up my legs. My thighs were bared, then my very un-medieval panties. Which turned out not to matter at all because he simply grabbed and, with a twist and pull of his powerful arm, snapped the elastic. I shrieked again as I felt myself bared, and crossed one leg over the other as tightly as I could. I was panting, now, and the heat was thrumming through my whole body, making it sing like an instrument. I’d never felt anything like it before.
Sean stopped pulling the dress up when it reached my navel. Then he leaned down to kiss my lips and—
Suddenly I was twisting my head away, moving one way then the other to avoid him. I was panting, my face glowing. “You beast!” I managed. “How dare you!”
A truly evil grin spread across Sean’s face. He moved fast, stretching out on top of me. I bucked and writhed under him, but his muscled legs easily pinned mine down. His chest pushed down against my breasts, trapping me against the mattress. I started to push at his shoulders with both hands, but he didn’t budge even an inch. The realization that I really couldn’t stop him made me go melty inside.
Then he grabbed my wrists, methodically capturing one and then the other and finally pinning them down with one strong hand. With his other hand, he grabbed my chin and roughly made me look at him.
And then he kissed me long and deep, forcing my lips open, twisting and pushing and God teasing my tongue with his, strong and utterly assured. I panted and thrashed and made a lot of outraged sounds like mmf! and finally melted into submission, just like all the princesses in the books. He lifted his lips from me but captured my lower lip for one last slow, languorous suck that made me grind my tightly-closed thighs together. Then he raised himself up so that he could look down at me, still holding my wrists above my head.
He watched my reaction as he shoved one hand roughly into the top of the dress and found my breast, massaging it in slow circles and then lightly pinching my nipple. I arched my back, my lips pressed into a tight line. The pleasure throbbed down from that aching bud in hot, rhythmic pulses made stronger by their edge of pain. I felt my hips begin to circle. I tried to stop them because I wanted to keep playing the haughty, aloof princess, but I couldn’t control them.
“Tell me what you want, Lady Louise,” Sean growled, and it made me think of my fantasy of him, months before, when I’d imagined him breaking into my apartment. Back then, I’d thought he really was like this: I thought he’d take what he wanted by force. The reality was so much better.
I shook my head violently against the mattress.
He leaned close, his breath hot in my ear. “You want it. You want this.” And I sucked in a breath as I felt the hot length of his cock press against my thighs. I shook my head again, copper hair tossing.
Sean growled and pressed his knee into the dark line where my tightly-closed thighs joined. He started to exert pressure, allowing his weight to bear down on me. But he wasn’t willing to wait for my muscles to tire. Oh, no. Suddenly, his hand was gone from my breasts and his fingers were sliding down over my pale belly, down into the tangles of copper curls between my legs, probing between my thighs. I closed them as hard as I could, but even his thick fingers were too slender for me to stop. They slid down and curled...and suddenly, they were stroking at my lips.
“You’re wet for me,” he told me, relishing the words.
Free to move my head, now, I twisted it to the side, refusing to look at him. But I was wet. Soaking.
He brought his thumb into play, drawing gentle but insistent circles on my clit. His fingers started to work at my lips, long, slow strokes up and down their length. I clamped my legs together as hard as I could but I was no match for his strength. He began to grin as both of us felt me moisten and heat. It was impossible to stop myself grinding against him.
He leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth, then spoke into my ear. “You do want it. You want the whole thing up inside you.”
Inside me. My whole body was writhing against the mattress, now, my cheek moving in slow circles as I pressed it against the rough cotton. “N—Never!” I panted. “I’ll never let some Irish barbarian inside me!”
Sean’s grin grew even darker. “Oh. It’s like that?” He redoubled his efforts and I began to moan. “You don’t want the big, rough Irishman inside your pristine body?”
“N—No!”
He growled and thrust a thick finger up inside me. With my legs pressed so hard together, it was tight...and glorious. I felt my legs easing of their own accord as the pleasure washed over me. “N—No,” I said again. But my muscles were turning from iron into gooey honey and his power and weight began to win. His leg slid down between mine, tan muscle dividing my paleness and I groaned in dismay—and delight—at his victory.
He inserted his feet between mine and pushed. My exhausted legs opened easily and then his whole body was between them, powerful hips pinning mine to the bed as he slid down into position. He must have rolled on the condom while he was rubbing me, because I felt the hot, thick head of him pushing at my lips almost immediately. I made a last attempt to close my legs and a shudder of excitement went through me when I found I really couldn’t move them.
Then he was plunging into me and both of us could feel how slickly hot I was for him. I gave up my act completely and let my body go limp as he slid smoothly inside me, groaning as he filled me to the limit. Then, as he began to thrust, I came alive, swirling my hips as I’d longed to do all along, arching my back and grinding up against him. He still had my wrists above my head so I couldn’t use my hands and that made it even better—I was free to buck and thrash and writhe under him, but I still had that feeling of being roughly taken. “God,” I panted. “God, yes!”
He sped up, his hips slamming between my widely-spread thighs. He supported himself on his elbows so that one hand was free to dive into the top of the dress again, this time forcing it down just enough that one breast spilled out. He rubbed his thumb across the nipple until it was achingly hard, then lowered his head and sucked it into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue until I squealed and kicked my heels against the bed.
His cock was so perfect inside me: steel-hard and throbbing, stretching me just the right amount. And it had such power: every time he drew back I felt panting and empty, desperate for him to return; every time he slammed into me I was the helpless, trapped princess again. I went from wanton hussy to blushing virgin a hundred times a minute, until the room dissolved and I was floating in a crimson void of raw pleasure.
He fucked me for what felt like hours, slowing down and then speeding up, taking me towards my peak twice and backing off before finally allowing me to finish. When I finally came, my legs wrapped around him and my spit-wet breasts throbbing from his fingers and tongue, it was with a scream that filled the whole house.
And the best part? When my breathing settled and reality oozed back in, and I realized just how kinky we’d gotten and I felt like some sort of freak...he took me into his arms and whispered in my ear that I was his best ever. And suddenly, I didn’t feel like a freak at all.
Afterwards, we lay looking up at the ceiling. “Sean?” I said.
“Mmm?”
“We can�
�t burn this place down.” I sat up and rolled over to face him, propping myself up on my forearms. “When we move out, we can’t burn it down.”
I expected him to argue, but he looked around and slowly nodded. “Yeah. I know.” Then, when he saw my shocked expression. “What?” His eyes burned right into me. “You think I can’t appreciate beautiful things?”
He slid an arm under my body and pulled me close. I snuggled into his chest.
“I like it,” he said. “Reminds me of the places my mum and dad used to take me. Used to love those places.” He ran his eyes over me, following the curve of my breast and the swell of my hip. Then he smiled a tiny, secret smile. “‘Specially the statues.”
I blinked, wondering what the hell that was all about. “So we’ll find some other way?” I said.
He let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Christ knows how. But yeah.” And then he clutched me around the waist with those big hands of his and hoisted me up in the air, making me yelp, before bringing me down to straddle him, facing his feet. Then he shuffled us down the bed until we were sitting on the end of it. He sat up, his chest pressed against my back, and kissed my neck...and then he nodded towards the mirror.
I looked up into its silvered surface and gasped. We were framed by the dark wood posts of the four poster. The green dress was up around my hips and pushed down below my breasts. My hair was falling down over my naked shoulders. I really did look like a ravished princess.
And behind me, the man who’d done it: massive and tanned, black-haired and with those cobalt-blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. He wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted…
Growing and Kissing Page 20