“Lift your bottom, darling.”
She obeyed and he shoved the dress and chemise down, his gaze dropping to the triangle of dark curls. Instead of touching her there, he rubbed her stomach in a circle. His mouth curved as he caressed, the circles becoming larger and larger, and lower and lower until . . .
Martha stiffened when he brushed her mound and he paused, his dark eyes locking with hers. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
His eyelids lowered and his lips curved into a faint but well-pleased smile. “Spread your thighs for me, Martha.”
The muscles in her legs jerked and jumped to do his bidding, shame mingling with want as she opened herself to him. He caressed down her belly and over her mound, stroking the seam of her lower lips, the pressure he exerted never quite enough to touch that exquisitely sensitive part of her.
Martha pushed her pelvis up on his next stroke.
He chuckled, his hand not ceasing its heavenly work. On the next stroke the tip of his finger slid between her lips and she whimpered. “So wet and swollen, and it’s all for me, isn’t it, Martha?”
Martha wasn’t in any condition to speak.
His stroking became rhythmic. “Your little bud is engorged—needy.” Hugo groaned. “Chri—fuck I want to put my mouth on you.”
Her entire body shook at both his crude language—she was not so lost to pleasure that she didn’t notice his hastily-caught blasphemy—and shocking words: his mouth?
“I have been dreaming about this every night.” He stroked from the part he called a bud to her entrance, and then he pushed a finger inside her.
Martha gasped and her body clenched.
“You’re so tight, sweetheart.” He began to work her with gentle strokes, his chest rumbling with a sound that was remarkably like a purr.
Finally—finally—he touched her sensitive core.
Martha couldn’t help it; she moaned, her body going liquid as his thumb circled the source of her pleasure while he eased another finger in beside the first, the stretch both uncomfortable and wildly erotic.
“Have you ever felt yourself inside?” He pumped her harder and deeper, as if to demonstrate which inside he meant.
A choking sound escaped her parted lips and he chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no. You feel like hot, slick velvet inside, Martha. I can’t wait to watch you explore your body.” He did something with his fingers that made her whine and buck. “You are so close,” he said, working her toward her climax with shocking ease. Martha tried to hold back, to draw out the pleasure, but she was no match for his magical hand.
“Come apart for me, Martha.”
She exploded at his command and lost herself in pure bliss, only vaguely aware of her hoarse, desperate keening and his soothing voice as she drifted.
It was the tickle of hair on her belly that brought her back to herself.
She shoved up onto her elbows, her arms shaky and weak. “Hugo—what—”
“I’m going to use my mouth on you.” He opened her with his thumbs
“Hugo! That’s—
“Oh, Martha.” His tone was reverential. “You have the most beautiful cunt I have ever seen.”
Martha’s mortified yelp turned into a moan when he lowered his mouth over the already stimulated bundle of nerves, shattering her with the soft wet heat of his mouth.
“Hugo,” she whispered, more than a little reverence in her own tone.
The urge to give herself up to pleasure, to collapse and close her eyes, was almost overwhelming, but she needed to see—to bear witness to his exquisite wickedness. His dark head bobbed between her spread thighs as he laved her with the flat of his tongue, again and again and again.
Martha began to shudder as the now-familiar pleasure built, incited not only by physical sensation, but also by the sheer depravity of the act—the knowledge that Hugo was touching such an intimate, private place with his mouth.
Her climax hit her like a bolt of lightning and her back arched, her heels digging into the bedding as she ground herself against his mouth, grunting and mewling and all but sobbing.
“That’s right, darling, let it all go.”
Her body clenched and released, clenched and released, until she was as limp and wrung out as a rag.
When Hugo pulled away, she opened her woozy eyes. He’d pushed up onto his knees, a hand on the front of his trousers. Instead of untying his makeshift belt, he stroked the obscene bulge over the thin fabric, the muscles in his forearms ropey and taut. “I will be a long time getting to sleep, Martha.”
She reached for his belt, but he shook his head and leaned away.
“Not tonight, darling. We should get you dressed, and I’ll walk you back to the Greedy Vicar.”
◆◆◆
Hugo couldn’t believe those words had just come out of his own mouth.
He’d never been this aroused in his entire life. What difference would it make if he took her? Especially after what they’d just done. They were going to be married; did it really matter if he had her maidenhood now or two days from now?
And yet…
“Hugo?”
“Hmm?”
“I have a question.”
His body stiffened, and not in a pleasurable way. Questions, in his experience, were never good.
“Yes,” he said cautiously.
“Why did you avoid me for two weeks after taking the job for Mr. Stogden and then suddenly come back?”
“I tried to stay away so I wouldn’t be tempted to do something like we just did.” He gave a harsh, unamused laugh. “Clearly I wasn’t too successful.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze to her body, saw she was naked, and jerked the edge of the blanket to cover herself.
Hugo wasn’t a religious man, but even he knew the Biblical story of Eve, and how she’d covered her body after making love with Adam. Something Hugo had just said had shamed Martha.
“What did I say to hurt you?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Martha, look at me, love.” Her eyes, which had been hazed with pleasure only a short time before, were now clouded with pain. “Remember what I said earlier—about me having no experience with this sort of thing?”
She gave a grudging nod.
“That means you have to tell me when I say something rude or hurtful. That wasn’t my intention, but it seems to have happened.”
Martha filled her lungs and exhaled slowly before answering. “It’s only—well, it just sounds like you didn’t want to like me.”
And that, as the saying went, hit the nail on the head.
Even Hugo—as oblivious as he was—knew he couldn’t say that.
Instead, he said, “I just believed that you would be better off with Clark.”
The furrows on her forehead deepened.
Hugo tried again. “It was not easy to stay away from you, Martha.” That, at least, was not a lie. “Can’t you just accept that I was trying to do the right thing by you?”
Emotions galloped across her pretty face like a herd of horses. He couldn’t identify the one that finally settled, but at least she nodded. And then she brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm.
The tender action left him breathless.
“Your poor hands,” she murmured, kissing his fingers. She lingered over the large blister on his thumb, kissing it and then—God save him—licking it with her kitten tongue.
“Fucking hell, Martha.”
She dropped his hand like it was a hot coal. “I’m so sorry—did I hurt you?”
Hugo took her hand and clamped it over his pulsing cock in answer.
“Oh.” Her plump lips parted in surprise, which of course made him even harder. “How long can you stay—”
“A long time,” he assured her. His ability to stay hard for hours—in addition to his remarkable recovery time—was but one of the things that made him so successful in his business.
Her fingers tightened around his shaft and he
gritted his teeth and lifted her hand. “We need to get you back to your room at the Vicar.” For my own sanity.
“Can’t I stay just a bit longer?” She leaned into him, sighing in a way that squeezed his chest.
“Just a bit,” he said in a raspy voice.
Hugo laid down beside her and she tucked the blanket under her arms. “I feel guilty.”
“About what we did?”
“Oh, no—of course not.”
It was unnerving how much her words relieved him.
She kissed his hand again. “I adored what we did. I can’t wait to do it again. Er, and other things, too.”
His jaw sagged. This was prim Miss Martha Pringle? While his brain boggled at the words coming out of her mouth, his prick pulsed joyously; never in his entire life had he wanted to have sex with anyone so badly.
Hugo wasn’t sure if he was entirely happy about that …
“Er, what makes you feel guilty then?” he asked when he saw she was staring at him.
“Is it bad of me to want to leave Stroma?”
He snorted. “I’d say it’s a sign of intelligence.” He lightly caressed her cheekbone with his thumb. “Why did your father come here to begin with, do you think?”
“He said that he wanted to be somewhere his services would be needed.”
“Did your mother like it here?” Hugo suspected that the wife of a vicar had to go wherever her husband could get work.
“I don’t recall my mother. My father said she was never quite robust after I was born but that she was the one who wanted to come to the island. She caught a chill that became worse. The storms were terrible that winter and he could not get her to a physician in time.”
“You’ve never met any of your mother’s people?”
“My father said she was an orphan.” She hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about your family, Hugo.”
Her words sent a spike of anxiety to his chest. “Oh?”
“Won’t they want to see you get married? I mean, I know not all of them, but maybe one or two?”
He’d completely forgotten that he’d spoken of his family that night in the caves. What the hell had he told her?
“Do you want to wait to get married until they can come?”
Hugo had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing; they’d be waiting a very long time.
“They’re not exactly the traveling sort of people.” Only after he said that did he recall that he’d told her all of them had moved out of London. He really needed to get his lies straight.
“Er, we don’t need to have the banns read?” he asked, hoping to move the subject away from his family.
“No, in Scotland a willing couple can marry without such formalities.
“Well, then. The curate is coming out to Stroma for a wedding; I think we should give him one.”
Her expression was, understandably, tense.
“Or we can wait, Martha. I can always go down to London and then come back when—”
“No, Saturday is the best idea. You’ll want to leave immediately after?”
“I’d prefer to spend our wedding night somewhere other than this lean-to or the spare bedroom at the Greedy Vicar.”
She chewed her lip.
“What is it?”
“Have you thought about Small Cailean? He will miss you—he’s become so attached. And his aunt, well…”
“What are you saying, Martha?”
“His aunt takes care of him, but she doesn’t—”
“She doesn’t treat him like he is a person,” Hugo finished for her. More like a dog. Or a draft animal.
“She does her best, but I don’t think he is happy here.”
Hugo groaned. “God, Martha. Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“Is your house in London too small?”
He laughed before he could stop himself. Solange’s was enormous, with plenty of rooms.
Martha frowned. “Why is that funny?”
“Having enough room isn’t the issue,” he said. “Why are you saying this? Did Cailean tell you about Lily?”
“Cailean doesn’t really communicate with me—or anyone—like he does with you.”
Hugo pushed down a surge of pride.
“Why, what did he say about Lily?” she asked.
“She’s got a family and wasn’t too friendly about including Cailean.”
“Ah, well, that was bound to happen eventually. I thought she would have gone off long ago.”
“I can’t imagine Cailean would be happy in London, Martha.”
“Why not?”
“It’s noisy, crowded, and there aren’t the sort of places he seems to like—beaches, the sea, plenty of countryside to explore.”
“I think he spends so much time wandering because he doesn’t like to go to his aunt’s house.”
Hugo suspected she was right.
Still, when he tried to imagine the shy, gentle young man in London, he just couldn’t envision it.
Yet when he tried to imagine Cailean on Stroma without Lily or Martha or Hugo, he didn’t want to think about it.
“Good Lord, Martha. What are we going to do about Cailean?”
Chapter 23
Hugo hadn’t expected that he’d have to face any questions about Martha until after work—when he’d agreed to meet her at the Greedy Vicar.
But the people of Stroma once again surprised him.
“You’re a good lad,” Mr. Stogden said once his last day was finally over. “If you ever need a job, you’re welcome back here.”
Hugo was humbled by the compliment “Er, thank you, sir.”
“I understand you’re to marry Martha Pringle.”
Hugo gawked.
Mr. Stogden chuckled. “Even a hermit like me gets news like this quickly.” His face became stern. “I know the vicar regarded you highly, Hugo. He would be pleased with this,” Stogden said, adding to Hugo’s surprise. “Clark is a solid man, but Mr. Pringle wanted the best for Martha. And life on Stroma—well, let’s just say that I encouraged my children to find work elsewhere.” He paused, his eyes suddenly as flinty and hard as the stone in his quarry. “You make sure you do well by her, Hugo Buckingham.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Stogden handed him a small stack of coins. “Here is your pay.” He smiled and winked. “I hope to see you down at the Vicar later so I can buy you a congratulatory pint.”
“I’d like that, sir.”
It didn’t take Hugo long to clean up and change into his better set of clothing, and he was soon on his way down to the tiny pub. While he wasn’t looking forward to the grilling he’d likely face, he could hardly leave Martha to answer all the questions alone.
“Evenin’, ’Yougo.”
He turned to find Jem Packard ambling toward him.
“Hello, Mr. Packard.”
“I gather I’ll not be takin’ you over quite so early tomorrow?”
Hugo snorted and resumed his trek. “Does everyone on the island know?”
“Aye, and probably on the mainland, too.” Jem fell into step beside him. “Martha says that you’ll get married when the curate comes tomorrow.”
Hugo didn’t hear any judgment in his tone.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ll still need you to take us over after the wedding breakfast—weather permitting, of course.”
Jem didn’t answer immediately
They trudged in silence.
“Aye, reckon I can do that. You talked to Clark?”
Hugo glanced at the older man; Jem had never been this chatty with him before. “No. Why should I have?”
Jem shrugged. “No reason.”
Hugo suspected there was one but that he was too dense to have guessed it.
“I need to stop by Mrs. Fergusson’s,” Hugo said as they neared the small stone cottage where Cailean lived with his aunt and cousin. “Are you going to the Vicar?” That was a stupid question, where else would he be going?
&nbs
p; “Aye.”
“Tell Martha I’ll be along shortly.”
Jem looked like he wanted to say something, but just nodded and continued down the path.
Hugo took a deep breath and then knocked on Mrs. Fergusson’s door. He heard the woman yell inside the house and a moment later the door opened.
He grinned up at Cailean. “Ah, just the man I was looking for.” Cailean stepped back into the house without looking at him.
“What’s wrong?” Hugo asked. “Cailean?” But the boy shuffled into the little kitchen with his eyes downcast, leaving Hugo to follow.
“Who was it?” Mrs. Fergusson snapped rudely, not turning from the cookstove where she was cutting potatoes into a pot.
Hugo bristled at her tone; why did she have to speak to her nephew so harshly? “Good evening, Mrs. Fergusson.”
She yelped and spun around, flustered. “Oh, Mester Yougo, er, I didn’t—”
“I want to take Cailean with me,” Hugo blurted, spurred by anger into speaking bluntly. Hugo turned to the lad. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you before—”
Cailean flung his arms around him.
“Cailean,” Hugo wheezed, pounding on the other man’s back when he couldn’t force any words out.
“Let ’im go, Cailean,” the old woman scolded.
Cailean’s vise-like grasp fell away and Hugo sucked in a lungful of air. Yes, one of his ribs definitely felt bruised.
“You awright, Mester Yougo?”
He met Cailean’s worried stare first. “I’m fine.” He smiled to show he meant it. “I take it that’s a yes?”
Cailean nodded vigorously.
Hugo looked at his aunt. “Mrs. Fergusson?”
She swallowed under his harsh stare and glanced at her nephew. Hugo saw regret flicker across her face and knew that she would miss the lad, even though she viewed him as a burden. “You’ll take care of ’im, aye?”
“I will.”
Mrs. Fergusson said something in Scots to Cailean, but Hugo recognized the word Martha, so obviously she already knew about their impending marriage.
Cailean nodded at whatever she said, and the old woman turned back to Hugo. “I told him to be a good lad and mind you and Martha.”
Hugo suspected Cailean didn’t need to be told that, but he understood it was probably the old woman’s way of showing that she cared.
Hugo and the Maiden: A Steamy Virgin and Rake Regency Romance (The Seducers Book 3) Page 20