by Louisa Trent
No one had a bad thing to say about Sean Griffith.
No one had anything to say about Sean Griffith.
Except—he paid well, on time, and insisted on privacy. That last was the most telling thing she had learned about Sean during his absence.
And she had tried to destroy that which he treasured most.
Little wonder he was peeved with her.
Not so peeved that he refused to fuck her, however.
Oh well. In all honesty, she craved what he was only too happy to give.
The master of her body pulled up on the reins when he saw her. She flung herself at him as soon he jumped from his steed. “Sir, you have returned early,” she said, hinting for an expression of longing that might equal hers.
Kiss me. Please kiss me. On the mouth.
He had not kissed her on the mouth since that first time, when she was a know-nothing virgin, and then only after she kissed him on the mouth first.
He put her away from him. “Everything went well, so there was no need to linger.”
“Oh.” No kiss on the mouth. Or on the cheek. No kiss anywhere. And no hinting that he had missed her either.
Crestfallen, she went all a-mope. “So, you missed me not even a little, then?”
While refraining from kissing her, from expressing any soft emotion, he nevertheless did pull her back to her former position against him, a rough yank that told he cared more than he let on. “I missed this.” He cupped her mons. “I missed your cunt.”
“Surely there must have been cunts where you traveled, sir.”
“There were. Ample. But I had no time to indulge.” He sniffed the air around her. “Tell me you have yet to bathe today. Tell me you have not washed your natural scent away.”
She giggled. “Napoleon instructed Josephine not to wash during his absence as he enjoyed her fragrance de naturel.”
“An excellent point.” He rubbed the side of his jaw against her cheekbone, then against her lips. Before she could break her vow with herself and kissed him first, he fell at her feet and raised her gown. Using his teeth on the drawstring, he undid the bow on her drawers and stripped the covering from her genitals. He did kiss her then, on her notch, already saturated with her juices.
For her late-night stroll, a shawl around her shoulders had provided her with warmth, but the muted cashmere scarf had slipped off during her race to meet the robber baron. Not satisfied that she was left wearing only a thin gown, he ripped the childish dress from her body. Tore it clean away. The violence of his actions disturbed the dark stillness and sent an acquiescent shudder through her.
He was stripping her naked outside on the lawn. They were of like minds. She wished to be nude every bit as much as he demanded nudity of her.
She wore no corset, only a girlish chemise, which he rent from her too. Her petticoats followed in short order, then the rest, including her shoes. The evening’s chill fanned over her bared flesh when he finished.
“Fuck,” he said succinctly. “I cannot wait for the house.” He flung off his lightweight worsted greatcoat, spreading the wool onto the ground.
He was already on the ground, himself. The problem was getting her there.
No challenge for him as it turned out. A swift turn, a small push between her shoulder blades, and she was falling. She conveniently landed before him in an all-fours position atop his greatcoat. And with her palms and knees cushioned from slicing grass blades, her situation could not have worked out any better had he planned it.
So, this rough tumble on the front lawn constituted the robber baron’s idea of a proper welcome-home greeting, she mused as he entered her back to front. A vaginal approach, not the anal one she assumed he would make.
The force of his ardor had her crying out in the darkness. It was just so sudden, so unexpected…so very needed.
He pumped once, a flexing of his hips that sent his cock high. Desperate to accept his size, she came up on her arms. After his week’s absence, she had forgotten what it took to accommodate his shocking length and width.
“Christ, I missed this so,” he grunted, his cock beating her flesh like a blunt baton.
He had missed this. Not her.
He was fucking her at the entrance to his property. She was his property too, she conceded, as much as the mansion he had rushed home to see.
Pulling almost all the way out, leaving just the head of himself inserted, he suddenly groaned. “When I left, you had not yet bled. Did you bleed while I was gone?”
What an intimate question! Her cheeks warmed, and she nodded. “I just finished up this morn.”
“Good. I brought no condoms with me on this trip and so have none available now. With that said, spilling inside you should be safe for the next day or so.”
Her heart’s burden lightened. He had blamed time constraints for his week’s abstinence. Now she realized lack of opportunity was but an excuse, for had he anticipated bedding other women while he was gone, he would have taken protection with him. Since had not done so, he had planned to remain celibate. A compliment to her.
Although…not a tremendously huge stroke to her vanity. She was not deluded into thinking he cared for her. And for that matter, why even bother relating there was no risk of conception?
Pinned to the ground as she was, she had little choice but to take what he gave.
With another grunt, he heaved into her again, fast and furious. There was no letup, no relief, from his determined assault on her body.
“Can you take it harder?” he rasped against her ear after one particularly powerful thrust.
Harder?
Was he serious? How was harder possible? He was already hammering her.
But—
Always a glutton for his punishment, she cried, “Yes! Give it to me harder.”
Even after granting him permission, he held on to her hip bones. Clearly, he feared she might yet change her mind and attempt to crawl away.
She had too much pride for that. Instead, she bit her lips against the pain. Any deeper and he would exit her mouth.
His hand found its way to her naked breast. He squeezed in rhythm to his combative pummeling. And just when she thought he would surely pound her unyielding body into the ground, the tension inside her loosened and gave away, and she moved with him, answering and meeting his forward force with backward pushes of her own.
Raw, inside and out, and she was about to come. About to explode in ecstasy. As pleasure melted over her, he took his climax too, a plug of hot cum shot inside her before he toppled off her, spent onto the grass.
He slapped her bottom, a sharp swat. “We made a start, at least.”
A start?
He had to be joking. Once had done her in.
“Up to the house for the next time,” he cawed.
Resigned to a long night and a sore pussy, she reached for her shredded clothes.
Chapter Twenty
Sean stood, righted his clothing, and then hauled Tegan to her feet. “Up you go.”
She looked longingly back at the ground. “But…but…what of my gown?”
“Leave it.” He laughed at her mutinous expression, then explained, “I like you naked.”
“But the servants—”
He shrugged. “Mostly abed at this hour.”
“That ‘mostly’ is what concerns me.”
Sean smoothed his palm across Tegan’s shorn mound, his fingers enjoying the smoothness of her skin.
“Sir, someone might see.”
Even by moonlight, he could see her puckered frown of reproach, and that reproach raised his back. And, like always, when he felt cornered, he fought his way out. “You are not here to concern yourself with what the staff thinks, but with what I think. And what I think is having you naked pleases me very much.”
Anyone else might have dissolved in tears, might have tried wheedling her way out of what she perceived as an uncomfortable situation.
Not Tegan Ellis.
Her chin jut
ted defiantly at him. “A woolly ewe would please you the same.”
“Ah, but what I appreciate the most about you,” he offered, his hand straying to her silky cleft, “is your distinct lack of woolliness. Ohhh, sticky.”
“With cum,” she said resentfully.
“And with any luck on my part, so you will remain.”
“After a week without bedding a woman, you should have no cause for concern,” she muttered, as cross as he.
Was that spare compliment an ode to his virility or praise for his abstinence?
He had never before received such a begrudging pat on the head. Whatever her intent, she had caught his oblique reference to his lack of condoms and spun out that indirect confession the correct assumption—he had bedded no woman on his business trip. He had told her the truth about that, both in the cause and the effect. What she could not possibly know is that she was both. Due to a lack of time, there had been no women while he was gone. She was the reason he had been pressed for time. She was the reason there had been no women. And he laughed uproariously at the absurdity of it all.
Like a sponge, Tegan gobbled up every new experience he threw her way. Her acceptance of the unorthodox was as irritating as all hell. Her resistance was equally irritating. And what was more irritating was his inability to keep his hands off her.
He had traveled to Pittsburgh, a planned visit of a week’s duration. Minimally.
With a great deal of rushing, he had finished his mining business in six days, not the required seven he had thought to cram everything into during the course of the visit. Not the eight he had needed to do inconsequential activities, such as sleep and perhaps eat a bite between trips down into coal shafts. Telling himself there was no reason to waste valuable time on banal superficialities, like food and rest, he had slept standing up and grabbed a meal whenever he could. The same held true for his mad gallop home. Eschewing a carriage, he took to his saddle, dismounted only to swap out horses, dined whenever his steed ate, and from much the same menu. He slept not at all. Consequently, he arrived home even earlier than he could have countenanced. Now, here he was, bone weary. And Christ but he was starving. For food.
But mostly for her.
That galled him. What was his fascination for deceptive women?
Check that. What was his fascination for her?
For Tegan. A poor coal miner’s daughter. A principled young miss who had unprincipally set out to use him for her own ends. Improving mining conditions was a fine end to be sure—and by the way, so was her end fine, her buttocks were the stuff of nocturnal emissions—but still she had sought to use him. But that was neither here nor there, and beside the point. A point that was…
Who knew?
In his fatigue, he had strayed from his initial train of thought. But he had not strayed from her. Not during his visit to Pennsylvania. Not since the first sighting of her caressing a cheap lilac bolt of cloth. He had waited for her to arrive on his doorstep.
Despite his exhausted and hungry grouchiness, he was unwilling to seek out his cool bed or a hot meal until he had emptied all his mad lust in her. That one time on the lawn had barely touched the surface of his want.
The night ahead looked to be a long one.
They entered the front hall, Sean’s hand still splayed on Tegan’s smooth cunt. Try as he would, he could not manage to take his hand off her. First glance of his home, and what did he see?
None other than the footman, lounging about as if he owned the place.
The lad needed to be put in his place. The boy was getting above himself. Sean Griffith was master here. Of the servants. Of the woman at his side.
Who suddenly seemed oddly discomforted.
Why?
The seeds of doubt planted themselves. What was the footman doing here, inside the main house, so late in the evening? Worse still, he appeared to be expecting someone’s return.
Who?
It was then, Sean recalled his abbreviated trip, his sooner-than-anticipated return to Griffith House.
Had he call to be suspicious?
Straightaway, Sean did what he always had done, both in his old neighborhood and in the ring.
Her staked out his territory and then protected it.
“You, Tim,” he called. “My mount requires attention.”
Sean Griffith was master here! No upstart was taking what was his by right.
The footman’s eyes on Tegan, he gave an insolent, “yes, sir. Right away, sir. Anything you say, sir.”
Before Sean could give a more detailed order, Tegan was gasping, “Sir, allow me to leave while you speak to Tim.”
Tim?
Since when had his mistress become so familiar with the servants of this domicile? Since when had she begun to call one in particular by first name?
Since he had been gone.
That first name slipped off her tongue with all the sweetness of honey. She never dripped honey on account of him.
Check that. She did drip honey on account of him, but not from her tongue.
Tired and hungry, covered with the dust of his rushed trip, his lust for Tegan unquenched by the fuck out on the drive, Sean’s back went up as jealousy reared its spiteful head.
“Please, sir,” she pleaded. “I am nude. And Tim is here.”
Tim again, was it?
The footman was a servant, practically an inanimate object, the same as a stick of furniture. Servants were to be ignored, not catered to, not acknowledged.
Sean kept his temper. Barely. He had missed her so much! And she seemed happy to see him too. Despite how onerous the situation appeared, he would give her the benefit of the doubt. “Hush. I pay my staff well not to tell tales.”
“But what of me?” she croaked.
“I pay you well too. The changes to the mines come with a steep price tag. Tell tales on me, and you will not get all you would squeeze out of me.”
“That is not what I meant. What of my feelings, my dignity? This is unseemly!”
“You chose this, remember?” he said harshly, disregarding her missish modesty. “On the docks, a whore soon grows accustomed to men’s bold glances or starves to death. Apart from that, my servants are used to seeing naked women in this front hall.”
“But…but…while you were gone, Tim and I became fast friends.”
He knew it. She had just confirmed his worst suspicions.
Deceitful bitch. Stabbing him in the back would not have torn him more. And then, to blatantly admit to the transgression. How many different kinds of fool did she take him for?
He was no one’s patsy.
“Friends,” he sneered. “Explain to me, how so you became such fast friends?”
Lest she run away, he clamped his fingers around her wrist and then spoke to his footman. “See to stabling my mount, Tim. He has taken me far this night and could use a rubdown and a pail of oats. I reward loyalty. And punish faithlessness. Afterward, collect the clothing left on the drive.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”
“Bring a tray of cold meats, bread, and cheese to the downstairs servants’ quarters”—he winked at his blushing plaything—“where Miss Tegan is staying.”
Tim brushed his mane of shaggy brown hair from his intelligent eyes, eyes all for his mistress. “Yes, sir.”
Enraged by their exchange of warm glances, enraged by Tegan’s description of them as “fast friends,” Sean lost his control.
He brought her forward, two hands on her shoulders. “So, Tim, you two have become acquainted during my absence, have you?”
Tim shuffled his boots. “Yes, sir.”
“How well acquainted?”
“We talked, sir.”
Another hot shaft of jealousy lanced through Sean. “Only talked?”
“Yes, sir.”
He sneered down on Tegan’s bowed head. “Is this true?”
Her gaze level with the floor, she nodded. “Yes, sir. I was lonely during your absence and your footman is my age
. We had much in common. Books primarily. We both live for words. And so we talked.”
At her poised explanation, his hurt—no, not hurt, never hurt—his anger over her treachery spilled over.
Jealousy driving him, he reclaimed his territory by openly fondling her pert breasts. Stay clear. This female belongs to me.
“Miss Tegan is a lovely wench, is she not, Tim?”
“Yes, sir. She is.”
“Lovely, yes, but she is not to be trusted, and so do not allow her access to my library or any other private areas of this house. If you see her go near, you are to come and tell me at once. Your future employ in this house rests on your loyalty to me, lad, not on your attraction to her.”
“You can depend on me, sir.” He paused. “I did see her enter your library when she thought no one was about, and she stayed there a good long time alone.”
“Very well, and thank you for the information. You may go on about your business now, footman.”
At the footman’s departure, Sean turned Tegan around to face him. “So much for your budding friendship, eh? Money talks louder than book discussions; money screams louder than those words you are so fond of. Actions count, not pretty phrases. And money buys loyalty. Do not attempt to use any member of my staff the way you tried to use me. Do so, and their subsequent dismissal from service in this house will be on your head. Do you understand? ”
“I would never use friendship like that.”
“Your actions prove otherwise. Your actions prove you a liar and a cheat and an opportunist. A would-be extortionist.”
“As it pertains to the mines, yes, I am all of those. But I would never have asked Tim or anyone else to aid and abet me. The onus is entirely on me for going into your library. Please do not blame anyone else.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No, but if I had seen anything incriminating against the way you operate Central Mine, I would have taken the evidence to the authorities. Miners lives are in jeopardy, and I shall not hesitate to do what I must to save those lives.”
“Including acting as my whore?”
“Yes, including that. But then, you already knew that. With that said, I found nothing incriminating or illegal about your mine operations. All I found was a history of benign neglect since you took over.”