Endings and Beginnings: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Gypsy Gentlemen Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  She sighed a breath and he inhaled it, taking her essence deep into his lungs. Then he pulled their bodies apart.

  “You are tired,” he rasped, chest heaving.

  “No…never with you, Fabyan…” It was a plaintive cry. She’d lost him for so long and now he was here. Naked. Next to her in bed.

  “Sshhh…” His hands stroked her, soothing her. “I’m not leaving you. Nor are you leaving me.” Fabyan’s voice cracked. “Ever again.”

  He tugged her down against the pillows and quickly stripped her nightdress from her. “Just let me touch you.”

  She sighed. As if she’d object. She’d been starved for his love for too long and now the banquet was before her.

  Annabelle willingly bared herself for him, unafraid that he’d find her aged beyond the young girl he’d loved, unafraid that he’d find her undesirable…knowing only that she loved him beyond anything on this earth.

  With the possible exception of their child.

  Chapter Three

  Fabyan’s heart was so full that his silence was not, for once, self-imposed. He was choked with emotions and couldn’t have spoken a word if he’d tried.

  Not that he wanted to. He just wanted to touch her. To reassure himself that she was here, next to him, lying naked and welcoming as she always had. How well he remembered.

  Her body had changed, as had his, but he saw only the firm breasts of the woman he’d loved for most of his life. He saw the nipples tighten as he delicately ringed them with his fingertips. He watched her legs move as his hand traced a path down to her rounded navel and back again to cup a full weight in his hand.

  He heard her soft intake of breath as he bent his head and suckled her, finally filling his mouth with that heat that only Annabelle could provide. She still fit perfectly.

  She tasted—right. She smelled as he recalled, a bloom of moist warmth beginning to rise from her mound as he aroused her slowly and carefully. He reminded himself that she was exhausted, and made a mental promise to give her as much pleasure as she could take without tiring.

  He had many years to make up for, but he didn’t have to do it all in one hour’s time, much as he wanted to.

  Their future was uncertain, but Fabyan was assured of one thing—he’d never lose her again.

  He slid a hand down to her pussy, and his thoughts evaporated. Hot, wet folds of flesh met his touch, and she moaned as he found her with his fingers. Her hand touched his head, holding him close to her breast as she moved beneath him, sighing with delight.

  “So long, Fabyan…it’s been so long…” Her whisper was a breath of joy in his ear.

  And it had been. His fingers sought entrance and found her tight, yet opening to his intrusion with all the delicacy of a rosebud unfurling its petals to the sun. She still responded to him, craved his touch as much as he craved hers…the intervening years disappeared in the blink of an eye and Fabyan gave himself up to the thrill of learning her all over again.

  He tugged on her nipples, making them stand high and proud, and then moved downwards, following the scent of her arousal to its source. Her curly hair glistened with moisture now, and his mouth watered at the sight.

  Annabelle’s skin had always been the softest he could ever remember touching, and so it was still, her thighs parting to permit him access to her secrets, and caressing his shoulders with the lightest brush of their creamy velvet surface.

  Infinitely slowly, and with infinite care, Fabyan lowered his face to her fiery flesh. He breathed in her essence, and extended his tongue, just flicking the swollen folds in anticipation.

  She sighed. “Fabyan…”

  “Yes…” he answered. “Yes.”

  He nuzzled his mouth into her heat. There she was. That little bud right where he remembered it, tucked amongst her hidden secrets, waiting for his touch to bring it to trembling arousal.

  She moaned as he probed delicately around it, finding all the places that had been burned into his mind from the very first night he’d loved her like this. He loved the taste of her, the scent of her…and he’d never banished either from his memories. He knew where to stroke, where to press and where to caress.

  He’d relived this moment in his dreams for so many years. Her honey was flowing over his tongue, telling him how quickly she responded. She always had. The first time he’d buried his head between her legs he’d known exactly what to do, some instinct, some primal urge driving him to touch her in the ways that would send shivers through her body—and it was still happening to her.

  Her hands were clutching at his head, the linens, anything she could find, as if she was anchoring herself to the bed lest his tongue send her flying. And that was what he wanted to do. Send her flying.

  Then catch her again, hold her tight, and never let her go.

  Her muscles clenched and released around his body, and he gently slipped his tongue from her clit into her fire, bringing it out again and stroking it around, lapping at her and listening to her breaths.

  Raspy and harsh, her lungs were heaving now, and she opened to his loving, her body quivering. He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her, positioning her in the perfect spot.

  Her legs rose to his shoulders, and he trembled as she clasped him tight. Did she know she wasn’t just touching his skin, but so much more? Did she know that his cock might have been rock-hard, but his heart was the part of his body that was about to overflow?

  Did she have any idea how much he had loved her in the past and how much he loved her now?

  Did he?

  He bent his head to her again, letting his eyes drift up over her mound and along her length to her face.

  He watched her as he claimed her with his tongue, each flutter of an eyelid, each parting of her lips as she moaned.

  Her nipples were tight buds and her breasts rose and fell as she panted with deepening arousal. Her belly fluttered and he felt her thighs harden and her buttocks firm beneath his hands.

  She was close now, so close. He wanted to keep her like this—trembling on the brink of her peak, sobbing his name as she fought for more. Watch her cheeks flush and the chords in her neck stand out as she threw her head back, gasping with pleasure.

  But he felt her tremors and knew she didn’t have the strength. And neither did he. Blinded for a moment by the desire to plunge into her and sink his cock into that boiling furnace that wept for him, he closed his eyes.

  And pressed hard with his tongue, upwards, around, down and over once more, finally suckling her hardened clit between his lips.

  She exploded against him.

  Wracked with spasms, her body jerked, and he thrust his tongue into her, moving it around, sharing her orgasm, feeling her muscles as they tugged at him. He let her roll through it, groaning against her flesh and humming with pleasure as she came once more.

  Her breath was a whisper but he heard. “Fabyan. My Fabyan.”

  His cock surrendered. Hearing his name on her lips as she climaxed sent him over the edge, and he came, long hot spurts of seed shooting from him as his balls emptied themselves along with his heart.

  The pain of their separation vanished as his come seeped into the linens between her legs and he stunned himself by crying out her name.

  “Annabelle.”

  His voice, so long unused, came back strong and firm as he shouted the only word that had ever mattered. The name of the only woman he had ever loved.

  Annabelle.

  *~~*~~*

  She woke much later. The fire was lighting the room and for a few moments Annabelle fought her muddled brain to remember where she was. Then the memories flooded back and she moved.

  He was there. Next to her. Lying boneless on his back with one hand reaching towards her. Even in sleep it seemed he was not about to let her go.

  She smiled.

  The rest had done her good, her appetite was sharp, and her heart light for the first time in years. He still loved her. And God knew she had never stopped loving him.
Unable to resist the temptation, she let her hand drift to his chest and lower, following the trail of hair down to his navel.

  She noticed touches of silver there, dappling the formerly jet-black curls. She didn’t care. He was her Fabyan, now and forever. They were older and had lived a lifetime apart, but finally they were reunited, and the world had shifted back to where it was supposed to be.

  Fate had taken a hand and brought two hearts together. And two bodies. One of which was sleeping soundly and the other awakening.

  Annabelle let her hand slip lower. She shifted to her knees, and explored him, pushing back the covers to reveal his cock as it lay on its bed of dark springy curls. Again, she noticed the silver threads, and smiled. He was still gorgeous. He’d be gorgeous at any age.

  Cautiously, she let her hand rest at the base of his cock and it stirred, lengthening a little as the warmth of her palm seeped into his body. She danced her fingertips over it, grinning as it hardened beneath her touch. She was having fun.

  For the first time in more years than she could remember, Annabelle was having fun in bed with a man. And that man was Fabyan. Her heart.

  Once, long ago, she’d tried to recapture this passion, this—ecstasy that she’d known with Fabyan. A nice man, one who took care of his body, and made love with gentle expertise. It was expected that married women entertain themselves with lovers, and for a certainty she wanted nothing to do with her husband. Nor he her.

  But she’d felt awkward, embarrassed, and unsatisfied. It hadn’t happened again.

  Until now.

  She ran her hands over Fabyan’s thighs. His muscles were as strong as ever, and his scent stirred her. She’d know that scent even if she was blindfolded and in total darkness.

  And to think he’d not spoken. He’d had nothing to say to the world since they’d parted. She caressed his balls, just barely skimming her fingertips over the sac holding such precious cargo.

  He moved a little, parting his legs, as if to give her greater access. She glanced up, but his eyes were still closed and his breathing even. Perhaps he was feigning sleep. She didn’t know. Neither, at this moment, did she care. She had him where she wanted him.

  His cock grew as she continued her exploration, until its expanding length could no longer be resisted. She bent her head and took him into her mouth.

  He moaned. “Annabelle…” His hand drifted to her head, touching her hair gently.

  She pulled back a little, administering a swift lick to the head as it left her lips. “Shhh.”

  Sucking him back in, she grasped him more firmly, no longer afraid of disturbing him. He was very much awake. His legs moved a little, and his breath caught as she worked him with her mouth and her tongue, loving every inch of him she could find and caressing his balls with her free hand.

  She rolled them in her palm, feeling his cock jump as she did so. The room was silent, the only sound coming from her mouth as she devoured Fabyan. His length, his taste, the little salty drop her tongue drew from him—it was all as erotically arousing as anything she could ever remember.

  To be able to love him like this. To tell him with her actions how she felt about him. To give back to him the pleasure he’d given her and to make up for the years they’d been apart.

  Her head spun with delight as she felt the long vein pulse against her lips, and she intensified her efforts, letting his cock brush against the roof of her mouth all the way back to her throat.

  “Annabelle…I…”

  She ignored him. She wanted this so badly. She wanted to take him inside her in so many different ways—each one cementing their love for each other. Each one obliterating the havoc their separation had brought to their lives.

  She got her wish.

  He groaned and his body tightened with a shudder. “I can’t…”

  She didn’t want him to. With a strong suckling movement, Annabelle urged him to let go. And he did.

  Groaning with pleasure, Fabyan came, filling her mouth and throat with his sweet-salty come. She swallowed and continued sucking him, milking each and every drop of his seed until his balls lay limp and empty and his cock softened on her tongue.

  He sighed. “Annabelle…you didn’t have to…”

  His hand tugged gently on her hair and he pulled her away from his belly and up into his arms.

  “Yes I did, Fabyan. I’ve never wanted anything so much before. And I’ll want it again too.”

  “You shall have it, love. But not right now. You must rest.”

  She cuddled close to his chest and listened to his heart as it slowed down to its regular rhythm. “Now I think I can. At last.”

  Within moments, they were both asleep.

  *~~*~~*

  Breakfast the next morning was a riotous affair at Count Karoly’s home, where Luk, Mat and Prioshka were welcomed with all the enthusiasm of troops returning home from the wars.

  The servants simply shrugged and served extra food. They’d settled the visitors the night before, obeying their request that they not disturb their host.

  So Peter, Gyorgy and Viktor were ecstatic to see their two friends smiling at them in the breakfast room, and Freddie and Madelyne made haste to welcome Prioshka.

  Once again, stories were told, and adventures exchanged, and during a lull in the conversation, Madelyne leaned back and gazed in awe at Prioshka.

  “I am dumbfounded. Two of them. I can barely handle one.”

  Ever true to her nature, Prioshka blushed. Then grinned.

  All three women shared a companionable burst of laughter.

  “I’m in awe, too, Prioshka,” giggled Freddie. “And perhaps later…you can give me a few tips?”

  Another round of chuckles erupted from the teacups, making the men break off their conversation and glance over.

  “Care to share the humor, love?” asked Viktor of Madelyne.

  She shook her head.

  Peter and Gyorgy raised their eyebrows. Mat and Luk, glancing at Prioshka’s bright cheeks, simply smiled.

  Peter rose. “Well, Freddie and I are going to drop over to Zentaily House this morning. What are you folks doing?”

  Viktor tugged on his lip thoughtfully. “I have a couple of contacts I should try and pin down. Madelyne and I will join you and then we can go on from there.” He glanced over at Gyorgy. “Perhaps Fabyan will be by…he said he’d visit sometime today?”

  Plans were made, appointments set, and shortly thereafter, Mat, Luk, Gyorgy and Prioshka remained at the table as the others took their leave.

  Luk sighed. “It is good to be together again, my friend.” He smiled at Gyorgy. “And to see those two wed…well, it’s a surprise, but a pleasant one.”

  Gyorgy stared at his teacup. “I intend to wed too.”

  Prioshka jumped. “But Marie-Claire never said—”

  “What?”

  Gyorgy was out of his seat and standing in front of Prioshka before the words had finished spilling from her mouth.

  She clapped her hand across her lips to stifle a curse.

  Luk and Mat rushed to her side and faced Gyorgy.

  “What do you know of Marie-Claire?” Gyorgy’s voice was harsh and his expression forbidding.

  “She asked us not to tell you. It was a mistake.” Luk glared at Gyorgy.

  Prioshka dropped her hands and looked up at the undeniably riled man before her. “Gyorgy, I should not have spoken as I did. We made her a promise and I have foolishly broken it.”

  Gyorgy ran his hand over his face. “It’s all right. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But please…this is more important to me than anything. Tell me what you know? How do you know her?” His eyes remained fixed on Prioshka’s. “Please?”

  The three conspirators exchanged glances. “It will mean betraying a confidence, Gyorgy.” Mat stood tall and met the other man’s gaze.

  Prioshka put her arm on Mat’s and tugged. “You’re right, but I have to confess that I’m worried about her, Mat.”


  Gyorgy sat down with a thump. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story, and we can decide afterwards if you’ve broken your word or not.”

  Luk and Mat nodded.

  “She’s a damned independent woman, Gyorgy, I’ll say that for her. But before you bite my head off, let me assure you she knows where we are…and that we’re here to help her should she need it. We certainly wouldn’t leave her at loose ends.”

  The story tumbled out as Luk, Mat and Prioshka related the tale of their eventful journey to London.

  “And I like her, Gyorgy. She’s not only beautiful, she has…a certain something about her. She’s shy.”

  Gyorgy choked over his tea. Shyness wasn’t part of the woman who’d offered herself to him and his whip.

  Luk frowned. “But she’s here on a mission, Gyorgy. And we don’t like the sound of it.”

  Gyorgy stared at him. “A mission?”

  Three pairs of eyes looked worriedly back. “Yes, a mission,” said Prioshka.

  “What kind of mission?”

  Nervously, Prioshka pleated the tablecloth beneath her fingers. “She said…she said she was here to kill a man.”

  Gyorgy gulped. “Kill a man?”

  “Don’t worry, Gyorgy. Not you.” Prioshka’s hand reached out and smoothed his sleeve. “We asked if she was going to kill you and she said no.”

  In spite of his inner turmoil, Gyorgy couldn’t help but grin. “Well, thank you for relieving my mind on that matter, anyway.” Of course, Marie-Claire probably would be the death of him, but not in the way that the others meant. She’d kill him with her passion. And his. And he’d die a happy man.

  He shook his head to clear it of images he didn’t need to remember right now. “Did she say who?”

  “No. She keeps her counsel very well indeed.” Mat frowned too. “I got the impression it was someone from her past perhaps. Something that she should have done…what did she say ‘years ago’ or words to that effect.”

  A number of pieces of a puzzle fell into place in Gyorgy’s mind and he leaped from his chair with an oath on his lips.

  “Az anyad.”