"Is that the little love game you'd like to play now?" she asked softly, finding the idea of this fantasy both unsettling and exciting.
"I had rather a different one in mind, in which you got to give me the orders, well, instructions about what pleases you," he confessed with a slow grin.
"Seeing you finally naked would be a good start," she said with a pointed look at his lower parts.
To her surprise, he actually blushed. "I know, but at the moment it's my only line of defense from taking you hard and hot in about two seconds," he confessed.
She spread her legs now. "And what if that's the way I want it?" she said with a challenging smile.
A tremor shook his him from head to foot, so powerful it made him close his eyes and sway briefly. "With my clothes on? Or off?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"On, so we don't waste another minute," she ordered, opening her arms wide.
"Oh, Isolde.... What position?"
"You on top of me, with me like this," she said, sitting up and moving her bottom to the edge of the bed.
He reached for her breasts but she shook her head.
"And no touching unless I say so. I want just you right up inside me, as hard as you can manage, until I beg you to stop."
His brows shot upwards and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. "Hmm, and I thought I was the experienced one here."
"It's why you got so excited the other night, isn't it?" she guessed. "It's the reason that the virgin fantasy that excites so many men. It's forbidden fruit which shouldn't be touched, but tastes all the sweeter for being stolen and secretly enjoyed."
"Except that everyone at our wedding reception knows exactly what we're doing," he said with a broad smile.
"Or will be, as soon as you hurry up and get your chap to come out to say hello," she said, reaching for him.
"Your wish is my command, darling."
His huge manhood pulsed out of his clothing, and with one glide he not only filled her, he brought her soaring to fulfillment. She clung to him, every muscle straining, her whole body as taut as a bow spring with her legs dangling on either side of his as he thrust deeper and deeper until her sanity splintered to shards, and her only sense was the sensual thrust of him as he continued to thrill her.
"Oh, I did so need that," she panted when she found her voice again.
"I know," he said through gritted teeth. "So do I."
"Then let it go," she urged, cupping his buttocks with both hands and tugging forward on the fabric.
He shook his head, his handsome face almost a mask of primitive passion. "No, I can bring it back down to a simmer and start again if you'll just give me a minute," he said, holding very still inside her.
But her flesh was restless around his huge length, and she massaging the hard globes of his buttocks and lifted her hips rhythmically until he exploded.
A moment later she yanked him into the bed and rolled him over onto his back. Jacket, cravat, waistcoat flew apart until at last she was able to caress his chest. She kissed downards as she eagerly bared him, finally stripping his trousers down to his kneed. She began to nuzzle her cheek against his crisp hair, and with only a feeble protest which choked in his throat as her mouth moved silkily over him, he reached around to clamp his large hand on one of her slender thighs. With both hands he positioned her over his head and began to lap at her.
"What's this? You need another bath, darling. Let's just see if I can get you cleaned up."
She giggled, and allowed him to roll her onto her side, and they brought each other to the brink of climax.
"Come inside me, please?" she begged.
"With pleasure," he said, his voice a sultry purr that quickened her pulse.
His distended flesh filled her until her breath came in desperate gasps. "Randall, please..."
"Tell me what you need, darling, and it's yours," he vowed, surprised and delighted at her unabashed responsiveness.
"Harder. Short strokes, then long," she urged, arching forward instead of backwards in order to deepen the contact. "Oh, just there. Ahhh!"
He watched and reveled in the sensation as her body tensed, vibrated, and at last collapsed, and he finally granted himself his own cataclysmic release.
"Oh, thank you. That was so wonderful," she breathed when she found her tongue again at last.
"Mmm, I know. You have the most gorgeous breasts and feminine parts, the most sultry mouth." He ran his hands over her worshipfully, raising himself over her body to rub her bud of desire with his thumb as he began to move inside her again.
Her eyes flew wide, two dark pools of surprised passion. "Oh, darling you can't possibly want more!"
"I most certainly can. After all, if I can't make love to my wife all night on our wedding night, when can I?" He began to nibble her nipples, and began to praise her in a reverent tone that was all the more thrilling for being accompanied with such looks and touchess of awed reverence.
"Look how lovely and dainty they are. How perfectly they fit into my mouth. How eager they are. How eager you are for me, my darling Isolde. I can't tell you what a thrill it is to have your eyes glow so when you look at me naked. And there's nothing more arousing for a man than a woman who adores worshipping him as you have me. Except one who also swallows. The ultimate male fantasy. There's nothing worse than a woman who makes that or lovemaking seem like a chore or sacrifice."
She stared at him, her cheeks reddening becomingly as she grasped all he was telling her. "A chore? Hardly. Everything about you excites me, Randall. I find you delicious in every way. The taste of your entire body, your lovely fragrance everywhere. But it's all so strange. I mean, I have no idea what's usual for couples, or even what you like about my body."
He grinned, and splayed his hand over her bare belly possessively. "The answer is everything. And I want to know what you like, fulfill your every desire. Do you like that?" He started stroking down each side of her most sensitive mound.
"Mmm."
"And that?" he asked, stroking the sides of her pearl of pleasure, then circling it.
"Mmmmmm. Lovely, thank you, darling."
He withdrew from her embrace slowly, and she opened her eyes and looked at him in confusion. "Where are you going?"
"To make us more comfortable. And I have another little game for you."
She licked her lips nervously, earning herself a ravishing kiss. "Did I forget to mention how much I adore your lips, your mouth and kisses, Isolde?"
He laid on his side and put his head on the pillow, then patted the bed for her to come lie down next to him. He kissed her again and then said, "Spread your legs."
She did so, and he curved the fingers of his right hand into her flesh, one finger on her rosebud, the other two poised on one of her lips and one right at the entrance of her core.
"I'm going to hold my hand perfectly still. You move. Take what you need."
She blushed. "Oh, no, I -"
"Go on, it'll be fun. And I can't keep thrusting at you like that, I'll make you sore, and the last thing I want is to hurt you in any way, my lovely new wife." He paused for a moment, and then patted her. "You do know that, don't you, Isolde?"
She gazed into his eyes for a brief moment.
"Because I know your mother is concerned and the past history of our families is--"
"I trust you," she said simply, and gave him a tender kiss. To her relief, she noticed that the black part of his strange umbra was gone, and only a slight bit of red remained. "And dare I say it, I'm certainly falling in love with you. And want to get to know you enough to love you," she added shyly. "Beyond the physical, I mean, though I believe it's an important part of marriage, especially for the man."
"I want it to be for you too," he said with a slight frown.
"Oh, it is," she reassured him, cupping his cheek tenderly with one hand, while the other stroked the wrist resting on her belly. "it's just all very new to me, and, well, a bit frightening to see how carried away I can
become with just the simplest touch of your magical hands."
"Mmm, that sounds wonderful to me, and it really is my pleasure," he said, nuzzling her cheek. "So go on. Move where and when you like."
She soon began to wriggle her hips, and it took ever ounce of self-control for him not to dive into her lush body anew. He kissed her, and their torrid tongues mated in a dance of their own as she circled, gyrated and at last massaged him to his own completion as she took hers from him.
"Oh, you were right. That was fun," she breathed, then giggled with delight as his potent maleness began to throb with renewed energy. "Can I do the same for you?"
"No need, my dear, he's more than happy at the minute."
"But he's, er--"
"Merely being appreciative of his good fortune in being so near the most gorgeous woman in London."
"Thank you, darling."
"I mean it." He rolled onto his back and took her with him tucking her tightly to his side.
"Only fun?" he asked after a time, and she could sends his strange darkness descending once more.
Afraid he was disappointed, she said, "Well, more than fun, but less than the incredible zeniths you drive me to inside of me. Those are heaven on earth. We just seem to, well spark off each other, and I love the feeling of, well, how much we share when we, er, come together, I think is the phrase."
He nodded and smiled down at her. "Good, I'm glad. I want you to be satisfied. Don't be afraid to ask me anything, and above all don't be afraid to tell me if you're worried. There's nothing to be ashamed of, either desire or fear. And as you said so wisely, falling in love and being in love are two different things. Now that I'm married, I aspire to have both."
"In that case," she said with a purr, rolling onto her side with her back to him, "I wouldn't mind trying you behind me again the way I've seen in a rather wicked book one of my school friends once showed me."
"Oh, would you now, my bold wench?" he teased. "So, show me what you saw in that dirty book, you naughty little girl.
She blushed hotly, but pushed up onto her hands and knees and wriggled her bottom in the air.
"Indeed, gladly," he said with a grin, handing her a pillow. "A most excellent position for the woman, especially if you lean your chest on the bed. Perfect. And now, put that under your stomach. Ah, yes, and my hand just here--"
"Oh, Randall," she gapsed, feeling as if all the air had burst from her lungs in a vast rush.
"And now, my lovely wife, prepare to be even more dazzled."
And she was....
Chapter Eighteen
In a less salubrious part of the City, Parkins looked out at Howell from his watery blue eyes, hardly daring to tell him the news he had just heard at the club he had gone to in order to see what free hospitality he could cadge.
"Well, out with it, man. You've been staring at me like a hare faced with a stoat for the past five minutes. It's puttin' me off my drink," Chauncey demanded.
Parkins slid to the edge of the rickety wooden bench, ready to flee if Chauncey cut up rough. "It's just that, well--"
"If you don't want to me my second when I duel that bastard Randall Avenel, just say so now, you little weed."
Parkins' Adam's apple bobbed. "It's not that, Chauncey. Well, not entirely."
"Then what? Your parents found out you're in the River Tick?" He put down his ale tankard long enough to search the sagging pockets of his brown worsted wool jacket and frayed linen waistcoat.
At length he managed to come up with a few coppers. "That should tide you over. But I swear, once Avenel is dead, the world is our oyster--"
Parkins pounced on the pennies his companion had clinked down on the scarred table, and shook his head. "But that's just it, you see. There's no need for a duel now."
Howell glared, his normally bulging eyes looking as though they might come right out of their sockets. "There's every need. I never thought that cold bitch Isolde would actually get futtered when I sent her there to ruin her reputation and put her and her family completely at my mercy. I'm certainly going to make her pay for it for the rest of her life.
"But now that I think about it, it couldn't have worked out better. There was more than one witness to her ravishment now besides me, including that harpy who attacked me, and the butler. Randall can't cover up the fact that he's defiled an innocent aristocratic girl. So all you have to do is not mix up the pistols, and we're home free."
Parkins blinked owlishly. "Mix up the--"
Howell gave a dark frown, realising he had said too much to the unsuspecting Parkins already. He never should have admitted planning to ruin Isolde, let alone....."Misload them, I mean," he said hastily.
"Chauncey, I'm trying to tell you, there are to be no pistols. None at all. There's no need. Randall's made good on what he did to the poor girl."
His thin lips curled into a sneer. "Made good? How? By setting her up in a little cottage near Town as his latest doxy?" He took a hefty swig of ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve in a clear gesture of dismissal.
"She's a Viscount's daughter. He can't get away with making a whore of her so openly. And I'll never believe it anyway. Randall must hate the bloody sight of Isolde. Her father ruined his, and everyone knows it. Completely disgraced the old Earl, who died of shock. Or maybe even topped himself, I shouldn't wonder. Mistress? Hah. Murderer, more like."
Parkins shook his head. "Wife."
"Whaddye say, man, speak up?" He cocked one already jutting ear forward. "Shut that bloody singing, you poxy-faced curs!" he bellowed at the table to the left of their corner, earning himself a stream of colorful curses from the carousing sailors in the dockside tavern who were belting out a shanty so lewd it was making even Parkins blush.
"I said, wife. It's all over the club. The most eligible bachelor in Town, the Earl of Hazelmere, was married this very day. "
Chauncey thunked the tankard down. "Hell and damnation! No! No!"
Parkins nodded. "It's true. So the girl's honor is no longer at issue, and you don't have to duel--"
"No, damn it, no!" Howell shouted, turning puce. "I won't let that bugger take what's mine."
"She must have married him of her own free will," Parkins said mildly.
"She was tricked, duped just like he fooled her into bedding him. The marriage is a sham, a lie, I tell you, " Howell insisted, before draining his tankard to the lees and rising from the bench.
"Apparently her whole family was there, including her brother--"
"Who didn't even try to duel for her honor, obviously," he gritted out, furious that another part of his clever plan had been foiled.
Parkins shook his head. "You know how they view duelling in the Town now. It's not like the olden days. Now it's just as much a matter of public scandal as an affair, and more often than not deemed murder to boot.
"Look, Chauncey, I'm sorry your little dove flew the coop, but it's not like she had any money or anything after her father died--"
Howell bit his tongue as his mind raced. Married. Married.... What the hell was he going to do now? His creditors, the whole district back home, would be agog. And even wedding the plain Clarence girl was not going to get him all he needed""
"Hell and damnation, stop your yammering, man, and let me think. If I can get her family to change their minds, object, there could be an annulment...."
"Chauncey, where are you going?" he shouted to the retreating figure, haring out of the tavern as though on fire."
"To see one of the most dangerous men in London, to try to stop Randall dead in his tracks once and for all."
Chapter Nineteen
Randall's joy at being married to Isolde was tempered with a sudden send of foreboding, and strange grim reminders of his past with the unfaithful Clarissa. He didn't know if it was because his strong feelings for Isolde had dredged up the past, though he was sure that he had never cared one iota for Clarissa compared with what he felt for his new wife.
Perhaps it had been seeing Howell ag
ain as well that had caused him to start thinking of all he had done so long ago. As Randall lay dozing in a haze of post-coital bliss, he dreamed....
He had come home from college for a surprise visit, and seen Francis and Clarissa in the barn together. He still felt the rage now, which had made him storm up to his brother's chestnut stallion and saw jaggedly through the girth strap before running off back to Oxford like the coward he was.
He imagined his parents' and other brothers' devastated faces as they had gathered around the family vault, felt the crushing sense of darkness, his own evil. Plus there had been the overwhelming relief that he had never had to see Clarissa again, and his hope he would never ever have to look into the face of the bitch who had betrayed him.
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