Educating His Elinor

by Viola Morne

  Winter lifted his head. His hands fell to her shoulders, unsteady. His erection swelled hot and hard against her. His mouth found her breast, sucking her nipple hard through the thin cloth. Elinor moaned. Flame raced from breast to womb, igniting a blaze of desire that left her breathless. He claimed her other breast, while his fingers pulled up her night rail. He stepped back, grasped the edges of the gown and pulled it over her head.

  Elinor's mouth trembled when she saw the hunger in his eyes. Winter dropped to his knees in front of her. He grasped her hips and nuzzled her belly. His tongue flicked the small hollow before he licked his way down to her feminine center. He parted her with his thumbs, his tongue like fire on her sensitive skin.

  Winter found the nub of her desire , and sucked it gently into his mouth , while he pleasured her with his tongue. Her thighs fell open. He grasped her bottom and ran his tongue over her opening. He thrust it deep inside, over and over, until she stiffened, and her climax burst over her. Winter pressed hot kisses down her thighs. He stood up, his face wet with her essence.

  "You taste like the sea."

  Elinor collapsed against the bed. She pulled herself up to recline on the pillow. Winter started to kneel on the bed.

  Elinor held up her hand. "No. I want to see you."

  Winter raised a brow.

  "All of you."

  Winter pulled his shirt over his head. His chest was broad, with thick muscles and corded veins. His body told the story of a man's life, complete with scars. The coarse hair was lightly matted, thinning to a dark gold line which disappeared inside his breeches , and drew her gaze downward. He bent to slip off his shoes and stockings. Winter tore open the buttons of his breeches and yanked them down. He stepped out of his breeches , and stood before her. His member was hugely erect, the head like a plum, almost purple with engorged blood, the skin smooth and shiny. Elinor licked her lips, and he slid onto the bed , and over her. She opened her mouth and he pushed inside. She closed her lips around him and suckled, swallowing the tangy fluid which dripped onto her tongue. Winter pulled back and, reluctantly, she released him.

  "Turn over."

  Elinor blinked. He'd used his master's voice. Winter helped her turn, so that he knelt above her bottom. The coarse coverlet abraded her tender nipples. She heard herself moan.

  "On your knees." Elinor struggled to comply, but her legs were heavy, her entire body languid with desire. She let her head fall on her crossed arms, which made her bottom stick out.

  "Perfect," he breathed over her back. Winter caressed her bottom, smoothing the flesh he had so often marked with his discipline, with his passion. He pushed her legs apart. She felt so open in this position, so controlled. The smooth, blunt head of his member nudged at her entrance. Elinor inhaled as he pushed inside. It stung a little, as her virgin membrane resisted his intrusion. He thrust deeply, and then he was inside her, filling her to completion.

  Winter paused for a moment, to give her time to adjust to his huge presence. He was wide, as well as long. Winter withdrew slightly and then pushed in again. Oh, yes, that was it. He did it again, easier now as her eager flesh, slippery with her desire, greased his way.

  God, he was in so deep. He began thrusting rhythmically. She crooned her pleasure. In and out, pleasure coiling tight and then tighter, until it released in contractions of undulating pleasure. He dropped kisses on her back and her bottom before withdrawing. She slumped to the mattress, sated, but Winter wasn't finished yet. Gently, he turned her over again. He clasped her thighs and pulled them around his waist as he slid inside.

  He felt different, in this position, not as deep, his fierce thrusts pushing her up the bed. Her hands spread helplessly over his shoulder s , until Winter grabbed them in one hand , and pinned them over her head.

  "I want to spend myself while I look in your eyes." His very words tightened her inner muscles around him and Winter groaned. "Christ, you feel like heaven."

  He ground against her with every thrust, sparking her nub, forcing her to climb the ladder of desire once again. The sound of his flesh hitting hers pushed her even higher, until she balanced on a precipice.

  "Come for me," he said. Winter pressed his face into her neck, kissing and sucking. She moaned, helpless, ravenous, and then he bit her on the shoulder. She fell from the heights, spiraling into ecstasy. Winter cried out her name, and stilled, his head thrown back, teeth clenched, as he filled her with his seed. He collapsed on top of her, hot breath gusting in her ear.

  "Christ," he whispered, "You're going to kill me, woman."

  Elinor laughed , and held him close. "At least you'll die happy."

  "I love you, Elinor."

  "I know," she told him, and wound her fingers through his tawny hair. Winter rubbed his head into her hand, like a contented cat.

  The next morning, they hired a chaise and drove onto Gretna Green. Winter and Elinor were wed over the anvil, the major generously giving his consent to his ward's marriage.

  #

  Snow House, London, 1823

  "Major, you're back. How was Scotland?" The Earl of Snow clasped his friend's hand.

  "Cold and wet, though I barely noticed." Winter flashed a grin.

  "So wedded bliss is..."

  "Better than I've ever dreamed, or hoped."

  Snow raised a brow. "Amazing."

  "I know. Have you seen Frost?"

  Snow's lips compressed. "I have not."

  "You must still be pissed with him. Though, to be frank, at least half of what everything that happened was your own fault."

  "That's what makes me so angry." Snow crossed over to a buffet. "Whiskey or brandy?"

  The major cleared his throat. "Tea."

  "Really."

  "A cup of tea would be fine."

  "Very well, though I'm sure there's a story there somewhere."

  "I'm here to talk about something else." Snow nodded and pulled the bell.

  Winter rubbed his jaw. "You remember I told you about the rifleman at Winterhill?"

  The earl thought for a moment. "You said someone took a shot at you, and you told me to keep one eye open."

  "Good advice at all times, but I left out some crucial information. We were both rather busy at the time."

  Snow flushed.

  "At any rate, I thought it was an isolated incident."

  "So what really happened?"

  "The bastard climbed the church tower on May Day , and took a shot at Elinor while we were on the village green."

  "That was months ago. Elinor is all right? She must be."

  "She's fine. I pushed her out of the way in the time."

  "And the shooter?"

  "I broke his fucking neck. It was one of the marquis' boys from the war, a fellow by the name of Dulac. I recognized him right away." Winter cracked his knuckles. "I thought he was just one disgruntled survivor, with a bone to pick. Turns out I was very wrong. This was delivered this morning." Winter pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.

  Snow unfolded the paper. Winter saw the tremor that which crossed his face as the earl read the word written there, in French: Souviens. Remember. A rendering of a small red lily was drawn beside it.

  Snow looked up. "It can't be. He's dead."

  "It would be just like that bastard to return from the grave, for sheer spite, if nothing else."

  "We've got to find Frost. He must be next."

  "Why?"

  Snow Frost poured himself a stiff measure of brandy, and drank it down. "Because someone tried to kill me yesterday. If you hadn't told me to keep my eyes open, he might have succeeded."

  "Where's the bugger now?"

  Snow frowned. "Gone. Someone fired a pistol at me in the street. Not the marquis, this man was shorter, thick-set. I ducked, and the bullet grazed my hat. By the time I looked up, he had vanished."

  "This is ugly, my friend. If the marquis is alive, we have to find him. All of us, everyone we love, we're all in danger."

  Snow nodded. "We have to talk to
Frost, regardless of how I feel about him at the moment."

  The major clapped him on the back. Snow winced, which made Winter grin. "Frost knows what happened to Elinor. I went to see him in Cornwall."

  Snow raised a brow. "Now that must have been an interesting conversation."

  "I'm not sure Frost would agree with you. Let's forget all that. We both have to meet with Frost. It's time to move against the enemy. Here's to the coldest hearts in His Majesty's army. We rise again."

  THE END

  <<<<>>>>

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  I am indebted to the delightful Coaching Days & Coaching Ways by W. Outram Tristram, originally published in 1888, and reprinted in 1985 by Bracken Books, for details on coaching routes in nineteenth-century England.

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