He grabbed both her wrists and held them to the cushion. “Allow me then to help you.”
He drove into her then with such a thunderous rhythm she felt the full length of his rod claiming her to the hilt and heard her juices sluicing over him. It ripped through her as wave after wave of the most glorious pressure built and pounded through her loins. She broke apart in the deluge, vibrating in the storm.
He rammed her in repeated thrusts, head thrown back, transported in a fury of his own making. He cried out, as he released his own essences into her.
At last. She drifted in euphoria. She was his wife. In deed as well as word.
She melted backward against the chair. One hand sought his arm as she stroked him in languid repletion.
He withdrew his body from hers in a slow glide that had her moaning in protest.
He gathered her into his arms. “I know, my darling. My body fits so well in yours.”
She licked her lower lip. “Again?” was all she could manage to think of.
He snorted. “Again, yes, we will. You have the penchant for multiple orgasms, my pretty.”
He planted a kiss at her temple. “And I will fuck you until you tell me no.”
She pressed her thighs together to suppress her desire for another bout with his cock inside her. “You will not disappoint me?”
“Eager woman,” he took her mouth in a savage kiss. “I will not disappoint you. Or myself.”
Chapter Six
She was a succulent piece.
He lay awake beside her for hours, enjoying the sight of her voluptuous body in the abandon of sleep. Her large, perfect nipples, her firm breasts. Her rounded stomach. Her thatch of pubic hair. Thick and dark as the hair on her head, her pussy was a beautiful cat. He could not stop himself from stroking her there as she slept. Still swollen from their romps, her cunt gripped his fingers and made him hard and hungry for her.
Luscious creature that she was, she’d purred in response even as he’d brought to bed water and soap to bathe her. So moved by his cleansing, she’d let him caress her until she rode his hand and begged him to possess her once again with his cock. He’d had not the will to refuse her but had taken his shaft in hand and watched it sink inside her hot walls until he swore she was replete and he milked dry.
How many times had he taken her last night?
He stared at her. Her arms flung out in repose, her expressive lips parted, her large golden eyes closed, she was an erotic sight for only him. His heart bounded with pride. How often had he taken her to the ecstasy she’d asked for and deserved? He grinned and brushed his fingertips over her navel to the top of her seam. Should he make her come again? She came with such abandon. Every time he touched her. Never had that happened to him here in England. Not even with the woman he had once thought he adored.
Sarah crossed his mind like a ghost. Her specter matched the woman who, alive, had transformed to a lying, manipulative unfaithful creature within a few months of their marriage.
He climbed out of bed and made for the balcony. Pale dawn lined the sky. The translucent yellow reminded him of Sarah’s hair, and in contrast, the deep blue recalled her eyes.
At once, the horror of their marriage came rushing back to him like the hideous nightmare it had been.
Sarah Ramsey had been the fairest debutante of her Season. Petite, quick and coy, she had interested any young buck who had a mind to marry. Why Adam had found her attractive after his many years in China, he could not say for certain. Perhaps, he was simply ready to marry. She had been lovely. Celebrated. The picture of youth and health. He had known her briefly when she was but a child. Then he had left for Hong Kong and his tenure with his cousin in the export company. But Adam had never delved too deeply beneath the surface of this charming doll who danced at the assemblies and commented with some intelligence over politics and books.
Beneath that façade, Sarah had been childish and vain. Worse, she’d craved attention. Yet even he, for all his knowledge of yin-yang intimacies of sexual congress, could not bring her to orgasm. That had been a harbinger of her other petty traits. She’d been too stiff, too interested in her dignity and what she’d thought were society’s demands that a wife seem elusive, unresponsive. He could never have predicted that she would need other men’s attentions. Or that she would go so far as to commit adultery. And thus, she destroyed for years, his own belief in the goodness of women and his own belief that the famous Stanhope Curse was a fiction. Would that he had sought out Felice and wed her instead when he’d returned from Hong Kong. Perhaps he would never have had cause to believe so firmly in the curse again.
Yet, for his career and for his son, he had sought out Felice with the plan to solve his problems with a simple solution of marrying his childhood friend. But one look at her, one conversation with the charming widow, and he’d found he laughed at her wit. On instinct, he’d wanted to offer her marriage. Yet, he had discussed it with Jack and Ulmsly. A few other party leaders as well, all of whom thought marriage good for his public persona.
Two weeks later, he had ridden down to her cottage, knocked on her door and within minutes, he’d offered marriage with no thought of the curse until the day of his wedding. He had gotten cold feet and, as if abstinence could cure his family problem, he had deluded himself into believing the union could be in name only. But he had forgotten that he was a man who liked women. Educated, witty, lovely women. Out of bed. And definitely in it.
“And now what have you done?”
He felt two arms wind around his waist and warmth of his wife’s body against his back.
“I’ll tell you what you’ve done, Mr. Wild.” She pressed a tender kiss to his shoulder. “You have made love to me so often that I am ravenous.”
He chuckled and turned in her embrace. “Hungry, eh?”
Christ, she was stunning in the soft morning light. Tousled and sleepy-eyed, she smiled up at him.
“What would you like? Eggs? Bacon?”
“A bath.”
“A wonderful idea.” He nuzzled her ear and sent his lips down her throat. “You smell divine.”
“I smell like us!”
“Precisely.” He arched her up to take a nipple between his teeth. “Like musk.”
She panted in delight as she let him have his fill of both nipples. “And sex.”
“And mine.”
“Oh, yes,” she sighed, “very much yours.” She pushed away and walked backwards toward their bedroom.
He stalked her. “My tub is big enough for two.”
She arched a brow. “I need food before I make love to you again.”
“I shall feed you as you wash me.”
“Demanding creature.”
“I have not yet begun to show you just how demanding I can be.”
“Nor have I,” she tossed back, her chin up in the air.
He laughed, waving a finger to indicate his robe that she’d donned. “Remove that, madam.
You hide what feeds my hunger. And I refuse to wait to teach you more.”
She shrugged, and the garment flowed to the floor.
His balls twitched. His cock filled in praise.
“Do you never tire?” she marveled at his erection, her eyes alight with interest.
He strode to her. “Not of you.”
She licked her lower lip as he backed her to the wall. “What can you be thinking? To do it standing up?”
“You will like this,” he promised and braced her upright as he lifted one thigh over his hip. “This position is called Bamboos by the Altar.” He tilted her hips so that he could claim her tight pussy. “What say you about it?”
“Ahh. Um. Do the bamboo stalks move?”
He showed her what his cock could do for her need of him. “Mine does.”
“Deliciously so,” she affirmed.
He rolled his hips to stroke one sensitive spot in her cunt. “My stalk is the Yang. It reaches and caresses your grotto.”
“And does so well, too.”
He slowed and let her feel the power of one slow invasion high inside her. “Then I can show you this,” he crooned and slid out of her with a pop.
“No!” She beat his shoulder as he snagged her arm and led her toward the bed.
“Oh, yes, another position for your education.” He stopped. “Bend over. Your hands to the floor.”
She stared at him. Her desire and anticipation warred and defeated modesty.
He grinned at the sight of her shapely ass pointed up in the air toward him. Knowing that to touch her little hole would be too quick, too stunning to her sensibilities, he pushed down the temptation. Instead, he spread his hands on her derriere and fondled the fullness of her cheeks.
“You are lovely here, my darling.”
“Touch me, damn you.”
“Like this?” he asked as he reached down to spread her labia wide and send his cock along her seam.
“Yes!” she ground out.
“And this?” He nudged at her clitoris with the tip of his penis.
“Yes!”
“But this…” he told her as he sank his jade stalk deeply into her warm fountain, “this is what you need. Say it.”
She was moving with him, whimpering in delight. “I do. I do.”
“So do I,” he said between gritted teeth.
“What is this called?”
He smiled at her inquisitive nature. “Donkeys of Spring.”
“I should be mortified,” she grumbled.
“Instead, you are edified,” he whispered as he sank inside her over and over again. “I feel how thrilled you are, Fee. God, has there ever been a woman to compare to you?”
She pushed backwards. “There better not be.”
He hooted in joy as he increased his tempo. “Jealous type, are you?”
“A harridan,” she retorted.
“I will remember,” he assured her as he pumped into her with ferocity.
She squeezed her muscles together, and once more, he knew she was so tight, so ready that her orgasm was near.
He pulled out.
She groaned. “You devil!”
He laughed. “All the better to make you rejoice, my love.” He urged her up and around.
“Lie back on the bed. Just here at the edge.” He ran his hands down her taut thighs to her knees and grabbed her feet. “Put these in the air.”
“I am definitely beyond the pale here,” she murmured, her gaze rolling to the ceiling in mock criticism of her fully exposed position.
“I adore this view of you. The flower petals of your sex are so swollen and pink. You drip with nectar, inviting my honey bee to pierce you. Like this.”
She let out a whoosh of air as he entered her, seated himself fully and held.
“Quite a sting,” she managed.
He held her ankles as he began to pump her. “Quite a luscious flower.”
“Adam.” She caught her breath and between clenched teeth, managed to say, “Dearest, now. Would. Be. Good.”
She pulsed all around him, squeezing his cock to the point where his discipline flew away and he came in a long hot stream that had him growling.
Caught in his own euphoria as he felt his own joy wash over him, he realized he still held her feet in the air. If he had adored the look on her face as she slept, if he had admired her beauty as she met him in ecstasy before, the expression on her face now was unmatched. Every contour, every line of her visage was relaxed in a rapture that rocked his reason and tripled his pride. He had thought never to find a woman here in England who could match him for sensual awareness.
Yet, here, in this childhood friend, a woman whom he had married for convenience, was the most eager, stunning partner he had ever imagined.
He lowered her legs, caressed her thighs, her pussy and her breasts then lifted her by the arms onto the fullness of the bed. He lay down beside her and cradled her to him. He pushed her soft curls from her cheeks. Her brilliant eyes opened, and she considered him with languid ease.
He would dare to call her look one that cherished him.
“Thank you,” he told her. “That was the finest experience of my life. Each time, I do enjoy you,” he whispered as he placed a kiss to each eye, “thoroughly.”
“And I, you,” she whispered as she brushed her fingertips over his lips. “Is it always like that?”
“With you, I think it will be.”
“Does that mean you want me to stay?” she asked, searching his gaze.
“Will you? Please?”
“What of the curse?”
“Whether you stay or not, the curse may well fall down upon us.”
“What could happen? You could hate me for being a wanton woman?”
“Or you could reject me for being such a lecherous husband.”
Her lips toyed with a grin. “I will take both.”
“As will I,” he told her sincerely. “Dare I conclude that each of us sees more potential here than what we find in this bed?”
She met his gaze frankly. “I thought there was hope for that all along. I would not have married you otherwise, Adam.”
“I’ll brave the curse, if you will.”
She threw her arms around his shoulders. “I need that bath and breakfast.”
He felt the brush of her breasts against his torso. “Perhaps once more before we bathe?”
Chapter Seven
But making love in a tub and being hand fed by one’s husband does not make for a meal that compensates totally for hours of exuberant love making.
Driven by hunger, Felice braved the dining room, dressed in her ball gown. Adam had just pulled out her chair for her when his butler appeared to inform him he had a caller. Though it was unusual to have a visitor before eleven, this gentleman, declared the butler, requested a few minutes of Adam’s time and awaited his host in the sitting room. When Adam asked the identity of the man, the butler told him Lord Ulmsly.
“I shan’t be long,” Adam told her as he bent and brushed a kiss to her lips. “I’d tell you to wait for me, but the fact that Ulmsly is here at this abominable hour is truly astonishing. Enjoy yourself, darling, and I promise to return as soon as possible.”
“Hurry,” she told him. “We must talk about how I am to leave here without letting half of London know I spent the night. We don’t want any more rumors about us.”
“Right you are.”
As he turned on his heel, she tucked into a generous helping of coddled eggs, toast with marmalade, bacon and a Scottish banger. Stuffed, she poured herself a third cup of tea then rose to look out the window. Wondering why Ulmsly might have come calling on Adam, she realized with a start that this was Friday morning. And on each Friday, the Tell-Tale was published.
She closed her eyes and counted backwards. Yes. The story that featured a man similar to Adam had appeared today in its fourth installment.
She winced. In this one, her Lord S. took a mistress again, after living for weeks alone without his new wife. This was untrue of Adam of course, believing as she did his statement that he’d broken off his arrangement with his paramour. But her tormentor had demanded she give Lord S. loose morals. Clearly, Felice needed to end this story. End the series. Fulfill the hideous terms of her agreement with Adam’s foe. Seven installments. All meant to ruin him politically.
She’d only agreed because she had needed the money to pay off her mortgage on the cottage in Kent, a debt that Wallace had incurred at dice. But weeks later, married to Adam, she had not needed her little house any longer. She had offered it for sale. How could she have known things could turn so quickly in her favor?
Not in your favor if you don’t stop these stories!
She could not have predicted this reunion and definitely not this bliss with Adam. She must not ruin it. But how to end the series without causing more trouble? Howell promised to print a story about her indebtedness and claim they were her gambling debts. Not Wallace’s. The honorable member for Parliament from Bayton, Mr. Stanhope, was trying so
hard to be reputable that he would not welcome any intimation that his new wife was a gambler. That was a piece of fiction through and through.
She clutched her stomach. What if Ulmsly knows that I am Miss Proper? If he tells Adam, I am doomed.
The breakfast room door creaked open.
She spun.
The butler, a cool man of imperial bearing, did not look at her ball gown, thank god, but at some place beyond her left ear. “May I have Cook prepare more bacon and toast for you, Ma’am?”
“No, thank you. Excuse me, what is your name?”
“Roberts, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Roberts. I am quite pleased with breakfast. Do give my compliments to the cook.”
He took the opportunity to look into her eyes. Whatever he saw, he did not register in his expression. “Will that be all, Ma’am?”
She was returning, wasn’t she? As Adam’s wife. With full privileges and duties here to run this household. “Yes, Roberts. Good morning,” she bid him, authority in her tone.
As he left, Adam returned. His face was somber, the lines around his mouth etched with some concern.
“Did you finish?” he asked her, his gloom dissolving as he came to put his arm around her and hug her close. “Sorry, darling. Couldn’t be helped. Ulsmly demands his prerogatives.”
“I’m certain.”
“Come sit with me and talk while I finish my breakfast.” He took her hand and led her to her chair. A light came to his dark eyes. “Did you replenish your energy?”
“I think I did,” she said, believing it to be true. “Enormous amounts of it, too.”
He took a bit of toast into his mouth. “Mmm. Chi.”
“What?”
“Energy you need. What anyone needs. The Mandarin word for it is chi. One must have tons of it to enjoy good sex.”
Her cheeks flamed.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “After all we’ve done, you blush so red you match your gown?”
“Pray, good man. Give a woman an opportunity to become accustomed to such conversation,” she justified herself with a gay taunt.
He used his napkin, pushed back his chair then reached over and pulled her to his lap.
Lord Stanhope's Improper Proposal Page 5