by Mina Dorian
He tethered his horse to the fence. There was a man in the vegetable garden and Wren growled at him under his breath until he realised the fellow was Robert’s elderly gardener. The man picked up a bunch of carrots and walked out of sight around the back of the house. A few moments later he reappeared with a bucket and a brush, signalling to Wren that he would take care of the horse. Wren nodded his thanks, then walked up to the house.
The front door opened without a sound and Wren slipped into the quiet hallway. He didn’t really expect her to be awake at this hour, so he took off his heavy riding boots, coat and hat and left them in the entrance, then crept up the stairs to the second floor. He had been to his brother’s country cottage and knew the layout, including the location of the comfortable little room that had formerly been occupied by the elderly housekeeper. Wren suspected that Annie would have picked it too.
He opened the door quietly and gazed at her lovely, lush form spread out on her back. Her reddish hair was a tangled mess of curls on the soft white sheets. Her face was turned away from him. One arm was crooked to the side, the hand curled around a strand of her hair. The other hand rested between her legs, her fingers still on her folds, as if she had been pleasuring herself before falling asleep.
Wren smiled. He had missed her so much. Dared he hope that she had missed him too? There was only one way to find out. He stripped quietly, then knelt on the bed trying to jostle her as little as possible as he spread her legs and carefully pushed her fingers aside to replace them with his tongue.
She tasted wonderfully musky and he greedily lapped up her juices. God, he had missed her so much. He circled her clit with his tongue, then sucked on the hardening little bud while he gently pushed two fingers into her tight warm pussy. Annie moaned and spread her legs wider for him without opening her eyes. He pressed his fingers deeper into her and sucked on her clit until he felt her orgasm come, the muscles in her pussy contracting around his fingers. The sensation was so erotic it made his cock grow rock hard. He almost came undone when, still only half conscious and shivering from her orgasm, she whispered his name.
Wren looked up at her, but her eyes were still closed and there was a tear rolling down one soft round cheek. He crawled up her body and took her in his arms. Her eyes flew open and she immediately slung her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, shuddering. “You’re here,” she murmured, over and over again. “Please don’t go away again.”
Wren felt incredibly, blissfully happy. “I’m not going to leave you, ever,” he told her, then nudged her thighs apart with one knee. “I love you,” he told her, then positioned himself at her entrance and plunged his hard cock deep into her sobbing pussy to clarify his point. Annie moaned with pleasure and wrapped her legs around him, drawing him even deeper into her. He leant forward to press little kisses on her face, neck and breasts. “You’re mine,” he told her.
She nodded.
“Say it.” He held utterly still for a moment though the need to pound into her as hard as he could almost drove him insane.
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
He began to thrust into her in a frantic rhythm. Seconds later he came in a shattering orgasm that took her with him. Wave after wave of ecstasy overtook them as their bodies revelled in their shared passion. It was pure bliss. Afterwards, they lay panting in each other’s arms, for a long time, sated and happy, until they had to do it again, more slowly, just to see if it would feel as good as the first time.
It did.
Epilogue
The Honourable Wren Delahaye married Miss Annie Dougall on a chilly autumn morning in the little village chapel just three days after he had come to the cottage to claim her. It had taken him two days to procure the special licence and only one day of talking and furious lovemaking to convince Annie to become his wife.
That Robert arrived with a letter from their mother giving the couple her blessing had probably helped to convince Annie. Wren was sure Robert had had his hand in this and Annie seemed to agree with him. She had kissed Robert straight on the mouth and Wren had almost wanted to do the same, but his brother seemed to prefer Annie’s kisses so he left it at that, only slapping the man’s back and thanking him about a hundred times. The scamp had probably planned the whole thing, informing their mother that Wren was marrying a housekeeper and strategically forgetting to mention the woman’s former profession.
There had been no word from Thomas, but Robert assured them he would eventually come around to the fact that his brother had married the hot buttered strumpet they all adored.
Robert and Jones, the gamekeeper, acted as witnesses at the wedding and came back to the cottage afterwards to drink to the newlyweds’ health. When Jones took himself off a little later, mumbling something about seeing to the garden, Robert raised his eyebrows at Wren in a silent query.
“You don’t have to go,” Wren answered his unspoken question. “I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind if you stayed. It’s your house after all.”
Annie smiled at Robert, but the younger man shook his head. “No,” he told them. “I am happy to let you have the cottage for a while, but I won’t stay. You two are so obviously in love with each other, it makes me feel like an intruder. I only hope that one day I will find a woman like Annie to love me just as much. Hell, I’m going straight to the pub to start looking for her.” With that he winked at them and took himself off to the village tavern.
Annie and Wren spent their honeymoon almost entirely in her big, comfortable bed, trying out some of the more outlandish positions in the illustrated volume Annie had found in Robert’s library. When neither of them could take any more cataclysmic orgasms they just lay in each other’s arms, stroking whichever part of their lover’s body they could reach, enjoying their shared contentment.
When their lovemaking had made them hungry enough they crept down to the kitchen, not bothering with clothes. Annie cooked, using the vegetables from the garden that Jones had thoughtfully provided. Wren was impressed by her cooking skills. As a gentleman he had never wasted much thought on where his meals came from or who prepared them. Watching his wife and lover cook something for him gave him unexpected pleasure. He remembered how they had shared bread and cheese in the room over the bar a lifetime ago and he felt a sudden urge to kiss her. She kissed him back ardently, then waved him away with the spoon she had been using to stir the frying vegetables.
“I need to keep an eye on these, or they will go all brown and mushy,” she told him, pointing to the stove.
Smiling, he returned to his seat at the table to watch her peel potatoes, her nimble fingers making quick work of the task.
“Did you learn to cook at the pub?” he asked her, eager to find out everything about his new wife that he hadn’t already learnt in the few days they had spent together.
“No.” She blushed a little.
Wren admired the pretty colour in her cheeks, wondering what had brought it on. He decided to wait for further explanation.
“I learned it from a book,” she whispered.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, my lovely.”
She shook her head. “I was terrible at first, because I didn’t know how to read properly. But I practiced with the cookery book and with Robert’s books.”
“Robert’s books, hmm?” He made a grab for her.
“Hoy!” Annie protested a little as he reached around her to pull the pan of vegetables from the fire, then grabbed her hips.
Her gaze fell to his groin, her eyes widened. “Oh,” she breathed, then let him turn her around towards the table. He bent her forward at the waist and ran his engorged member through her wet folds. When she gasped and moaned, he teased her a little longer.
“Will you fuck me already?” She pushed her hips back at him.
Driven wild by Annie’s dirty mouth and the sight of her glorious, waving hips, Wren shoved his cock into her with one long, hard thrust. He held himself still for a moment, relishing the feeling of her tight
pussy squeezing his cock. They truly were a perfect fit. Then he began to rock his hips against her buttocks in a slow seductive rhythm that made her moan and writhe back against him.
When he reached around her body to caress her clit, his hand landed on a cucumber that lay on the table. He suddenly had a vivid mental image of fucking his lovely wife in her glorious arse with the buttered vegetable. The thought made him groan. He would make sure to suggest it to her, right after he made her come.
About the Author
Mina Dorian lives and works in Berlin, one of the most beautiful places in the universe in summer and a real pain in winter. She is an avid reader who loves to escape to fictional worlds in both reading and writing. Her real life alter ego holds a degree in English Literature and teaches literature and cultural studies to undergraduates. Her area of expertise and preferred reading material is Gothic fiction, from the historical variety with virgins in distress and dark abbeys to more recent stuff with cyborgs and sex with monsters.
Email: [email protected]
Mina loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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