Rakehell's Daughters

by Gayle Eden

  Val whispered, “I think...that is, I believe, that you and I may have more than this marriage was arranged upon. At least, I feel ...well I feel differently with you—towards you—things I haven’t before.”

  Archard leaned down and kissed her, supple and sensual. He wanted to devour her for saying that.

  Parting an inch, he lifted his lashes, and watched her do so. After he read her expression, he moved his booted feet to the floor, spreading his muscled legs wider. Archard pulled her onto his lap with a sensual whisper of her skirts across his trouser legs, and a creak of the leather seats. Placing her with her back to the side of the coach, his arm cradled her shoulders. Tipping up her chin, he kissed her and began doing it repeatedly. The variations, in between tugging her lip with his teeth, laving it, nipping again, supping from her mouth, was as much from his arousal as it was that he enjoyed that mouth and tongue, so much.

  She was kissing him back. Val kissed him sensually. It was bloody intoxicating. Her legs and feet were along the seat, her backside between his legs. While nibbling her ear and side of her throat, Archard undid her blouse and pushed up the camisole, to free her breasts.

  This time he began seeking the deeper recesses for his tongue, feeling her trembles and tight breath. He cupped the globes of her breasts, massaged, lifting them, flexing his fingers around them. He plucked and played with the nipples, feeling them shrink and harden to his touch.

  His sex was rigid. Nevertheless, Archard focused on her breathing, the way she pushed her tongue a little deeper in his mouth this time, and the hand that clutched at his knee.

  Moaning low, he kissed lightly again, erotically, teasing, while skimming his hand down her ribs and stomach. In a moment of letting her catch her breath, with her head slightly back, he dipped his and swirled his tongue around her nipples, wetting them before he suckled them lazily. Her gasp thrilled him almost as much as her subtle squirm against his groin.

  Archard reached down for the hem of her skirt, leisurely, sensually, dragging it up. Using the motion to feel her silk stocking-clad limbs. She was a well-made woman, her legs shapely. It was difficult to check himself, given the utter softness of her skin, the scent of her perfume, and the lush feel of every part of her against him.

  He caressed the bare skin above her knees. It was warmed, silken, and smooth. He felt between them. Releasing the turgid nipple from his lips, Archard lifted his head, shaking his mussed mane back. Her neck arched more, her lips were slightly parted and kiss swollen. Her lashes lifted enough to meet his stare.

  Working his hand slowly between her thighs, he felt them trembling and sensed the struggle between tension and arousal. When he reached her curls, he used his thumb, feather light, to tease there and coax, while he murmured, “Give me room to pleasure you.”

  “Archard.” She wet her lips, breath rushing... “Am I too heavy for you...?”

  “God, no.” He laughed roughly, and then kissed her. “I’m more than enough man to handle you, Val. You are lush, soft, and womanly. Perfect.”

  She breathed out a trembling sigh, as if relieved. He inwardly cursed Leland to the bowels of hell again.

  Val was humid and slick, much to his delight. Yet, as he lifted his head and went back to licking her nipples, Archard did not do more than pet and tease until her juices flowed more fully.

  Her hand rose to his hair. He felt that tug when she moaned. He glided his finger between the folds, hearing her indrawn breath, feeling the reaction that jerked her nipple from his attentions.

  He could not help it. He wanted to watch her. Lifting his head again, he saw her lashes closed, her beautiful mouth still slightly parted. With two fingers he abraded the most tender and silken skin between the lips, feeling the firm bundle of nerves. A small sound escaped her. Archard let one of his fingers enter her, sucking in his own breath when the slick muscles clamped on it.

  Her lashes lifted, eyes glittering, feverish. It was the stuff of his fantasies, seeing the fire in those lavender eyes.

  Carefully he thrust in and out, gradually, going an inch more each time. When her hips moved, he glided inward, and held deep, seeing a shudder ripple over her. Eyes closing, opening again, Val panted in the closed coach, unable to hide her responses from him, thankfully.

  Archard withdrew his hand, feeling the damp heat of her dewing. He cupped her curls and felt her part her legs more. It sent blood rushing to his head and groin.

  With her skirt up, her sexual scent reached him, wafted by the open window flaps. It was like erotic ambrosia. He massaged her, his whole hand covering her sex. “Are you enjoying this, wife?”

  “Yes.” It sounded like a moan.

  He smiled tensely, pleased beyond bearing. Archard nudged her legs wider, lifting her backside to rest on his lap, and then nudging her thighs wider still, until one of her feet was on the floor. He began to rub and chaff between the lips, firmer, reveling in her little jerks and teeth clamped moans. Looking away from her face, down to his hand, he groaned too viewing the dark stockings and her creamy moon-bathed thighs, his hand between them—his tawny finger rubbing between sparkling wet curls. The skirt was up enough to reveal the lush curve of her hip. Given that she wore high-heeled shoes and black lace stockings with lavender garters, it was a sight to make a sane man mad with lust.

  Archard promised himself he would soon, very soon, have his mouth where his fingers were. He wanted his wife wide open, rubbing her sex all over his lips.

  Thoughts, along with his actions, surged his arousal to a pitch beyond anything he’d felt before. His body dewed from the hot blood pumping through it. Archard turned, kissed her and then sank his finger inside her, thrusting for several moments in and out while he suckled her tongue.

  Their breathing turned dark and wild.

  In some part of his haze, he realized she trembled harder.

  She bit his lip. Val—bit him.

  He gave her his sinewy neck to chew on, sure, he would explode from that attention. Archard used the pad of two fingers to rub her clit, bringing her to climax. Biting him, suckling hard enough to leave a mark, Val’s sounds were music to his very soul. He let her ripples fade with his finger inside, then slowly drawing it out for her. Somewhere in his hazy brain, he was whispering yes, God, yes, this is more than I imagined.

  * * * *

  Val let the climax run through her blood and muscle. With the salty taste of Archard’s skin on her tongue, her arms clutched him, her hips lifted to his touch. The fire was raging through her body. She felt an incredible sense of sexual freedom and power.

  When it rippled to a lower degree, her inner walls clamped his finger. She skimmed her open mouth from his throat to his chin, and then sought his lips seeking a deep kiss.

  He gave it, and gave her fire there too.

  They both moaned.

  Although the climax abated, she pulled back from the kiss, heavy eyed, still having a sultry flame licking at her bones. She closed her thighs then opened them, reaching down to nudge his hand away. Hair long sense absent the pens, rubbed free from her head arching, she pushed it back and looked into his hot gaze. His freed hand rested on her hip.

  “More...there’s more?”

  He blew out a breath and arched his neck a moment, then lowering his head, Archard eased her back a bit. They could both make out the bulge in his trousers.

  He glanced from it to her face again and husked, “I’m going to explode inside you the first time.” He took her hand and covered the laces. “You can touch me, anytime. Now. But it has to be something you want, Val.”

  “I do...” She did. It was unexplainable save that the intimacy created by what he had done to her, made her want to.

  She shifted, coming to the side of him and urging him against the side of the coach.

  Val worked up his thin linen shirt, stirred by his ridged abdomen and the blond hair below his navel, nice against the swarth of his dark skin. His thighs were big, muscles flexing and bunched. She brushed between them, reachi
ng for the laces. He bent one knee, the other booted foot on the floor

  Peeking at his face, she saw his one arm along the seat, the other hand rested on his thigh, spine slightly slumped. His loose mane framed his hunger tense face, his ice blue eyes were shimmering. His skin was searing warm. Muscles rippling as her knuckles grazed it.

  “Don’t cover your breasts,” he husked as she made to pull down the camisole.

  Val left it pushed up. He had to assist a bit once she loosed the laces, lifting his hips again. She drew in a soft breath, watching him free his sex, his fist around the impressive thickness.

  Reaching out, her fingers touched the smooth, peach head. He grunted in pleasure. Val did it again and peeked up to see his eyes rolling back in bliss.

  Teeth in her lip, Val grew bold enough to fist that part of him, feeling the wonderfully tender skin, the heat and pulsing. He moved his hand away. She felt his eyes were open, going from her breasts, to her face, to her hand. Slowly, Val felt the length and breadth. The seed seeped when she squeezed gently and stroked up and down.

  “Christ...God almighty,” he suddenly chanted between clinched teeth.

  “Should I—”

  His hand covered hers and skimmed it up and down. In a half-choked voice Archard managed, “Christ, woman. Your hand feels good on me. Please, don’t stop...”

  It was not many strokes before he muttered again and held her hand still. She saw him draw his shirt hem to absorb the seed, but in the middle of that, she watched his head fall back. The veins and sinew in his neck filled as he shuddered. Then, his whole body slumped.

  Val released him, sitting up, smiling at the sensual and decadent picture the Viking made, head down now, hair shielding his face, his hand covering wadded linen, and his trouser flap wide open. After some deep breaths, Archard raised his head and shook his hair back. Drawing off his shirt afterwards, revealing a sheen of dew all over his body.

  Instead of fetching a clean one from the carpetbag tucked under the seat, he hauled her to him, urging her to lay against his body, his booted feet on the floor now and knees wide.

  Her hand on his abdomen, cheek against his wide chest, Val listened to his heart beating deep thuds. His scent was mingled, man and seed, earthy. She liked it. She had never liked Leland’s scent; she associated it with his worst violations. This man’s—stirred her.

  Van Wyc’s hand tunneled through her hair. The pins and combs that remained tumbled free. At one point, he nudged her head up and leaned his down, kissing her deep, long, moving his head and stealing her breath with it. It was a kiss that spoke without words.

  Though they dozed, by the time they reached Hawksmoor, Van Wyc was dressed and she also, her hair tied back with a ribbon.

  It was late and foggy. The familiar servants greeted them before they bustled them above, to her old rooms.

  Val washed from a bowl, while Archard went down, he said, to fetch pails from the well. She was on the bed in a fresh night rail when he returned, with wet hair and wearing linen drawers.

  “You bathed out there?”

  “Certainly.” He fell onto the bed beside her. Lying on his stomach, he caught her looking at his round, muscled, buttocks in the linen drawers. “It’s a mild night.”

  “To you.” She skimmed her gaze from his strong feet, over his legs and up his spine. Finally meeting his eyes where he lay with an arm tucked under his head—watching her.

  “One day you’ll do that with your hands?”

  “What?’ She whispered.

  “Peel me down to the raw.”

  Her insides flushed. “Would you like that?”

  “I’d adore that.” He grinned sexily.

  She reached out and lightly skimmed her fingers down his muscled arm, watching his skin chill.

  He mumbled, “We’ve...I’ve, a busy day tomorrow. Make time for me, around noon.”

  “Very well. What is your plan?”

  He murmured, “A walk in the woods.” Nevertheless, his eyes promised something different.

  She dropped her hand and nodded. He captured it, raised and dragged her over, so he could lie spooning her. His arm went round her side and hand to her breast.

  The last thing he murmured before they slept was, “Thank you, for pleasuring me in the coach. I was near the point of asking the coachman to stop, and taking a walk to the woods to release myself.”

  Val was shocked to discover such an image stirred her. It got her to thinking—actually, learning of her own pleasure had her thinking—about how ignorant Leland had kept her—how very selfish and intentionally cruel he had been. Her hand covered that strong one around her. This man was teaching her, showing her, so many things she may have never known about herself, about men, about sex. It was another layer to Archard she had never thought of beforehand.

  Chapter Eight

  Hectic indeed, described their morning. Val helped ready the house for her father and guests. Though it was good to laugh and chat with the staff, she was aware that Van Wyc was all over the grounds with the steward, before riding out with him to see the tenants.

  Their walk was not possible until he finally came in at supper. Merely dressing comfortable after a bath, she joined him outside afterwards, wearing one of her casual house gowns, light lavender with thin straps and square neckline. Her hair was loose braided. She kept her slippers on, thinking she may even go in her bare feet later.

  Van Wyc took her hand just off from the house. His shirtsleeves partly rolled up, buff trousers and scuffed boots still looking attractive to her. His scent of soap and man teased her nose. His hair was drying in the summer air. Both enjoyed the woodland scenery and sounds, compared to noisy London. They walked the well-worn path in silence and companionship. The feeling inside Val was mixed, although she realized how good it was to hold to the hand of a strong man, and how it seemed so right that it was Archard, she told herself to be cautious. Never again would she confuse her emotions. The price was too high. It took too much out of her.

  They paused by the stream. She sat with her knees up, watching the water. He was beside her, smoking. When the pipe was spent, Archard went to the stream and rinsed his mouth in the water; playfully flinging it on her while he took his seat again.

  Chuckling, surprised at his playfulness, Val wiped at a drop on her arm, then stilled when he leaned down and slowly laved one off her shoulder.

  Birds sang. The breeze ruffled branches overhead. His eyes rose to hers, holding that way for infinite moments. She opened her mouth to start some benign conversation about his morning, the estate…but never got the chance.

  Cupping the back of her head, Van Wyc’s cool water fresh mouth landed on hers. The swipe of a silken tongue set her blood humming. Val turned more toward him, her arms going around his neck.

  His hands skimmed down her sides and up again, one palm caressed her breast before he pulled back enough to let her fill her lungs with air. Sky blue eyes searched her own before he whispered, “Ask me to pleasure you.”

  She flushed.

  Archard kissed her again, saying against her lips, “Let me put my mouth on you.”

  Shivering, Val moaned, feeling his hands already gathering up her skirt. He kissed, nibbled her throat, and then pulled her slippers off. Her hem, he eased high, on her thighs.

  Leaning back, Archard viewed her bare legs before meeting her gaze again. “Give me leave.”

  “I—how—here?” She was flushed all over now

  He touched her cheek. “Here, anywhere. You give me leave and I will find a way to taste you. Once you are more comfortable as lovers, I’ll touch you and make love to you...as much as we can stand.”

  Val swallowed.

  Archard confessed, “I bloody want you, woman. Every second of the day. I have wanted you for years. I want to be skin to skin, be inside you. But I’ll never get enough of touching and tasting you.”

  “You wanted me—then? I mean you ah...like this?”

  “Yes.” His cheek flexed but he
did not look away from her.

  “My. God—” She was filtering back through memories.

  He stopped her. “What matters is that you want me too. Now. Do you want this intimacy between us? Will you give yourself up to it?”

  “I’m your wife.”

  “That isn’t enough. It cannot be the reason.” He shook his head.

  “It’s not...But I—”

  “What?”

  She caught his hand as he dropped it from her cheek. “I like the way you make me feel.”

  His fingers twined with hers. “I see your mind working, Val. I know you are not in love with me. Do not let it stop you from taking what I can give. From giving what you, want to give. I am a man of strong passions. For too long to count, they have been centered on you.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” She did not.

  He untwined their hands and skimmed her thigh with his palm. “Say, you want it.”

  She hesitated, and then whispered, “I want it.”

  Van Wyc smiled, though she caught something else in his eyes before he laid her back and kissed her senseless. From then on, his hand between her legs took all thoughts from her mind. He slid down and spread her thighs, the warm moist feel of his mouth and tongue took her out of the world. With a dizzy head and fire in her blood, eyes foggy upon the leafy branches above, Val lost herself in lust and pleasure. She let her body burn with the explicit swipe of his tongue, the suckling of his lips.

  He teased, nibbled, drove her mad enough to cry out and moan. With his strong fingers holding her thighs apart, he thrust his tongue inside her a dozen times before worrying that bundle of nerves. Until the universe exploded.

  Long after she had washed herself in the stream and he had cleaned up, Val lay like a wanton in his arms— amazed at herself. Here she was in Hawksmoor’s woods, ravished most pleasurably by the brawny Viking. Her thoughts on nothing more save amazement at him. Her mind was in a most wicked state of wondering… what she could do to make him feel equally as intoxicated.

  * * * *

  Val did not get a chance to do anything to him—until they finished at Hawksmoor. Her father sent word he was on his way. They headed to Whitestone with plans to come back to Hawksmoor, the day before they would all return to London together.