by Gayle Eden
Dazed when he straightened again, Jo let her hands fall and watched him push that green silk up, exposing her creamy hips and auburn curls. Two fingers glided between those curls, making them glisten, making her breath catch. He rubbed high, and then skimmed down again.
Tense, tightly, Sascha uttered, “So hot, so slick and soft.” He focused on that spot and leaned down capturing her nipple for a hard suckle.
Jo’s head fell back. She felt the tightening burn, the coil, although her moans sounded abandoned even to her own ears. They grew distance, as did the world itself. He pressed, circled with the pad of those fingers, until pleasure imploded, sending fire and shudders through her.
Cool air touched her nipple.
Lifting her heavy head, she saw him spread her legs, his hands on her creamy skin just inside the thighs. Sascha dipped his head downward, between them. She sucked in air, moaned when his velvet tongue raked from the entry of her sex upwards several times. It was so sexual, so erotic. She shivered, biting her lip, feeling aftershocks run through her sex repeatedly.
Sascha laved his tongue over his lip and moved his hands up, pulling the curls open, exposing her pink glistening inner lips. He kissed her there, lips, tongue touching almost affectionately, until she begged in a breathless whisper for mercy.
He relented and lifted her from the chair, letting the gown hem slide down her trembling legs. Sascha let her fall against him whilst he tugged up the bodice, heat and sexual strain obvious in every line of his masculine frame.
Her legs still quivered. Clinging to him, head on his chest, Jo felt the world right itself, amazed in some part of her brain that her body could take flight that way.
Sascha leaned back, gazing down at her, though still holding her in the circle of his arms. He kissed her, her scent on him, stirring. Their bodies close, warmed, her arms around his broad shoulders. He was deliberately letting her taste herself on his tongue.
“Your father will be home soon.” Sascha finally parted their mouths, his tighter hold on her telling. “It will be impossible to find anything to let in London this time of year.”
“I know.” Jo was realizing, affairs were complicated things.
“There’s a Costume ball at the end of the week—”
“Yes. Megan will likely go, perhaps Aric. I think father has some other appointment.”
“I’ll see him at the club, likely at the boxing salon.”
She leaned back and regarded him. “Is that awkward for you?”
“No.” His lime eyes moved over her face. “Your father is a sophisticated man. We’re adults.”
He pulled away and collected his jacket, putting it on. Before leaving, he leaned down and kissed her, saying, “I’ll think of something.”
Chapter Six
“Why aren’t you attending?” Jo asked Sonja about the costume ball. They were doing some shopping for Megan to put finishing touches on her costume—a lovely medieval gown.
She and Sonja stood by a row of silk gloves whilst Megan combed over threads and scarves. Johanna was going as an Elizabethan courtesan—of course; she had heard that Aric was wearing a Viking costume, which was absolutely perfect to compliment Megan’s.
Lady Summerton smiled through the net in that swaged down from her fashionable wide brim hat. It matched her stunning burgundy walking suit.
“I’m going to take a day of leisure, read, and lie around a bit. I spent many years outside society. I find it trying on one’s nerves.” She winked.
Jo nodded.
Having been studying her face, Sonja murmured, “You and Auttenburg?”
“Yes. Sort of.” Jo smiled lamely. “It is an affair. The beginning of one, anyway.”
“Not surprising.”
“I suppose not.” Jo looked around and then met those partly shaded brown eyes. “Do you recall what I told you about Auvary and our…fiasco?”
“Yes.”
“Will it…be uncomfortable…um…the…?”
“It might. If Auvary only breeched you, that doesn’t mean you won’t experience some discomfort.” Lady Summertonduchess laid her hand on her arm and said quietly, “If Sascha is a thoughtful lover, it will pass rather quickly.” The woman confided. “I found nothing but pain, and no pleasure with my husband. And I had two very brief encounters years ago. Whilst I know much about such things, my personal experience with a lover has not been…impressive.”
Jo thought of her father and his feelings for the Duchess. She said softly, “There are those who would change that…”
Those handsome cheeks flushed slightly. Sonja moved her hand away and turned to study some gloves. “We’re discussing you. Now then, you would be much better off having asked Alex. I am sure. But I have a feeling your Viscount is a mature and knowing man, and sensing the attraction, the tension between you, I sense you will find pleasure with him.”
“I know I will. I just wanted to be prepared.
“Of course.”
Before Megan joined them, Jo told Sonja, “I told father, and myself, I wouldn’t say this. Nevertheless, I am going to say it, just this once. You are a striking woman, even younger females pale by comparison. Neither you nor my father look your age. I understand all the reasons you avoid it, and I am not brushing that off as nothing—however, there is an obvious attraction between yourself and father. It has been a very, very long time that you have been (friends). I think you know whatever it is you needed to assure yourself of, in regards to him. I wish, for you, as much as for him, that you would allow yourself—to permit him—to be more.”
Sonja did not respond to that. Jo did not really expect her to. She wanted to give her something to think about.
* * * *
The day of the costume ball, her father left at noon for an outing with his male friends—a race and an evening of golf.
Jo had not seen nor heard from Sascha, although she had plenty of distraction since their time together. He was never really far from her thoughts, considering.
She helped Megan dress first, in the lovely rich sapphire velvet medieval gown. They left Megan’s hair down and put a circlet of gold with a pearl inset low on her brow. Her cape was a hooded gold silk. Her shoes a narrow toed embroidered gold and sapphire.
“I’m glad Aric specifically asked you,” Jo said before leaving to do her own.
Megan fanned herself. “Can you imagine what he’ll look like as a Viking?”
“Deliciously dangerous, without a doubt.” Jo laughed.
Megan nodded, her eyes sparkling a bit. “I keep telling myself not to make something of everything, but the more I am around him, the deeper my feelings grow.”
“And the attraction.”
“Lord yes.” Megan draped the cape over her arm. “It is difficult to hide. I do though, awaiting some sign from him. We have conversation and he is very interested in my family, our sheep…”
“Sheep?”
“Yes. He has bought an estate and aims to raise them. In any event, at least he converses naturally with me. We manage to talk about everything fairly comfortably. Then, that is my appeal, isn’t it? I would be any man’s friend.”
“You’re also witty, pretty, and more.” Jo winked.
“Let’s hope he thinks so.”
After she left to go below—she and Aric departing early. Jo went to do her own dressing, everything slipping from her mind but the possibility of being intimate with Sascha—and—wondering what delicious things they would do. That experience in the study proved to her that she was ready for this affair, in fact she felt as if it awakened her body. She found herself to be quite passionate indeed.
Once she had, her cut to the nipple, black gown on, Jo swept up her hair, secured high on her head, and grabbed her gloves and cloak.
She hired a hack rather than take the coach, uncertain at what time she would be returning home.
The residence when she arrived was a spacious structure with fountains in the courtyard, long archways leading through to a back l
awn, with a hedge maze and gazebos. She remembered her passionate kiss with Sascha here. Right there, over by a wall…
Stepping out of the hack, her hood on and masque intact, she scanned the crowds and musicians; there were jugglers, fire-eaters and all sorts of entertainers. Beautiful lanterns were strung, and swags, ribbons, and every hue of costume, every sort, from a unicorn to what looked like a flame, as the person was in body hugging tights with red and yellow waves of flames trailing behind, their face painted with flame marks.
Enchanted and amused, Jo moved in the crowd, wondering if Sascha was there and what he would wear. She spied Megan laughing, dancing with handsome and fierce indeed, leather clad Aric, amid a group holding hands in a circle. There were kings, queens, pirates and scant dressed wood nymphs, a bull with a huge phallus between its legs, chasing women around one of the fountains.
Every corner of the courtyards, and the balcony above, had music and dancing. Jo had been there more than an hour, enjoying watching the free spirited crowds, when a black gloved hand cupped her arm.
She spun around and eyed that wicked smile, those lime eyes.
“Sascha!” Her white grin met it. He was wearing all black.
Eyes going down her scant gown, his tone rumbled deep, “I am passion and pleasure. I am your servant for the night. Will you come with me, madam?”
She looked down, seeing his gloved hand open. Placing her own in it, Jo laughed softly, feeling a delicious thrill at his approach. Afterwards, allowing him to run with her, through the crowds and past the arch.
Passing through a small iron gate between two stone walls overgrown with ivy, she removed her small masque and they walked a stone path to a miniscule cottage, its braces and posts dripped with lovely flowering vines. The bouquet was heavenly. Flower filled urns and boxes were scattered about. The door was painted a powder blue.
Sascha unlocked it and took her arm, leading her inside. Once there, he locked it again...
They stood in one of the two open rooms. This one had a little stove and scrubbed table, pristine scrubbed stone floors, and a quaint old pair of leather chairs and footstools.
The windows were high and small but lingering streams of sun came into the pleasant dimness. It warmed the perfume of dried blooms and herbs hanging overhead, and mingled with the earthy smells of wood and loamy earth. Two rows of shelves on the far wall, with miscellaneous items, bowls, cups, that sort. On the table were a stoneware jug and bowl and two folded linens.
“However did you manage this?”
“I knew the Gardner?”
“Truly?” She looked at him.
“No.” He smiled. “Not before this morning. But I paid him well.” He waved her on.
Jo eyed a substantial mattress just under the small window, covered in a thick comforter. Surrounding it were petals and flowers, every scent, hue and shade. He had sprinkled them around the thick candles, and a hand painted tray with wine and glasses, a bowl of chocolates.
It was lovely. Her smile came in a bemused way, because she would never have expected this scene.
Looking over to the corner, she saw a screen and commode, a little table with a mellow wood chair and odds and ends on the table.
Glancing over her shoulder next, Jo noted Sascha watching her.
“It’s fairly simple,” he offered.
“It’s quaint and romantic.” She walked over and took off her cape, draping it over the chair before turning to watch him. His cape was over another chair and he unbuttoned his black silk shirt, bringing the tails out of his trousers.
His torso gleamed with brown skin, defined with muscle and ridges. Jo dragged her gaze from his navel and taut waist, up, over ridged ribs and wide pectorals, and the sinew of his throat. His hair was loose, in shiny waves, tucked behind his ears.
He sat on his haunches and poured them wine, standing again and bringing hers to her.
Jo took it and sipped while reaching out to touch the mound of his shoulder, feeling his warmed skin. Her palm slid over it, pushing the shirt back in the process.
He gazed downward watching her move that touch across his chest slowly, to the other shoulder. Leaning to set the glass on the table, he let the shirt fall to the floor.
She took her time looking over him, tracing the hard muscled arms and sinew, to his hands. Back again, she eyed his dark nipples, hard and standing out on slabs of muscle.
Meeting his half-shuttered gaze, she husked, “Impressive.”
He looked down at himself. “A bit scarred.” His hand rose to touch one across his ribs.
“It is hard to notice that, when one views you without a shirt,” She blew out a soft quivering breath. “You look carved from sheer oak.”
His lips curved, but after picking up his glass, Sascha touched her just under the chin with his free hand. When their gazes held, he murmured, “I’m glad it pleases you.” His thumb touched her bottom lip. “You certainly please me.”
Jo drew in a shivery breath and stepped aside, long enough to disrobe. She drank the wine first, rather quickly, and then undid the latches of the black gown, not looking at him until she had draped it over the screen. She turned, reaching up to pull the pens out and shaking her curly hair free. Standing there, finally, in nothing but emerald stockings and glittering gold garters.
His light lime eyes took an unhurried route from toe to head, lingering on the round curve of her hip, the inward slope of her waist, and watching as her trembling breaths moved her ribs and her breasts.
Jo wet her lips. It felt as if he touched her.
Sascha put his glass down after draining it and sat to pull off his boots. Clad only in the snug black breeches, he came to her and slowly went to his knees, taking one foot at a time, slipping the shoes off her feet.
Still down there, his hands cupped her ankles, and then slid up her legs leisurely, over the stockings, before he planted whisper soft kisses above those garters.
Jo’s fingers touched his hair, her body hot and skin sensitized, watching his lips move over her thighs, feeling a surreal sense of erotic pleasure that he was on his knees, nearly between her thighs.
She sucked in a breath. His tongue gently traced there too, laving her thighs, from the inside to the outside, while his warm breath deliciously bathed her skin.
Somewhere amid the intimate hush of the stone cottage, there was a soft rustle of breeze from the windows that wafted across the hanging herbs and flowers. With the wine in her blood, the scents heady—and a man—this man—kissing her thighs, she felt intoxicated by pleasure, and stirred in a languidly sexual way.
His hands whispered against the silk. He leaned back on his heels. She met his lifted gaze with her own, not hiding the effects of his touch.
“You’re beautiful.” His fingers slid up and traced the hard left nipples, before he stood and took her hand. Sascha led her over to the table again, this time he took a seat in the chair. Jo made a dismayed sound as he turned her around, her backside presented to him, his hands on her hips.
“You’ve a beautiful body. The body of a goddess, an enchantress.”
Her eyes closed. His lips began moving over her spine, hands on her hips rubbing softly whilst he kissed her there, then laved and kissed, breathed sexily over her derrière. His teeth scraped. His palms went up her back, pushing her hair aside before dragging them back down again.
“Sascha…” She shivered deliciously.
He pulled her back, nudging her legs to the sides of his. Spread enough to bring a flush to her face— which he couldn’t see, because his face was rubbing against her back.
Legs trembling, Jo looked over her shoulder as he kissed and nipped her sides. “I don’t know… how long I can stand.”
His fingers moved between her legs. Jo groaned, her gaze meeting his. Sascha held it, watching her expression as the other hand glided around to the front, and found her curls, and even when his finger behind sank into her sex. Then he was teasing the front, brushing her clitoris, whilst thrustin
g a finger slow in and out of her. Jo moaned and had to reach back and hold to him, her legs quivering violently against his trouser-clad thighs.
Her breath quickened. Lust heated her blood. Whimpering, she closed her eyes, arched her neck, both enjoying it and feeling it drive her mad. He stopped touching, and she felt his mouth on her, his tongue running down the seam of her backside.
“Oh-God. I cannot take this,” she hissed through her teeth
“You can.” He husked, “We are lovers. Both of us can take pleasure.” He gently moved her forward and stood, turning her, kissing her passionately, until she was scoring his back with her nails.
Breathing intense too, he whispered afterwards, “It’s not just you becoming my lover, Johanna. I am yours. Your pleasuring is my goal. It is also my pleasure to let you do or try or feel, anything you wish.” He smiled sexily, lashes dipping. “You’re a woman made for carnal desire, everything about you is passionate.”
She ran her tongue over her lips, her gaze going down him, seeing the protuberance noticeable in his snug trousers. His navel was sexy; his tight stomach was amazing, incredible dark skin and delicious. Knowing she did that to him certainly made her light headed.
Having watched her eye him, he left his hand on her hip and took the other, bringing it there. He undid enough latches to expose strong veined skin and sinew of his lower abdomen, and his blackish curls.
When Jo turned her palm to touch him, Sascha closed his eyes a moment and relished it, opening them slightly to watch himself guide her to free his cock.
“Oh—” The sound was a rush of breath as silken heat caressed her fingers and palm. Jo was privately amazed at the thick length and sexually stirred by the potent beauty of it; the hue and texture, the raw sexuality of him. It matched this more dark and rugged Sascha.
With her hand gently around him, she glanced up.
His eyes were a luminous lime green, his face frankly sexual. He whispered, “That feels wonderful.” He moved subtly a few times, sliding himself through her fist.
Her amazement as it grew thicker and fuller must have showed, because he laughed low and then moaned, wrapping his hand over hers and firming her touch.