by Gayle Eden
“You could sleep in my bed,” he suggested.
“I could.” She agreed. “But I think it best if I don’t.”
Cupping her face, he did not argue. Jo was too pleasured to notice the way his eyes searched her face before he went to his own rooms.
Tired as she was, she bathed before donning a chemise and finding her bed. Only a door stood between them, and she ached in that private place to lie in his warm, strong arms.
No expectations, equals no heartache, she whispered. They were having a sexual affair. They were in a relationship with clear boundaries. She could not trust her heart at all.
Admit it, Jo, she mentally sighed, you both want him and have to fight yourself to not feel deeper than the sex when you are around him. She bloody did not have to be around him, her mind filtered things too vivid when he was not. It was also seeing him here, remembering what Agnes said, and imagining that his mistake with the duchess was bound to happen. Did they all not have mistakes in their past? Wouldn’t they always? However, she could forgive him, did, she supposed, for their previous…whatever the devil that had been. It was all those months, all her high-strung emotions—her reaction to it—Jo found disconcerting.
An hour before dawn, she opened her eyes to blink at Sascha, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had been nudging her shoulder.
“I brought you coffee and your trousers and shirt. Will you come with me?”
“Where?” She wet her lips and slid up, taking the coffee from his hand. She smelled his soap, saw that he wore an untucked linen shirt, and black trousers, his hair was still damp.
“Does it matter?”
“No.” She smiled and then pushed the covers back. It did not matter.
Finishing the drink, she stood and excused herself a moment, snatching the clothing off the edge of the bed. The room was still shadowy when she returned from refreshing, cleaning her teeth and lightly bathing, splashing water on her face. Dressed, her hair tied back, she slipped her feet into boots.
His wavy mane framed his face when he rose from kissing her, before he took her hand. They went into the hall and down the stairs, the house was still and quiet when they slipped out.
At the stable, his black was already tied, no saddle, only a pad over its back. His hands at her waist lifted her up, before he leapt up behind her. Settling, they were then off in the misty pre-dawn air, Johanna closing her eyes and leaning back against his hard chest as he guided the beast over the meadow and toward the woods.
She opened them when he changed direction.
Dawn was breaking while they came upon the ruins.
So overgrown with vines and moss, she would not have recognized what it was, had not the horses hooves struck the stones under a carpet of deep green moss, they were riding right through an ancient structure, only now and then a wall or pile of stones was visible.
“It is amazing.”
“Wait until the sunrise.” He stopped the mount and tied the reins then reached for her.
She braced her hands on his shoulders, her boots silent at the thick padding of green. He kept her hand while they walked under an arch. Jo eyed twisted old vines long grown over and across the original beams.
It smelled heavenly there; damp earth, loamy and sharp, dew and wild blooms.
“Amazing.” She stopped with him, eyeing stairs completely covered as if deliberately carpeted.
Jo then walked up them, to a landing, and part of the Great Hall. They were forty feet from the floor they had walked across, high enough to see all around and watch sprays of light glimmer through the woods. There was a covered basket there and she wondered when he had brought it. He could not have slept long.
Jo looked at Sascha as he drew her attention. Her heart fluttered. He turned her toward him then began undoing her buttons. Slowly, often looking into her eyes while he undressed her completely. Her bare toes curled into the thick moss, eyes watching him strip his own clothing off next, and set his boots with hers.
It was surreal, and yet, untamed and natural, arousing, to be nude with him, standing in some ancient spot, surrounded by sights, sounds, the multi-colors of green and stone.
Sascha took the tie from her hair, and cupped her face, touching their lips softly, supple, then employing his tongue just as easy and erotic. His body felt sinewy and strong, hot and hard against hers.
Sascha drew her to her knees and then laid back, bringing her hips low and swiping her sex with his mouth. But after a moan, Johanna stood and turned, so she was crouched over him, his hands on her backside brought his mouth to her once more, her own lips began to rim his sex, to tease the head and sensually kiss him as he did her. They burned each other erotically, licking, laving, and kissing. Her hand cupped his scrotum, fingers tugged the hair around it, and his palms smoothed over the globes of her backside, one finger thrusting into her. It was so raw and arousing that Johanna climaxed with his sex fully in her mouth. He followed in seconds.
They rinsed their mouths with fruity wine, and were sitting on a soft spread, his bounty and their wine glasses full, when the sun rose. It bathed their flesh, their hair, and created cool shadows from the canopy overhead.
Lying on their sides, their eyes did not turn from each other while the sunrise reached its peak. They consumed their food and wine. Then, Sascha went to her, laying her down on her back. He spread her hair around her, his gaze lost in her emerald eyes. “This suits you, this place, and all the ancient stone and deep green moss. You look like a forest goddess.”
Her lips curved sensually. “It suits you too. You’re less a Viscount here, with your warrior’s body.”
His brow arched the slightest as he fit himself between her legs, a beam of sunlight in his lime eyes. “A warrior taking his woman, at the rise of the sun, in the woods.”
She gasped as he slid fully into her. He was hard, hot and thick, filling her so completely her muscles contracted around him. Eyes slightly narrowed, he wore his own mysterious smile and lifted her legs wide and high. Sascha began thrusting, hard, sexually rough enough to bring sounds from her throat.
Leaning down, he bit her neck, laved her ear, and husked into it, “Yes. Yes. Tell me my wild wood Goddess, tell me you like it. You like the feel of my cock gliding in deeply, filling you.”
“Yes. Oh—God—yes!” Johanna’s nails dug into his skin, her spine and inner thighs tingling every time his body thrust back and forth. His words, low and rasping, pushing her arousal higher. “I love it. I love the way you feel inside me. The way your hands hold me, your thighs brushing against mine.”
“And I—I could stay forever in the sleek heat of your sex.” He grunted aroused. Thrusting hard, deep, steady repeatedly, he went on in a growl, “You were made for me. Were you not, Johanna? For me to do this—and this—to make you hot and wet—and wild for it.”
Moaning, whimpering, she let him take her completely—wanted him to. In addition, he was so strong and so aggressive and dominate, that she could do no more than hang onto him as he drove himself into her.
A subtle beam of sun blinded Johanna for a moment when he paused and raised to his knees, his hair hanging loose and wavy, turning polished oak in the light. When she did adjust, it was to see his eyes glittering the lightest green.
He raised her, turned her on her hands and knees, his flesh pounding into her, until she screamed softly.
“Shall I be gentle?”
“No.”
“I did not think so.”
“I need—I—”
“Yes.” Leaning up, he reached around and the tough pad of his finger found her swollen clit. Rubbing and teasing, pressing until she climaxed, her cry was his name…repeatedly, floating from the peak, her words were praise and awe, wonder, a string of sultry whispers.
Sascha pulled out of her, laved her, supped her, and then drove into her repeatedly. Turning her, his climax spilled on her quivering creamy stomach. Her hands were in his hair, rough and yet possessive.
* * * *
There was a pool, formed from the cistern that used to feed the castle water, all that was left of the form was a two by three foot crevice between long fallen stone, but the water was visible. They washed each other, kissed and then ate, sipping the juice of apples and berries from each other’s lips.
Jo lay with her head in his lap at one point, and asked softly, “Did you come here as a boy?”
“Yes. All the time. Every Holiday season. When I was home from school.” He was looking around. “I read. I explored. I dreamed.”
She reached up and touched his face. “And what did you dream?”
His eyes found hers. “When I was old enough? Of you.”
Jo stared at him, her heart thudding deep.
“Of someone—just like you.”
He kissed her hand, bit her finger, and then looked away.
“I’m not maiden or goddess material.” She joked. “More… the rebel.”
“I know.”
He carefully moved her and stood, walking over to the flask and pouring brandy in one of the cups. “I like that about you.” His gaze moved toward her again. “Considering where my life has taken me. I don’t think a lesser woman would fit into it.”
“You’ll work; I mean have a profession, won’t you?” She got to her feet and slid on his shirt.
“Yes. I must. However, even if I did not have to, I cannot go back to the life before. It’s too unsatisfying.”
“I agree.” She walked to him and took a sip of his brandy, looking up even as he turned his profile out toward the woods. “I can’t see you doing nothing more than attending balls and going to the club.”
He snorted. “No. I will likely work with Archard, although I have other plans too. If the estate is restored, we can make it self-sustaining. I know I will see other places than this… I’ve seen beauty in nature that can astonish, intimidate, and make you feel awe of that which takes your breath away.”
“I wish you luck. I honestly do.”
He finished the drink and turned to regard her.
Jo held steady under that gaze—although she felt he was probing deep into her mind and emotions.
His hand lifted, cupping her cheek while his thumb brushed under her bottom lip. “You should see it with me.”
For a moment Jo could not think.
He went on softly, “We should make love in tropical jungles and wild woodlands. We should taste each other with the sea under us, and the rain bathing our skin. We should roll ourselves in fur and watch the snows fall so deep that is all you can see, a pristine world of white.”
Jo drew a shaky breath through her nose. “Perhaps—if we are still lovers, if this lasts, I may go with you.”
Those lime eyes moved, searching hers, and then he uttered, “I want to sit by a fire in the dark of night and see you in nothing but your creamy skin. Watch you pleasure yourself and see your eyes darken as they do…I want to hear you say my name, just the way you said it moments ago, between sighing and begging for me to bury myself in you.”
“Sascha—I—
He leaned down and kissed her softly, cutting off her words before he straightened. “Tomorrow we leave for Hawksmoor. Today, is for us, as lovers.” He drew her to his side. “I’ll give you anything, everything, and do it pleasing myself too. Whatever you desire, whatever you fantasize about, whatever the brazen daughter, can think of.”
Her arm around him, Jo half laughed, body stirred, her mind still absorbing what he had said moments ago.
“You can trust me, Johanna. I want only your pleasure.”
That—was a fantasy come true. A dream. To have a man like this, one who would give her anything she wanted. Of course, she had known those years ago, the first time she had kissed him, and he had burned her to the bone with it—she had known he could.
She would have thought of a dozen things before. Now that she had been with him, she realized everything he did felt incredible. He was romantic, yet unpredictable, and dominant, yet giving. He was an ideal lover in every way.
“Did you bring anything… from the shop?”
“Oh, certainly.” He murmured and kissed her brow. Without making her have to say it, Sascha led her to the stairs and sat her on one. He pushed the shirt back and off her shoulders, so that it clung at the elbows. He went to the basket and returned with oil, which he rubbed on her nipples lightly, until they glistened light peach and hardened. Her legs he spread, and Johanna watched him, her nipples tingling and hard. He rubbed the oil between her legs, massaging until her head fell back and she leaned on her elbows, simply enjoying the feel of him doing so.
When she felt the phallus, she sat up enough to watch him glide the ivory in and out of her, her body warmed it, her cream kept it slick, and its shape caressed the walls of her sex deliciously. At some point, he left it inside of her and began to rub the nub, and then lick her nipples. Sometimes he kissed her sex around it, and her nipples too. His fingertips teased lower, between the globes of her derriere. This went on and on, teeth teasing her nipples, lips suckling her clit.
Johanna saw he was thick and aroused. She urged him to kneel over her, and took over the play, licking and nibbling, suckling and kissing the smooth head of his cock while she trusts the phallus slowly in and out. He watched, watched her lips rim him, his moving slow and easy. When her eyes rolled back and she shuddered, climaxing, he pulled away and kissed her, and then had her stand.
Sascha walked her over to a high ledge and sat her on it. He bound her hands with the shirt and held them above her head, and then spread her legs wide. He thrust into her, deep and hard, intense.
Johanna soared again and when he climaxed, held him wrapped in her legs. They napped there afterwards in the old castle remnants, wrapped in each other’s arms, both warmed by sunbeams and cooled by a canopy of green leaves. Limbs tangled, creamy and bronzed, shapely and muscular.
Johanna awakened him this time, by bathing his body with her mouth and tongue, marking and getting a few deep growls of pleasure from him. She had him strung taut as a bow and heavy eyed by the time she had covered every inch of his skin.
Sascha was not surprised by her aggression, however, he was in no control at all because of her kisses and laves, and the soft brush of her hair and skin took him out of his head. She was behind him when she pulled his head back and bit his neck, his shoulder, then astride him when she teased his nipples and bit his ear. She was between his legs and over his back, and he found himself begging a little after she nibbled his buttocks and ran her hand between his legs. Jo became roughly sexually aggressive….
She made him cum—two handed—and using her mouth only on the pulsing head. He was trembling, his body quaking. She made him shout hoarse and loud enough to scare the wildlife and hush the earlier singing birds.
The last time he made love to her, before they rode back to the house, it was tender and slow, with Sascha handling her as if she were the most precious thing to him—every touch, every movement stirring, and with the softest feathery kissing, whispers of sweetness and caresses, that shook her very soul.
Riding back to the estate house, his arms around her and she in front, guiding the horse, Johanna felt as if she had gone somewhere else, some other world. She was not the same, and wondered at it. The fiery woman with thick defenses that no one was supposed to get behind, had been absent the moment they stepped into the ruins. Of course, that world was filled with only him.
* * * *
Hawksmoor, the Annual Gathering
Johanna did not get to speak with Megan until she returned for the bonfire with her brothers. That morning Jo snuck down early to spend an hour with her father, neither talking much, silent, simply partaking in mutual companionship.
Later, she sat at the dock in a deep muse watching the fog rise off the lake. Her mind of course was on Sascha. He had talked on their journey, about his boyhood and his life since. Not surprising, he did make friends and was good at sports. His childhood could have made him a loner a
nd isolated, but he was a good friend to others, she discerned.
He was something of an artist and could sketch, she discovered he had done sketch after sketch on his travels. He promised to someday show them to her. He did not talk about the duchess, but said of his young manhood that Adam and Edmund were like brothers to him. He had gotten her to talk, listening with unconcealed interest about her years in Scotland, her eventual uniting with her father.
He had said at one point, “You always knew?”
“Yes. My mother was frank about it. My father—my other father,” she had laughed. “He couldn’t give her a child, so he knew also…it wasn’t spoken about once the knowledge was there. I loved him and he me. He seemed to know as she did, they would not live long.”
Sascha had said, “You were fortunate in some ways however, not only in your good education, but in your freedom growing up.”
“I know that. My mother was a spirited woman. She was daring and liked to be challenged. She never let her sex stop her. I suppose I learned the same, by observance. She loved having a curious child.”
“You love the Marquis deeply, too. Else you would not even bother with a season, would you?”
“No. It is a small thing he asked of us.”
At some moment he had been looking at her and said softly, “I’m sorry about before. About hurting you. It was not easy for me. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done—sailing away when I’d only just found you.”
“You had to go.”
“Yes. I had to.”
At that, Jo had looked away.
He had said, “I never in my life felt what I did when I kissed you. I admired everything about you, Johanna. Even the things that maddened me, like your flirting.”
“I’m faithful, however.” She had quipped to cover other emotions. “I will be.”
“As will I. Did you ever dream of marriage?”
“Of course. Every girl does, even those of us who defy convention.”
“Do I satisfy you as a lover?”
Her stomach cinched. Jo had a feeling the conversation was headed somewhere slippery and only nodded.
However, all he had said was, “Don’t hold my past against me. You like a challenge too, Johanna. I suppose our relationship is that, on both sides. Nevertheless, one thing I want you to remember. You can trust me with whatever you feel. In your heart, you know that.”