Breaking away from the vortex, he breathed, “Hold me tight, love… good, now lean away.”
Gwendolyn did what was she was told, draping her arms encircling his neck, declining…and oh God…his hot mouth on her breasts gratified her in ways too wonderful for words. The silkiness of his tongue on her skin, the gentle tenderness, both foundling and appetite of his starved need, caused her to cry out for mercy.
With one hand gripping her rear, the other searched the smooth triangle of hair between her legs. Opening up her threshold with his finger, he found a greeting of moist acceptance for the other finger that entered. “Oh God,” he exhaled, “So tight, so sweet…my sweet, sweet girl.”
Feeling absolutely scorched from his cajoling words, Gwendolyn met his wide-open mouth with vehemence and felt Thomas insert another finger directing her rhythm. Instinctively, her hips began to move into the sensation, trying to capture its pleasure, liquefying her intention to pure honey.
“Keep moving,” he urged, “Don’t stop.”
Gwendolyn followed his instructions and felt a rush of limitless satisfaction between her thighs. My wonderful teacher, she thought while riding him intensely. Thomas’ tireless hot mouth continued to devour her breasts while Gwendolyn found herself reaching a pinnacle of rapture she had not felt since last with him.
“Did that feel good?” Thomas murmured, gently nibbling her lips.
“Oh yes,” Gwendolyn hummed happily, running her hands through his hair. She then gazed down at his penis rubbing up against her stomach. It engorged to a point where it seemed painful. She laid her head down on his shoulder and began to cry. It seemed so unfair.
Thomas felt her body quiver and sniffling in his ear, “What is wrong, Gwendolyn? Tell me…did I hurt you?”
Gwendolyn gently pulled back and kissed him freely on the lips once more. “Oh no, Thomas…it is just, you were so tender and considerate of me, and you haven’t—”
“How’s your strength?”
“Why?”
“Because your pleasure isn’t over.”
Gwendolyn giggled deep in her throat while Thomas lifted her up and then brought her down onto the bed. Vertical with him was good… horizontal with him was even better. To watch his strong aroused male body kneeling at her feet—was quite thrilling. Lightened masculine hair surrounded his robust thighs, chest, arms and infected her with lust too concentrated to ignore. “Oh God, what can I do to pleasure you?”
Thomas soaked in her curves, the plumpness of her crest, her smooth midriff and leaned down to press his lips on the base of her ankle. How many nights had he envisioned her lying on his bed? And now, here she was, naked, and wanting him, bussing her calves, her inner thighs, kissing her until his breath hovered over the triangle of bottom curls, he respired, “Say that you are mine.”
Gwendolyn arched her back and bucked up her hips in anticipation of his unknown attack. “A dare?” She avowed, closing her eyes from his tongue on her sensitive flesh inside her navel.
“I dare you to resist me.”
Gwendolyn gazed down at his head between her thighs and ran her fingers through his hair, tilting her own head backwards, chuckling. “Do I dare?” she cried, feeling her pleasure erupting once more.
“My sweet girl, you are mine Gwendolyn, say that you are mine… that you were always mine.”
Gwendolyn felt a second arch of gratification invading through her stomach. She surrendered to the feeling and felt Thomas release his pressure, his mouth trailing towards her navel, leaving a track of moisture back up to her neck. Thomas covered her body with his and opened her entrance with his knees. Feeling the intensity of him… the power of his male dominance…laterally meeting her submission, Gwendolyn panted with expectancy.
“Are you mine, Gwendolyn?”
Gwendolyn opened up her eyes and stared into his doubt—his manhood, on the cusp of occupation. “Are you mine, Thomas?”
He met her question with a measured kiss that spiraled down to the center of her torso. Grabbing his head as he met her mania, he impelled his breadth into her…He was filling her now, and—oh God, as her head jerked back—he was thicker than she memorized, his aggression extremely gratifying. She maintained her clasp and felt him drive his point home, gently pulling her hair, squeezing her shoulders and hips down to meet his tempo.
Thomas cupped a breast and brought his scalding mouth down around it, kneading, licking, absorbing, and sending Gwendolyn to absolute lunacy. “I haven’t touched her since your advent,” he inhaled, pinching her nipple with his thumb and forefinger, “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Yes,” she pulsated, “Yes, that will do.”
Thomas lifted his weight up then pulled out resting on his knees, “Then say it Gwendolyn…state what I have waited to hear.”
His body left hers? Oh God, she wanted that indulgence back, why did he abandon her depths? Gwendolyn’s arms lunged for his backside and Thomas grabbed her hands and locked them over her head, his persuasive dominance daringly coming into play.
Gwendolyn smiled inwardly; she liked how he improved very much. She felt her back arching when Thomas suddenly lunged forward and kissed her so deeply, her toes tingled and curled. Then abruptly, his mouth lefts her and he outlined the shape of her breasts with his tongue, licking and teasing her flesh, hardening their little nubs. Moaning with delight, she revealed, “You have gone to the devil.”
He grinned and positioned his throbbing rod next to her thigh, “Where were we?”
Gwendolyn tilted her head back in madness, “I don’t know—let my hands go so I can feel you.”
“Not until you say the words.”
“Now who’s the tease?”
“Are you mine, Gwendolyn?” He inquired, releasing his hands to cup her hips, holding her in place to feel more of his wrath as he buried himself into her moist warmth yet again.
“I have always been yours Tommy,” she expressed, meeting his sinful mouth and riveting invasion, “Always...”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Ya look sae peaceful, wit’ a smile embraced to yar face, twas afraid to wake ya.”
Gwendolyn sprung up from bed and yanked the sheet over her upper body. Thank God she was wearing her nightgown now and doesn’t recall putting it back on, and when did she find her own bed? Had it all been a dream? Or a wonderful unforgettable delusion? She remembered walking on the ship, had she dreamt the bedding as well?! “Wh—what are you doing here Charles? How’d you get in here?”
Charles sat up and began to pace in front of her, “Och now, I’m a simple farm boy and dinna mind sleeping in hay wit’ the horses.”
“You mean to tell me you slept in the stables last evening?”
“Aye,” Charles confirmed, meeting her anger.
“Why Charles? You said you would wait for me at The Quail Inn.”
“Because I dinna trust the mon…Yar me lass, Gwendolyn, and no mon in his right mind wood allow his fiancée tae spend the night under the roof of another mon. Tis yar last eve in this house, yar leaving wit me now.”
“I am not going anywhere Charles.”
“I beg tae differ—” He exclaimed, reaching out and plopping her over his wide shoulders.
Gwendolyn punched his backside, “Let me down you big gorilla—let me down!”
Charles walked around the room and yanked up her belongings that he had already packed within his free hand. “Not till I get ya tae the carriage.”
Gwendolyn began to panic and continued to hit him, “Charles McMillen, if you do not let me down right this instance, I will not marry you!”
“I will take me chances lass,”he uttered, strolling down the staircase unnoticed with her still on his shoulders.
When Gwendolyn was placed in the carriage she was mortified to see that Phyllis was already inside. “Phyllis? What are you doing here?”
“I am sorry malady, but I tend to agree with Mr. McMillen,” she gingerly voiced, waiving the divorce decree in front Gwendolyn’s discouragement. �
�They were sent at dawn by messenger.”
“B—but, you told me to stay here, you told me to get to know him.”
“I know, I know child, I did say that. But he is no good for you. He is arrogant and disreputable and Mr. McMillen has been nothing but honorable. He is the better choice.”
Gwendolyn was furious. “Why not let me decide who’s the better choice?” She began to sit up only to be impelled back to her seat by the moving carriage. “We’re leaving?” She asked panic-stricken.
Charles grabbed hold of her nightgown from behind; Gwendolyn had tried to escape through the window. “Aye Gwendolyn, and as soon as we get tae Kettlewell, yar gunna marry me.”
“I cannot believe you are abducting me!” Gwendolyn exclaimed off the top of her lungs. I did not even get to say goodbye…” She pouted, feeling a surge of tears swelling her eyes.
Phyllis grabbed her hand, “But you did deary…”
Gwendolyn looked at her with heart-rending grief. “Phyllis, what are you talking about?”
“I wrote a goodbye letter to the Duke of Norwin.”
“What!”
Thomas already knew what marriage would be like to Gwendolyn, they were already good friends—he sought out her ideas, opinions, thoughts, humor, she was his counterpart. But last night, Gwendolyn gave Thomas a glimpse of what bedtime would entail and it only augmented his desire to be with her. They fell asleep in each other’s arms and he never wanted to let her go. But just before dawn, he dressed her and carried her back to her own bed. He had to do the proper thing. Had to sever his tie with Katrina foremost, then he could continue to live a life with his wife, as it should be…as it should have been.
“Mrs. Hornebrook, has the Duchess come down for breakfast yet?” Thomas asked wide-eyed and joyful only having gotten back earlier that morning from leaving into town to speak with Katrina, but she had still been resting.
Constance had been cooking all morning, and it was nearing afternoon tea. “No sir, I have yet to see Her Grace. She is usually up early in the mornings. Quite odd not to see her.” She then turned to Fitzwater, who entered that very moment. “Fitz, did you see Her Grace this morning?”
Fitzwater nodded his head, “No Madame, I have not.” Thomas met their meddlesome eyes. “When you do,” he declared, “Let her know I wish to speak to her at dinner. Prepare a private supper this evening Mrs. Hornebrook, there is something I wish to discuss with the Duchess.”
“Very well, sir.”
Fitzwater watched his employer leave on his heel before sprinting towards Constance. “What do you think of that Madame? Was that a slip of the tongue?”
“I think our Tommy has finally seen the light,” Constance rejoiced, grabbing Fitzwater and hugging the breath out of him.
An hour later, Thomas was standing by the gate to the Hale residence once more. Heart thumping too fast to figure out, he contemplated how to tell her. What was he going to say? He did not want to hurt her. Katrina had been a loyal and accommodating mistress for a period of time. How do you tell someone you do not want to marry them? Purposely break their heart. Erase all their hopes and dreams for the future with your withdrawal and second thoughts. There was definitely going to be some tears no doubt; maybe a shattered vase or two, unquestionably some name calling, maybe even some of those wonderful swear words she had picked up at the docks.
“Why Thomas, I was just at the manor coming to fetch you,” Devin replied, patting his friend on the back with a fond greeting. “And here you are at my doorstep.”
“Good day, friend,” Thomas greeted him soberly.
“Come to see Katrina?” Devin asked, amazed. “Because if it is nothing pressing, I would like to bring you good news.”
“Good news?” Thomas asked intrigued.
“The Junia has been found,” Devin stated proudly. “She has been seen coasting off the shore of Mizen Head on her way towards Britain.”
Thomas could not believe it! After all the years, all those wasted years of searching for her, the Junia simply drifts into port and was handed to him on a silver platter? “That’s wonderful news Devin, simply wonderful!”
“More good news Thomas, the divorce decree has been completed and has been delivered to the manor with your seal and implementation,” he pronounced proudly, “The wedding can go forward as planned.”
Thomas felt a lump in his throat. The decree had been delivered to the manor, that’s good…then he can have a private supper with Gwendolyn, tell her that he loved her and they can renew their vows. “I must speak to Katrina,” he quickly mouthed, “Is she home?”
“Yes Thomas, I believe she is,” Devin quickly replied, handing Thomas a letter. “Here, Mrs. Hornebrook gave this to me as I arrived. I took the liberty of receiving it.”
Thomas gazed down at the letter and did not recognize the wax stamp, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Gazing up at Devin one last time, he ripped open the seal.
Thomas, I do not regret our time together; in fact, I will cherish it through the end of time. I must confess that I am having second thoughts, so I am leaving for Yorkshire to see our daughter. Upon my arrival, I will write to keep you abreast of my future aspiration. Accordingly, I have taken the divorce decree with me. Gwendolyn
Thomas looked at his friend with panic-stricken eyes, “We must get to Bristol immediately—I need to alert Fitzwater— I need to send a letter to Yorkshire.”
“Yorkshire, why?” Devin asked suspicious.
“Gwendolyn has left, and I need to—” Thomas closed his mouth and searched his friends eyes, “I need to speak to your sister alone.”
Devin narrowed his eyes, “I do not think so friend, we need to head out to port. The Junia might elude us; we need to get to her before she sets sail.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thomas stood on the dock’s edge and focused on the haunting ship before him. On any given day, he would have been in awe of her, the Junia was the biggest merchant vessel of her time. Built to carry wealth from a variety of other countries, she was a supreme prize for a pirate to gain control. Compared to the Dutch flute, the 700-tonner measured 160 feet along her main deck and 34 feet at the beam. Between her flamboyant beak head and golden stern, she packed enormous potential firing power, but his father never carried cannons, he was a merchant trader, therein exposed to pirate confine. A round stern, broad-beamed and flat-bottomed, the Junia was well renowned in English waters and Thomas was utterly surprised she had berthed at this juncture. Having alerted the magistrate beforehand, the two men inconspicuously began their stride up the floorboard. Thomas headed left, while Devin right, when the duo whipped their heads around simultaneously realizing the other was not behind—and bumped bodies. Thomas grabbed Devin’s coat and pulled him aside, comically shaking a fist at him. In the corner of his eye he noticed the Junia’s glorious sails out in full splendor being inspected by the ship hands. She was about to set sail again and Thomas gave her the respect she deserved, appreciative of her first-class grandeur. Three slender masts would soar skyward: her tiny skysails would be let loose, next would come her royals, then under those, her topgallants. Underneath the topgallants would fly her wind taut topsails and mainsails, and out puffing sideways from the tips of her yards would be tiers of studding sails. She was magnificent…yet upsetting. His family perished aboard this ship. The last time he set foot on her was the night he nearly died. Thomas lowered his eyes and watched the men near the quarterdeck hoisting down crates with the emblem of the Crown. He turned to look at Devin who was noticing the same crime.
“Thomas, the Junia is smuggling gold?” Devin asked, hushing down his voice.
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