Wicked

by Cheryl Holt

  “So what?”

  “It’s pointless to ignore it.”

  “No, it’s pointless to pursue it.”

  “Why deny ourselves?”

  “Because it’s wrong for us to dally. It lures us farther into an impossible relationship.”

  “As you said: So what?”

  “There’s more to life than hedonistic indulgence,” she claimed.

  “I disagree. If you don’t have anything to call your own, hedonism is the only pleasure available.”

  “We’re not animals. We don’t have to succumb to our base drives.”

  “There’s nothing base about what I feel for you.”

  He bent down and kissed her, his lips capturing hers in the sort of torrid embrace they’d come to relish. She didn’t protest or attempt to escape. They jumped into the fire together, overwhelmed by the need to be closer.

  For a brief instant, she wrenched away and murmured, “You’re mad.”

  “Yes, mad for you.”

  “You’re a sorcerer. I’m under a wicked spell, and I can’t resist you.”

  “You shouldn’t resist me. It’s ludicrous to try.”

  He drew her nearer and tumbled them onto the mattress. His cock was hard as stone, demanding release. He couldn’t stand that they were still dressed, that he’d never had the chance to press his bare skin to hers.

  Gradually, he unbuttoned buttons and tugged at fabric as he nibbled and bit, keeping her distracted, pushing the passion higher and higher, so she wouldn’t stop him, so she wouldn’t object.

  Finally, she was naked, and he gazed down her body. She was mortified by her nude condition, and she snuggled against him, her face burrowed to his chest.

  “Let me look at you,” he said.

  “No. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. When we’re alone like this, every behavior is allowed.”

  “It’s too much.”

  “You’re so beautiful, Rose.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because you make me forget myself.”

  “Good.”

  “You spew your pretty compliments, and I’m eager to do whatever you ask. I can’t tell you no.”

  “You shouldn’t tell me no. Not ever.”

  He dipped to her breasts, sucking on one, then the other, until she was writhing and pleading for mercy.

  He abandoned her nipples and traveled down, kissing her chest, her stomach, and eventually arriving at the vee between her thighs. She arched up and tried to pull away.

  “What are you doing?” she inquired.

  “I want to taste you.”

  “No.”

  She was on her elbows, glaring down at him.

  “Lie back,” he urged.

  “This is so unseemly. It has to be a sin.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  He licked across her sheath, flicking his tongue inside.

  “Oh, my Lord!” she muttered, and she flopped down, swiftly losing the energy required for complaint.

  It only took a few seconds for her ardor to crest, for him to throw her over the edge. She went joyfully, blissfully, and as he nuzzled a trail up her torso, she was smiling, laughing, looking so ecstatic that his heart raced with his own burst of joy. She was staring at him as if he were a god, as if he walked on water, and it was heady stuff, making her happy. He didn’t know if he’d ever again stumble on any other endeavor that would prove quite so satisfying.

  “You’re the worst.” She was chuckling, sighing.

  “I certainly am.”

  “I can’t believe I have such loose tendencies.”

  “You like carnal activity. Admit it.”

  She groaned with dismay. “What will become of me? I’m thoroughly corrupted.”

  “It will be hard to go back to being the prim, proper spinster you were before.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. After this, I’ll never be the same.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you ever will.”

  He couldn’t bear to have her mention the future, couldn’t bear to have her mention the time—very soon—when they would be parted forever.

  A gnawing sadness welled up, but he ignored it. He wasn’t a maudlin person. He didn’t rue and regret his choices. He picked a path and forged ahead.

  He and Rose had a fine sexual attraction, and that’s all it was! He had to stop his ridiculous moping.

  Still, he was inundated by the realization that they were at the end of all that would ever be between them. It seemed so wrong for this to be their finale. They’d already crossed so many ethical boundaries. How could it hurt if they took a few more steps down the road to perdition?

  He’d never been so aroused, and his body was intent on having her in the only way that counted. What purpose was served by her keeping her virginity? She claimed that—after she left Summerfield—she would return to teaching, so what benefit was her chastity? Or would she save it for later to squander on some elderly oaf like Stanley?

  There was no reason for James to deny himself, no reason for Rose to delay.

  It was the desire talking. He was thinking with his phallus, convincing himself to proceed when he was fully aware of why he shouldn’t. But unlike most every other occasion in his life, he couldn’t behave rationally.

  Where she was concerned, proper conduct was impossible.

  “I want you to do something for me,” he murmured.

  “Anything, James. I will do anything for you.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you would say.”

  * * * *

  Rose gazed into his blue, blue eyes.

  She didn’t imagine she’d ever grow tired of looking at him. Not if she had another hundred years. She didn’t need a hundred, though. She’d be content with another forty or fifty—if only she could have him until her dying day.

  He insisted they were having a brief fling, but he was a fool. She’d brazenly asked him to marry, and he’d crushed her by refusing, but he couldn’t have meant it.

  The fact that he’d tried to storm out, but hadn’t, told her all she needed to know. He had feelings for her—deep feelings—but didn’t realize it and couldn’t tell her.

  She wasn’t precisely sure what boon he was about to request, but she had a fairly good idea. His manly lusts were inflamed, and he was eager to assuage them.

  She should have said absolutely not, but if she agreed, she was positive he’d recognize his heightened sentiment. When they were finished, he’d have to wed her. Honor and decency required it. The law and morals required it.

  She wasn’t tricking him into a leg-shackle. No. She was simply helping him clarify his position. She was simply helping him to acknowledge that they should be husband and wife.

  They’d spent their lives alone. Wasn’t it time to form a permanent connection? Wasn’t it time to bond and unite? Wasn’t it time to be happy?

  He drew back onto his haunches and tugged off his shirt, baring his chest. She’d never seen a man’s chest before and hadn’t grasped that the sight would be so riveting. Her belly tickled.

  There was a matting of hair across the top, then it thinned down his flat belly to disappear into the waistband of his trousers. Her eyes traced that line, wondering where it ended, wondering what was hidden beneath the fabric. She’d heard that men and women were built differently in their private parts.

  What was different? Why was the difference necessary?

  He kissed her, easing her down onto the mattress, and his skin was warm and smooth against her breasts.

  “I’m sorry we were fighting,” he said.

  “I am too.”

  “I was being an ass.”

  “I surprised you.”

  “You’re so brave,” he absurdly stated.

  “I am brave?”

  “Yes. I’m constantly amazed by you. You’re not afraid to grab for what you want.”

  “I wouldn’t pin any medals
on me,” she scoffed.

  “I would. I’ve never grabbed for what I want.” He paused and frowned. “Or maybe it’s more correct to say I’ve never known what to grab for.”

  Wasn’t that exactly what she’d just been thinking? Given sufficient opportunity, he’d figure out that he loved her. He merely needed to adjust his attitude so he’d comprehend that his path and hers were the same.

  “I’m so glad we met,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He seemed stunned by the admission.

  “How sweet of you to tell me.”

  He’d embarrassed himself, apparently having gone as far as he could in professing any elevated sentiment.

  He started kissing her in earnest, swiftly leading them into the spiral of passion, and it occurred to her that this was where he was more comfortable. This was where he thrived, where he could show her with his hands and body what he couldn’t share with words.

  He dipped to her breasts, his fingers slipping down her belly and into her sheath. He toyed and played, quickly bringing her to the cliff of desire and pitching her over the edge.

  She flew merrily, and he held her during the tumult. As it waned, there was a new resolve in his gaze. He widened her thighs, wedging in his torso. Down below, he was fumbling with his trousers, unbuttoning the flap.

  A flare of nerves shot through her, and she panicked. Should she let him proceed? Or should she stop him?

  As rapidly as the anxious thoughts arose, she shoved them away. She was right to persist. They would complete the marital act, and his reservations about matrimony would vanish.

  “I’m desperate to carry on precisely as we shouldn’t,” he told her.

  “We’re far past that point.”

  “But there’s no retreat from this.”

  “I understand”

  “I don’t think you actually do.” He studied her, appearing conflicted. “I’m using you horridly.”

  “No, you’re not. I want this. I want you.”

  “You’ll never be a maiden again. We can’t repair your body or turn back the clock so that you’re a virgin.”

  “I know, James. I know.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “I shouldn’t pressure you, but I want this so much.”

  “So do I. And you’re not pressuring me.”

  He evaluated her, and she stared back, her expression serene and untroubled.

  Evidently, he saw what he needed to see, and he nodded.

  “Promise me one thing,” he said.

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me you’ll never be sorry. No matter what happens in the future, you can’t ever regret this.”

  “I’ll never be sorry, you silly man. I asked you for this, remember? I practically demanded it.”

  “I’m so lucky. Luckier than I deserve to be.”

  “I’m lucky too,” she quietly murmured.

  A charged moment sizzled where she thought he might declare himself, but he didn’t. The interval passed, and he fell to her breasts again, as he worked his fingers between her legs. Then something bigger was there, something she hadn’t expected. He was pushing it into her, and she tensed.

  “Just relax,” he advised.

  “It feels odd.”

  “The first time is awkward.”

  “Are you sure this is the proper way?”

  “Very sure. You trust me, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “Take a deep breath.” She did, and he said, “Take another.”

  She settled a bit, but not as much as he was hoping. The encounter was escalating much quicker than she’d anticipated, and she was more disturbed than she’d assumed she’d be. More confused too.

  He was kissing her again, his hands massaging her nipples, as he flexed and flexed. Finally, her passion crested and she cried out. As her body shattered, he gave a hard shove with his hips. There was a tear and a sharp pain, then…he halted.

  He was trembling, and he gazed down at her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Is that it? Is it over?”

  “No. There’s a tad more.”

  “Show me.”

  “Let’s hold still for a minute while you acclimate.”

  She struggled to calm herself, and gradually, the ache waned. She sagged into the mattress, realizing that the strange coupling wasn’t so strange after all. It was actually quite…interesting, like nothing she could have imagined or described.

  He began to move, pulling out of her, then pushing in again. He started slowly, but the tempo increased until it grew shockingly wild, and he was slamming into her in a perfect rhythm as if they’d cavorted a thousand times previous.

  She seemed to instinctually know what to do. She met him thrust for thrust, her questing hands stroking his shoulders and back, even dipping down to brazenly clasp his buttocks.

  She simply couldn’t bring him close enough, couldn’t feel him near enough, and she was curious as to how long it would continue. He was able to manage the pace, as if he was an expert at controlling the pleasure.

  Fleetingly, she speculated over just how he’d become an expert, the notion crossing her mind that it could only have been from experience with many partners. If she hadn’t been so in love with him, she might have focused on the question of his heightened skill, but apparently, he’d reached the end.

  He froze and tensed, and while at the last second, he twisted his torso as if he might withdraw from her, for some reason, he didn’t. He growled with satisfaction and collapsed on top of her.

  For an eternity, they lay together, pulses slowing, perspiration cooling. Ultimately, he pulled away. She winced, figuring she’d be very sore in the morning. He’d torn her on the inside. Would the injury heal? Or would she always carry this small memento of what they’d perpetrated?

  He smiled, looking young and handsome and somewhat abashed.

  “Did you survive?” he asked.

  She grinned, not wanting him to discover how undone she was by the event.

  “Hale and hearty,” she replied. “I’m not a virgin anymore, am I?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I didn’t need that silly old chastity anyway.”

  “I’m delighted you gave it to me.”

  “So am I.”

  He rolled her onto her side and spooned himself to her back. The room was quiet, and she reveled in the silence. She hadn’t known it would be so intimate afterwards, hadn’t known it would be so spectacularly charged with emotion. Tears swarmed to her eyes, but she couldn’t fathom why.

  She wasn’t sad. She was very, very happy. Perhaps they were tears of joy.

  “I have a confession,” he whispered in her ear.

  “What is it?”

  “You arouse me beyond my limit.”

  “I’m a vixen, am I?”

  “Yes. There at the end, I should have pulled out.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand what that means.”

  “A man spills a seed in the woman’s womb. That’s how a babe is created. But if he pulls out…”

  His voice trailed off, and she completed his sentence for him. “He won’t sire a child.”

  “Yes. I shouldn’t have finished that way.”

  “Could I be…with child now?” The possibility left her absolutely breathless. If she was increasing, he’d have to marry her. He’d have no choice.

  “No, no,” he hastily responded. “It can’t happen from just one time. Well, it can, but it’s very rare.”

  He reached over her shoulder, took her hand, and kissed her palm.

  “You’re wonderful,” he said, almost as if he was surprised.

  “If you continue complimenting me, I’ll get a big head.”

  “We can’t have that, can we? I’d better keep my flattery to myself.”

  She
elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t you dare stop. I’m a glutton for your adulation.”

  “Then, Miss Ralston, I shall persist until you’re sick of hearing my praise.”

  She’d never grow tired of it. Never.

  Behind her, he yawned. She sighed with contentment, visualizing their future, where they would fall asleep in each other’s arms every night for the rest of their lives.

  “You wore me out,” he claimed. “I need a nap.”

  “I do too.” She yawned, as well. “You can only doze, though. The maids can’t catch you in here in the morning.”

  “They won’t. I’ll go in a bit.”

  She wished she was shameless enough to have him stay, to let the maids catch him. It would be one more nail in his coffin toward a leg-shackle, but Rose wouldn’t flaunt their relationship in front of Mr. Oswald for she didn’t want to ever have to admit how they’d misbehaved under his roof.

  She wanted to travel to London with James, to wed him there where they would be far away from Mr. Oswald and their union accomplished long before he ever learned of it.

  “Everything will be all right now, won’t it?” she inquired.

  “Yes,” he promised.

  “We’ll always be together?”

  “Yes,” he mumbled.

  “And we’ll have to work out our differences with Mr. Oswald, so he’s not hurt or angry.”

  A snore sounded, and he didn’t reply.

  Sighing again, she lay very still, listening to him breathe, feeling his large, warm presence curled around her. She was ecstatic and wistful and blissfully in love, and she couldn’t imagine she’d ever suffer a more perfect moment.

  She must have slumbered, for when she opened her eyes, dawn was breaking. Birds were chirping, the sky lightening.

  Without glancing over her shoulder, she knew he was gone, but she looked anyway. He wasn’t there.

  Though she’d hoped and expected it, there was no rose on her pillow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Veronica tiptoed into her bedchamber without making a sound.

  It was very late, and the vicarage was a creaky old house. The slightest weight on the wrong floorboard would produce a screech like a banshee. But she was an expert at sneaking out and sneaking in, could come and go without a trace.

  “Where have you been?” a voice suddenly hissed behind her.