by Darcy Burke
By the time he lifted his head, they were both breathing hard.
She licked her lips. “What happened next?”
“I’ll show you.”
He took her hand and led her to a wall of smooth rock, near the waterfalls. What he wanted to do with her had been a long-held fantasy of his. One of many he intended to act out, hoping the hold she had on him would lessen with each one.
He pulled her into an inlet secluded by the large rocks.
Touching the sun-warmed stone, he made certain it wasn’t too hot for her back, and then gently pressed her against it.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes. Now what happens in your dream?”
He pulled off her wet chemise and tossed it to the side. “I look at you.”
Taking a step back, he let his gaze move over her. The water here reached her mid-thigh. He watched in fascination as the splatters of sunlight, reflecting on the glassy water surface, danced on her skin.
“My dream does not do justice to how truly incredible you look in the flesh.”
Her blush reached to her sweet breasts.
“Then what happens?”
He stepped forward and leaned his palms against the warm stone near her shoulders. “Then I confess to you how much I have wanted to taste you.” She stared at him intently, adorably trying to decipher the full meaning behind his words.
“I ask you, ‘Angelica, will you let me taste your pretty sex? Will you let me suck that perfect little clit and make you come with my mouth?’”
Her lips parted. Over the sound of the waterfall, he heard her soft gasp.
“Men…do that to women?” she asked, full of delightful astonishment.
Dieu, she was precious. He found himself thankful to whatever heavenly forces had allowed him to cross her path, allowed him this experience with her.
“Lovers do ‘that’ to each other.” He knelt before her, the water rippling just above his waist. Placing his hands on her hips, he looked up at her. “What say you? I have been dying to taste you for so long.”
Her eyes scanned about.
“No one will interrupt us,” he reminded her. On the way to their picnic spot, she’d seen the man he’d ordered to remain on the main path to the waterfalls to keep others away.
“I promise, you’ll enjoy every moment.” He grazed his hands up her thighs. “What is your answer, chérie? Will you let me taste you?”
He desperately wanted to be the first man to pleasure her this way. This he could do. It was something he actually had to offer.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her nipples were erect, like two ripe berries begging to be sucked. She bit her lip, then finally gave him a shaky nod. A wave of joy crested over him.
It took him a moment before he could say, “Place your foot here.” His voice was husky with desire as he helped her balance her foot up on a rock beside him.
Her fingers dug into the stone. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. And her pink sex was wet. She was as excited as she was anxious over the unknown experience.
He placed his hands back on her hips. With care, he ran his thumbs over her silky, slick folds, opening her further. She stiffened.
“Just relax.”
She nodded, yet she looked anything but.
He kissed a warm path along her inner thigh, inching closer and closer to that private place he ached to taste. Then he lowered his mouth onto her. She lurched and cried out at the first stroke of his tongue.
He stopped immediately. She was all but panting. “Are you all right?”
She nodded.
“Do you wish me to stop?”
She shook her head.
“Then you must be still. You don’t want to injure your back against the rocks.”
She nodded. “Please…continue.”
He managed to contain his smile. She was delightfully sweet during carnal play, and he wanted nothing more than to cherish every inch of the delicate pink flesh exposed to him.
He tightened his grip on her hips, anticipating another sudden movement, then stroked his tongue tenderly along her inner lips. She jerked only slightly. He glided his tongue inside her slit, enjoying her soft whimper. He relished the taste of her warmth, her wetness. Her. The rest of the world and its problems disappeared. Nothing existed but this moment and this woman. And he savored both. Taking his time, using his tongue, he gave her a most intimate, erotic kiss—a kiss he wanted her never to forget.
He made his way to her sweet clit, so sensitive and engorged with need, and swirled his tongue around it, teasing her, building her anticipation, until finally he drew it into his mouth. Her sultry moan filled his ears. Steadily, he suckled her, settling into a rhythm that drove her wild. He continued until he had her straining hard against him, until she screamed without reservation as a shattering orgasm shook her. Still he persisted, gently tasting her, waiting for her to finally quiet before reluctantly lifting his mouth.
She collapsed to her knees. Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face in his neck, her breathing warm and quick. He held her tightly, her luscious taste still on his tongue.
She looked up into his eyes, her cheeks flushed. “I want to taste you.”
His cock jerked hungrily at her provocative words, but he shook his head. “After having you come against my mouth, I’m so hard I’ve got to have you right now.” Not to mention that given the insanity inside him, he was afraid he would begin reciting love sonnets within moments of having her delectable mouth on him.
He stood.
She stayed put and reached out, taking hold of his rock-hard cock.
“Angelica,” he gently admonished and grasped her wrist, intending to pull her hand away. She brought her mouth closer to him.
“Tell me what to do.” She brushed her lips over the tip of his prick. His knees almost gave way.
“Angelica…” Her name escaped his throat in a raspy whisper.
“Tell me how a woman tastes a man, Simon. Is this right?” She gently licked across the engorged head of his erection.
He jerked and groaned. A second swipe of her tongue was all it took to snap his resolve. He leaned back against the rock, not trusting the strength in his legs, not caring that something was jabbing into his spine.
“Take me inside your mouth,” he heard himself say, barely recognizing the sound of his strained voice. “No teeth.” His hands were on her head, urging her on. “In and out.”
His blood thundered as she drew the crest of his cock into the wet heat of her mouth. Then back out. Then in again, a little deeper, and Dieu, out. The torture was sublime. Tentative at first, she quickly became bolder, her strokes, licks, and sucks more sure and devastating. Taking more of him in her mouth each time. He closed his eyes. He was dying. There could be no better way to perish. Her novice mouth had him utterly enthralled, the friction unbearable. His body screamed for release, his semen needing to escape, about to spill. Abruptly, he pulled away.
With his heart pounding, his body ravenous for her, he picked her up and placed her onto the flat, smooth stone where he’d tossed her chemise, then laid her back on the wet garment.
Beautifully flushed, she frowned. “Why did you stop? Was I not doing it correctly?”
Standing between her thighs, he bent her knees and leaned over her. “If you did it any better, my heart would stop,” he said, his breathing erratic.
She smiled and laced her arms around him. “It’s been hours since you have been inside me. I’ve missed you.” Christ, the things she said. She pulled him down and drew on his bottom lip before she kissed him.
Taking his cock in hand, he wedged it at her entrance and slowly pushed his hard length into her juicy core, savoring the stunning sensations streaming along his cock, her tight, slick, heat slowly sucking him in. He closed his eyes, but it wasn’t possible to shut her out, to concentrate solely on the pleasure. Even without sight, the feel of her, the sounds she made, the taste of her, and the light scent of her soft skin, all m
ade him acutely aware of the woman and not just the act.
He began to move with languid strokes, wanting to prolong the moment, battling back his release and the load of come he was dying to purge. Wishing to suspend time. He was lost in a dream. This was far better than the actual dream he’d had. He was in Eden—with his moonlight angel—lost to the appeal and temptation of his forbidden fruit. And at the moment, he didn’t care.
Soon, he had her impatient and yearning. Her fragmented sentences, urging him to hurry, were punctuated by hot, hungry kisses. Quickening his pace, he gripped her bottom, lifting her hips into his every deep, driving thrust.
She cried out her release; the glorious spasms rippling along his thrusting cock sent him over the edge. He withdrew just in the nick of time. Clenching his teeth, he drained his cock outside her body in a pulsating rush that went on and on. Each shuddering eruption pure euphoria.
The sun shone warmly on his back. His muscles were lax. A sense of peace, the likes of which he’d never known, settled over him.
He gazed down into her eyes. Gently, she brushed back a lock of his hair from his forehead and gave him a tender smile. Perhaps he’d postpone his trip back to France, prolong their time together just a little more, and hold on to his moonlight angel just a little longer.
“Angelica,” he murmured, her name slipping past his lips, full of emotion that came directly from his heart.
Pounding drums shattered the bliss.
Simon jerked his head up. His stomach dropped.
“What is that?” she asked.
He was already standing, pulling her to her feet. Taking her hand, he began making his way through the water toward the shore, his heart pounding along with the drums.
“They’re a warning.” He tried to keep the anxiety from his voice. “A ship is on the horizon.”
“A ship? What kind of ship?”
“I don’t know yet.”
They reached the shoreline and their clothing.
“Simon, are we being attacked?”
He grabbed his fallen shirt and tossed it over her head. Knowing his men would be coming for him soon, he began pulling on his breeches.
“I don’t know. But if we are, we’re prepared. My men are highly trained.” His mind raced as he considered the possible identity and intentions of the ship. Hell, there could be more than one. The drums continued to pound. A cold sensation slid down Simon’s spine. He had a terrible feeling inside. A feeling he couldn’t shake. A feeling that all dreams were over.
Reality had come to call.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Seven ships in all, Captain, all bearing our flags,” the man at the northeast lookout had advised. Simon had felt some relief. At least they weren’t being attacked. But why were all seven of his warships returning? What could it mean? It took hours for his commanders to reach the shore and make their way to Simon’s dining room before he knew the answer.
“Captain, the war between France and Spain is over,” stated one of the warship commanders. A roar of astonishment swept around the table in Simon’s dining room.
His heart missed a beat.
He looked around at all fourteen of his ships’ commanders. His shock was mirrored in the faces of half the men around the table as the other half relayed the astounding news from France.
“Over?” Domenico exclaimed.
“Yes, over. The king has signed the peace treaty. But that is not all. Mazarin is dead.”
Simon sat upright. “The First Minister? Dead?”
Armand shook his head. “Unbelievable. I thought the devil was immortal.”
“Fouquet still lives,” advised another recently returned commander. “If ever a devil there was, it would be Fouquet.”
“What does the king do now?” Jules asked. “Mazarin has ruled for Louis since he was a child and inherited the throne—”
“Who will be the next First Minister?” Simon interjected. Silently, he prayed the next words he heard were not Nicolas Fouquet. Mazarin had been no less power-hungry than Fouquet; however, Fouquet, as far as Simon was concerned, was more ruthless than the widely despised Cardinal Mazarin.
“That is the most incredible thing, Captain,” explained the commander. “Louis has announced he will rule France without a First Minister of any kind.”
A murmur of disbelief erupted.
Simon leaned forward, still grappling with the words that were too unbelievable to accept. “And what of Fouquet? Surely he must have believed that he would have been the natural replacement.”
“Captain, he still believes it. Raoul and Vilain have provided invaluable information.”
“Go on,” Simon said. Raoul and Vilain were the two spies he’d planted as servants within Fouquet’s household. And he was eager to hear every detail.
“They inform us that Fouquet thinks the king will grow bored of ruling and hand over the responsibilities to him. Fouquet believes Louis cannot rule the realm without him. He thinks he’s indispensable. What makes matters worse is that Fouquet has the support of the majority of the nobles. They call him the true king of France. Those who don’t support him are indebted to him financially. He has been quite shrewd.”
“Captain,” began another. “I have a letter from the former commodore, Robert d’Arles, Marquis de Névelon.” He handed Simon the parchment with Robert’s family seal on it.
Simon opened and read the note. “The marquis believes that the king grows increasingly displeased with Fouquet and his extravagant ways,” he relayed.
Jules shook his head. “And yet Fouquet still thinks he’ll be the next First Minister.”
The commander nodded. “His ambitions and arrogance seem to have no limits. And his excesses are extreme. It seems every day Fouquet spends funds on his new château, making it more and more opulent. He is quite unconcerned about what Louis thinks of Château Vaux-le-Vicomte.”
Simon drained the brandy in his goblet, desperate for the fiery liquid to counter the ache he felt inside. The news was bittersweet. And monumental.
In his note, Robert wanted Simon’s immediate return and advised that Fouquet had given up his post as a Member of Parliament at Louis’s request. Though he was still the Superintendent of Finance, this left Fouquet vulnerable. Could it be that their young king had truly opened his eyes and seen the threat Fouquet was to his throne? Could he be planning Fouquet’s downfall, drawing him out of the security of his parliamentary protection?
Between the war ending, Mazarin’s death, and the king’s request of Fouquet, Simon reeled. The very idea of peace seemed unreal. The war with Spain had been ongoing since ’48, and before that, there had been the Thirty Years War.
Would the peace last? He hoped so. He was sick of war. Yet now that it was over, so was the opportunity to become an officer. To become ennobled. It was no longer a matter of choice—whether he wanted to chase the dream or not. The door to betterment had just slammed shut in his face, leaving Simon trapped on the outside. Leaving him a commoner forevermore.
He knew he couldn’t delay his return now. He wouldn’t be given the extra time with Angelica he’d hoped for. This was an opportunity to get out from under Fouquet’s hold with his life and the lives of his men intact, and even aid in his downfall, but Simon knew he would walk away with a life devoid of recognition for his naval successes.
And without Angelica.
That thought left him feeling cold. And empty.
She waited for him in his chambers. He had to go upstairs and tell her that he had to leave. That she had to go too. The king was beginning to rule. This was the perfect time for her to return and reclaim her estate. And her life.
What choice did he have but to take her back? She deserved to return to the upper class—to all the benefit and privilege that came with it. To all the things he’d never have. France held promise for her, though it held nothing for him. He might have failed to elevate himself, but he wouldn’t fail her. She deserved more than he had to offer. She was born i
nto privilege. She deserved a husband who could provide her and her children with a name that carried with it esteem. A name that would grant them the prerogatives that came with it.
He stood, dismissed the men, and walked out of the dining room to the stairs, both his legs and his heart leaden.
***
Angelica paced.
She’d been advised that the ships were friends, not foes, but that didn’t seem to give her ease. Something was happening. She feared Simon would need to leave sooner than expected.
Would she be denied her chance before it had even begun?
The chamber door opened. She turned.
Simon gave her a lopsided smile and closed the door quietly. Her heart leaped to her throat. She hadn’t missed the way his eyes flashed regret. Dear God, no. Not this soon.
“You have to leave, don’t you?” The words rushed past her lips. His smile disappeared.
“Yes.” The soft word roared in her ears.
She battled back her devastating disappointment. “When?”
He looked as though it pained him to say, “A few days. A week at most. As soon as the ships are prepared for the voyage back.”
She sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry that you have to leave so soon.” She hoped she didn’t sound as shaken as she felt.
“So am I.”
He walked over and sat down beside her. Taking one of her cold hands in his, he said, “There are great changes that have occurred in France.” Lightly, he caressed her hand with his thumb. “France is finally at peace, and our king has for the first time indicated a desire to rule. These are positive changes. The realm will be a much better place for it.”
She remained silent, sensing there was more he wanted to say, yet he seemed to be struggling to find his words. He looked heavy-hearted.
“This affair between us has been…beautiful.” He gave her a rueful smile. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was about to hear something worse than his departure.