Further Than Passion

by Cheryl Holt

  At the insult, Kate blanched. Fitzsimmons blamed her for Selena's situation, though she couldn't figure

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  out why, and she felt it necessary to defend herself. "I've approved every expenditure, Mrs. Fitzsimmons."

  "A likely story."

  "I have!" she insisted. "I'm not sure what's happening."

  The woman snorted. "I realize what you're up to, missy, and you shan't succeed. Not if Edith Fitzsimmons has anything to say about it. I'll have you jailed. Just see if I don't!"

  Kate gasped, but Christopher stepped in front of her, shooting Fitzsimmons a furious glare, which halted her tirade.

  "Excuse us, madam." Curtly dismissing her, he ushered Kate outside. Pensive and dismayed, they contemplated the surroundings.

  "Answer one question for me," he requested.

  "If I can."

  "How has such an enchanting young lady ended up residing in a place like this?"

  "I don't know," Kate responded, "but I intend to find out."

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  Pamela reclined on Christopher's bed, listening as he walked down the hall. He entered his room, and she bit down on a spark of temper.

  It had been three hours since she'd whispered that she'd like to tryst. Though she'd blatantly hinted, they hadn't since that initial glorious afternoon, and she didn't understand how he could resist her.

  "Hello, darling," she cooed as he approached. She was naked, just a sheet concealing her, and for a second his smile appeared to slip, but she was positive it was a trick of the flickering candle.

  "Pamela?" He seemed confused to see her. "What are you doing in here?"

  "I waited in my boudoir"—she affected a credible pout—"but you never came. I was lonely."

  Stretching, she let the covering fall so that her breasts were visible, and his attention perked up immediately. His randy phallus enlarged and pressed at his trousers.

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  "I was detained."

  "By whom?"

  She hated that she'd jumped to inquire—she sounded like a nagging fishwife—but she couldn't help herself. As she'd taken him under her wing, she couldn't have him cozying up to inappropriate people.

  "Lord Stamford invited me to have a brandy. I didn't think I could refuse."

  "No, you couldn't."

  His gait was unsteady, so he'd had more than a single drink. They must have talked for hours, and the knowledge was bothersome. She wasn't keen on his being chummy with Marcus. There was no telling what the older man might advise the younger.

  "What did he want?" she queried.

  A shrewd gleam in his eye, he studied her. "He warned me about the perils of London."

  "Were there many?"

  "Mostly of the feminine variety."

  "I should say so," she agreed. "You're not aware of how you've intrigued the ladies. You must watch the company you keep, or you could find yourself in trouble with the wrong girl."

  "I certainly could."

  She patted the bed, eager to have him join her. "Why don't you lie down and get comfortable?"

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "I thought we'd start up where we left off the other day." She stretched again, the sheet dropping to her abdomen, her privates barely shielded. "You look very tense. Would you like me to rub your back?"

  For an eternity, he pondered the suggestion, and she

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  was disconcerted by his reticence. What was plaguing the immature fool? Considering how he was acting, he was lucky she didn't presume him to be a gay blade!

  She shifted to her side, so he had an unimpeded view. "Have you ever had a massage before?"

  "No."

  "Why not let tonight be the first time?" She wet her bottom lip, taunting him with the memory of how she'd previously pleasured him. "You'll enjoy it very much."

  His decision finally reached, he shrugged out of his jacket. "I'm sure I will."

  She rose up on her knees, pulling him to her so that their torsos were melded, her nipples brushing his shirt. Without having to be instructed, he kissed her, and it was delicious, unrestrained ardor, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers on her breast. She’d spurred him past whatever restriction had held him in check.

  She wanted him as naked as she, and she fumbled with his shirt, but she couldn't remove it fast enough, so she ripped at the fabric, tugging it down and off till his upper body was exposed. His chest was Smooth, his skin silky, with no hair to mar it, and she stroked the velvety expanse, petting and caressing, plucking at his small nipples.

  His cock surged, trying to burst from his pants, and she leaned back and dragged him with her so that, in a tangle of arms and legs, they tumbled onto the mattress.

  He was limber, agile, and the embrace became more wild, his actions more confident. She rolled them so that she was on top, her hips straddling his, and she hovered over him with her palms braced on either side.

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  "I'm going to show you so many things," she murmured. "I'll make you plead. I'll make you beg. You have no idea how much you'll come to love what I can do for you."

  Or how much you'll come to love me! she mused. He would, too. He was so sweet, so naive, and she was anxious to have him smitten. A wise woman could acquire many boons from having such a charming boy enamored of her, and no one had ever mistaken her for being stupid. Christopher would forever celebrate that he'd lost his virginity to her, and with her orchestrating his future, his life would never be the same.

  How could he fail to be captivated? And grateful? Such a wealthy, powerful youngster might just be very, very grateful.

  "I'll tutor you so that you are a magnificent lover." She dangled her nipple across his impatient lips. "Would you like to learn?"

  "Yes."

  "You must focus on pleasing your partner."

  "An excellent concept."

  "A female can be aroused."

  "Really?"

  "She must be satisfied, more often than the man."

  As if this was fabulous news, he chuckled.

  "Suckle me," she directed. "As a babe would its mother."

  "Like this?" He latched onto the extended tip.

  "Harder," she ordered. "Much harder. And play with the other." She raised his hand to her other breast, illustrating how he should mold and fondle.

  He was an adept pupil, who implemented her every

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  command, and as he nursed, his gestures grew more assertive, more aggressive. He was a genius at reading her responses, at discovering how to make her squirm and writhe.

  She'd meant to be in charge, to dictate the speed, but she was so stimulated that she could scarcely contain herself. He easily brought her to the edge, which surprised her. Normally, she had difficulty achieving an orgasm, and a man had to be extremely skilled to push her to climax.

  The carnal endeavor was different with him, though she didn't understand why. She wanted the event to be special, for it to be more than the two of them groping around in the dark.

  "Let's get your clothes off, darling."

  She plucked at the buttons on his trousers, and he helped, shucking off his garments and shoes, and she gazed down the length of his athletic torso. He was flawless, virile and vibrant, his cock jutting out. She circled her fist around it, so he could thrust and parry.

  His adolescent lusts were provoked, and he was ready to spill himself, but she wouldn't have him finishing in her hand. "Are you aware of how a man and woman copulate?"

  "I've heard."

  She guided his fingers between her legs, teaching him to investigate her shaved puss, her slippery sheath. "I'll take you inside my body. It will be wonderful for you. Like nothing you've ever felt before."

  He had no reply, and if he was nervous, he didn't reveal it. Relaxing, she spread her thighs and drew him over her. She gripped his phallus and ushered him to

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  her welcoming center, and he slid inside without impediment.

  "Oh my!" His eye
s widened with amazement.

  "Yes, it's splendid."

  She clasped his buttocks and moved her hips, demonstrating the rhythm, but the excess of sensation was overwhelming, and in the space of a heartbeat, he came, exploding with great relish. She hugged him until the agitation waned, and though his muscles had slackened, he was still implanted, his cock rigid and geared for another go-around. He looked sheepish, contrite, as if he'd done something wrong.

  "I'm sorry it ended so fast," he said. "I couldn't stop myself."

  "It was your first experience. A frenzied coupling is exactly what's expected."

  "But it should be slower, shouldn't it? And more ... romantic?"

  What a dear boy! "With practice, you'll be able to control the spiral. That's half the fun, and the longer you delay, the more enjoyment you'll receive."

  He grinned. "I think we should try it again."

  "A marvelous notion."

  Without so much as an intervening moment, he began to flex, instantly grasping what was required.

  ******************

  Kate sneaked into Marcus's room, determined to leave the ring and be shed of it—and him!—once and for all. She wasn't sure what she'd set in motion by drinking the potion, but she had to halt the whole bizarre business.

  She couldn't be in love with Marcus Pelham! She absolutely would not be. She was too rational and

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  pragmatic. Even though she scoffed at superstition, she was unnerved and desperate to break any connection she'd established with the licentious, influential nobleman. If parting with the ring would create peace of mind, and stability in her personal affairs, then returning it was worth any risk.

  After her meeting with Selena, Kate was in a state, her emotions running at a fevered pitch. The slightest bump in the road would cause her to shatter, and should a catastrophe occur, she couldn't bear up.

  The ring was a disaster waiting to happen. She had to discreetly dispose of it, and there was no better opportunity than late afternoon.

  Stamford lived in an apartment—over a gambling hall, of all places!—and he never showed his face in the town house unless he was bent on torturing herself or being rude to Melanie, so he was out. The servants were downstairs, having tea in the kitchen before they commenced with the elaborate preparations for supper. Kate could slip in and be gone in a thrice.

  Her pulse galloping, she crept inside. She leaned against the cool wood of the door, listening, certain that if anyone jumped out, she would die of fright and mortification.

  On a nearby dresser, there was a bowl where he'd thrown his jewelry. She tiptoed to it and deposited the ring; then she stirred the contents, making it appear as if the ring had been tossed in with the assorted clutter all along.

  Oddly, as she relinquished it, she was deluged by a wave of sadness. It had represented excitement and drama, all the things she fantasized about in the dark of night "but never had the courage to seek in the light of

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  day. She was swamped by the impression that she was abandoning an important link to her real self.

  A final time, she picked it up and clutched it to her heart. The gold was warm, and the stones seemed to glow and vibrate.

  "Kate." Quietly, he called from behind her.

  As if the ring had burned her, she dropped it and prayed. Please, Lord, don't let it be Marcus. I'm so weak. I'm powerless to resist him or what he brings to my life.

  "Kate," he summoned again, "I'm so glad you're here."

  As she spun toward him, her jumbled sentiments careened between dread and elation.

  He was balanced against the doorjamb to the adjoining chamber, clad solely in a loose-fitting pair of white trousers that she imagined a sultan might wear when entertaining in his private harem. He'd been bathing, and his skin glistened with moisture. His hair was wet and swept off his forehead.

  Never having viewed a male body before his, she was fascinated, enthralled, positive she was perusing a fine specimen. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his legs lanky. His chest was covered with a matting of black hair. It was thick across the top; then it thinned in the center and descended to destinations she couldn't fathom.

  He hadn't shaved, and his cheeks were shadowed, his eyes incredibly blue. He looked dangerous, tempting, seductive, and she was terrified about how she'd behave. If he but snapped his fingers, she would debase herself in any fashion he commanded.

  Grinning, he asked, "Have you decided to filch more of my jewels?"

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  She couldn't speak, neither to deny his accusation nor to defend herself, and he pushed away from the threshold and approached until they were toe-to-toe. She was assailed by the smells of heated water and bathing salts.

  Reaching around her,, he tipped the bowl and detected the ring she'd hazarded limb and reputation to return.

  “I see you've brought it back. Don't you want it anymore? Or has a gaudier trinket tickled your fancy?" Laughing, he held it up, studying it as if to ascertain whether the gems were still attached. "I'm afraid you can't have this one, but I'd be happy to have you choose another."

  He offered her the collection, exhorting her to select a substitute, and the pile of priceless treasures glittered, impugning her, condemning her, for her commonness, her tediousness.

  He sighed.

  "You know, I really don't care if you steal from me"—he set the bowl on the dresser—"but I wish you wouldn't. I consider us to be friends. If you're in trouble, or you need my assistance, you can confide in me. I'll help you."

  "I wasn't stealing," she blurted out. She was rigid as a board, her arms crushed to her sides, as she fought the overwhelming urge to stroke his chest. If she touched him, she couldn't predict what sin she might be spurred to commit.

  He waited for her to explain herself or justify her actions, and when she didn't, his disappointment was clear. He'd expected more of her, or had presumed she'd trust him.

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  "Has something bad happened?"

  She was startled by the question. "No, why?"

  "You seem upset."

  Gad, did she parade her problems on her sleeve, like some sort of banner?

  "I'm not."

  "You can tell me what it is, Kate. Despite what you've heard about me, I won't fail you."

  He was so sincere, so earnest, and she yearned to divulge her woes. It was rare when people took an interest in her, when they evinced concern or bestowed their support. He had wide shoulders, the kind that could easily bear a woman's burdens, and it would be a relief to confess about her mother, about Selena, to probe his advice about the peculiarities with Selena's finances. He was rich, and likely dealt with money issues on a daily basis, but in the end, she couldn't proceed.

  As Regina always counseled, Kate embarrassed herself when she talked about her parents. Their ignominies reflected poorly on her, made others speculate about her character, her integrity. Idiotic as it sounded, she was anxious for Stamford to like her and relish her company, which he appeared to do. Her meeting him was the only extraordinary event that had ever transpired to cheer her dull, dreary existence, and she wouldn't do anything to dampen his attention.

  Besides, why would he immerse himself in her petty family dilemma? He boasted about his dearth of ties, and reveled in his seclusion and aloneness. He'd never understand why any of it mattered, and he'd deem her a fool for having imposed.

  "I'm not distressed," she lied. "And I'm not a thief. I just... just stopped by because—"

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  "I missed you all day," he interrupted.

  "Don't spew such ridiculous drivel."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm imprudent enough to want it to be true."

  "Oh, Kate, do you think so little of me? That I would toy with you and lead you on with false flattery?" He mulled his words, then chuckled. "Don't answer that."

  Without warning, he bent down and brushed a tender kiss across her lips. The move rattled her, flustered he
r. It was simply impossible to remain strong when he was so near. She was starved for affection, and she quickly lost the battle to contain her baser impulses. She pulled him close, the embrace growing into much more than it had started out to be.

  They dawdled, kissing and caressing, and she couldn't have said how long they tarried, transfixed by the sweetness of the moment. Finally, he broke it off, and he clasped her hand.

  "Come."

  He escorted her into the adjacent room, which she knew from her previous misadventure was the location of his massive bed. It was the one fit for a king, where—she had no doubt!—he regularly consorted with all manner of decadent women.

  If she went with him, what did it say about herself and her nature? What did it say about him and his attitude toward her?

  Shockingly, she didn't care. He could suppose her to be promiscuous or rash, immoral or dissolute. She was eager for the pleasure and release he so masterfully gave her, and it dawned on her that, deep down, she'd been hoping he'd be at home. After her stressful

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  visit to Selena, she'd needed to be with him. Even though she'd been sure he'd be off perpetrating whatever despicable deeds kept him occupied, a tiny part of her had wished he'd catch her.

  How pathetic she was! Pining away and aching to be with him, even though it was folly! In such a short interval, he'd begun to mean too much to her, and though she was terrified by the prospects for heartbreak, she decided not to fight her attraction. There was something about him that called to her, that made her want to throw caution to the wind, to tempt fate and damn the consequences.

  When she was around him, she felt alive and vital, not invisible but vibrant and appealing and worthy of his esteem.

  She tightened their grip, signaling that she was com-plicit, a partner in debauchery, willing and disposed to misbehavior.

  To her surprise, he ushered her past the bed, guiding her to the dressing room beyond. His ornate bathing tub was positioned in the center.

  "What are we doing?" she queried.