Goldie and the Three Behrs

by Goldie

  Her moans echoed through the room as he sucked gently on the nub. “You like?” he asked, slipping his finger deep inside her sheath. “You want me?”

  “I do,” she cried out, bucking beneath the rhythm of his finger sliding in and out of her body.

  “Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he said, his mouth warm against her ear. “Tell me, and you will have me.”

  “I want you. You know I do.”

  “Yes,” he said, pushing her legs apart and settling his cock at the entrance of her sex. “You want it right here, don’t you?” He asked the question but didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he slammed hard into her.

  Her breath caught in her throat as pain mingled with pleasure. “You’re too hard.”

  He ignored her and continued to press in and out of her until the pain disappeared, and once again, the warmth from his prick spread through her like wildfire. He quickly brought her to heights she had never expected, and, on a wave of ecstasy, she felt her muscles tighten around his cock and release in a flood of pure rapture.

  * * * *

  Sun filtered in through the small gap in the heavy draperies, the miserable light falling on Goldie’s tired face. Her sleep had never been so deep before, her relaxation so complete. But it was morning now, the morning of her first full day as Lady Joseph Behr. Rolling over, she reached for him, only to find the bed empty and the sheets cold to the touch.

  “Joseph?” she called, hoping to hear the deep tones of his voice from the small parlor that adjoined their bedroom. Her only answer was the ticktock of a mantle clock. Her heart plummeted, and she fought back disappointed tears. Wasn’t last night worthy of more than a morning of desertion?

  Setting her feet on the cold, oaken floor, she wondered how long she would be left on her own. And would he mind if she were to get dressed and go visit her friends? Was it all right to tell everyone of their good fortune?

  She stood and looked back at the crimson stain upon the sheet and felt the dull ache from last night’s passionate onslaught. Just the memory of his thick cock and she blushed. Yes, married life was going to be interesting. If only he wasn’t so damned hard when he first entered. Biting her lower lip, she likened it to sitting upon a railway spike.

  Going to her trunk, she gathered up a walking gown, dressed, and began to groom. She would go into town and see her friends, have a bite to eat, and maybe head home to see her parents. Yes, she would tell her father how happy she was and how grateful for his insistence she marry Joseph. A sudden thumping made her jump. Goldie rested her hand on her racing heart, realizing it was merely a visitor.

  “Woman, open this door. I’ve misplaced my keys.”

  “Dear Lord,” she whispered. Surely the man who pounded at her door had made a mistake. Joseph wouldn’t be so indiscreet. It was merely a confused stranger.

  “Goldie!”

  “Joseph?” she replied nervously from her seat at the dressing table. Inwardly, she cringed, praying the fellow would apologize and move on, yet knowing in her soul he would not.

  “Yes, wife. I lost my key.” God but he sounded odd. His words were slurred and sloppy.

  She scrambled to her feet, anxious to get him inside before more people noticed his terrible state. Yet the anger that boiled in her gut longed to shove him back onto the streets with the other drunks and feral pigs.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, pulling open the door. But she needn’t have asked the question. By his rumpled clothes, his wild hair, and his glassy-eyed stare, she knew her first instincts had been true. Damn him for overindulging at the public house.

  “Just celebrating our nuptials,” he grinned, “and I realized that I needed to see you again.” He pushed through the door, flopped onto the bed, and fumbled with the opening of his trousers. “I have a cock with your name on it. Why not give us a bit of a ride?”

  She clenched her jaw. Was he really going to humiliate her and ruin the warmth of the memory they created last night? “I don’t think I’ll take you up on that particular invitation.”

  “Oh, come now, love.” He freed his prick and ran his hand up and down the hardened shaft. “You’re not going to let a little whiskey keep you from another chance at becoming the mother to my son.”

  The very idea of lying down with him made her want to retch. Oh, dear God, what had she done? The dream lover of the night before had vanished. Was this the true man she married? Why was he doing this to her? She set her hand to her stomach.

  “If you were to impregnate me at this particular moment, I fear the babe would be born drunk.” She grabbed up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m going to breakfast and to visit my friends. When I come back, I hope you’re sober.”

  He scrambled to his feet. “You’re still my wife, and if I want a fuck, you’ll give it to me.”

  Fingers of fear traveled up her spine, and yet, she stood her ground, refusing to give in to his intoxicated threat. “I’ll give what I want, when I want.”

  He sprang at her in a display of coordination she did not expect from the inebriated monster. “You’ll take what I give,” he mumbled, pinning her body against the wall, his hard-on pressing against her hip.

  “Joseph, don’t. Last night—”

  “Was incredible,” he whispered, his lips hovering above hers. “And I want more.” Leaning in closer, he traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath.

  She trembled and cursed herself, for her body reacted to the nearness of him despite the fact she was bitterly angry and a little frightened. “Forget more,” he said. “I want all of you.”

  “Joseph, when you’re sober.”

  “Now,” he said in a heated whisper. “I want you now.” Pressing his lips to hers, she felt all the fight leave her. Since awakening, her body longed to be satisfied. She found his commands arousing, and she yearned to feel the sexual power he possessed. Damn her body. She longed to have him quench the fire that roared deep within her.

  She kissed him back, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. The smell of cigar mingled with the scent of his cologne. Damn her lack of will. Damn her body.

  He smiled against her kiss. “That’s a good lass. Let your husband fuck you.”

  “Yes,” she moaned, presenting him with her neck. His stubbled chin scratched the delicate flesh, sending an erotic mix of pleasure and pain shooting into her womb. What was happening to her? A hapless virgin one day and a wanton woman the next.

  “You smell so good,” he mumbled against the rounded tops of her breasts. Greedily, he pushed up her skirts and slipped his fingers between the lips of her pussy, rubbing quickly back and forth before driving his middle finger deep inside her. Her breath caught, and her body shuddered as he swirled the digit around. “You like that, do you?” he asked, pressing hard against her clitoris while he continued his inward assault.

  She closed her eyes and focused her full attention on the sweet motion of his hand. Wetting her lips, she bore down on his finger, wanting to force him farther in. She didn’t understand what it was about him that demanded she take his rapturous abuse.

  Without warning, he pulled his touch free and, in one swift motion, slammed his prick inside her, nearly lifting her feet off the floor. The full force of his cock filled her, and again she was lost in the sensation of him. Nothing in the world mattered more than this moment.

  “Joseph,” she cried.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his breath hot against her ear.

  “No.”

  He continued to slam into her, pounding away, each thrust forcing her closer to the orgasm she longed for. Over and over he slid in and out, the throbbing head of his cock tantalizing her.

  Forcing her leg around his waist, he kneaded the flesh of her backside, his fingers digging in, the pleasure increased by the intensity of his grasp. He pulled his hand back, the heavy slap of his palm against her buttocks echoing through the room.

&n
bsp; “Oh, dear,” she called out, her lips and limbs tingling from gasping for breath. “You hit me.”

  “Love tap,” he grumbled. The sting excited her, the power of him. He was all man. Her man. The master of her very flesh.

  “Do it again,” she shouted, grinding against him, and again he stung her with a salacious slap. “Joseph,” she cried as her desire washed through her, ending in a tidal wave of release.

  “Goddamn it, Goldie,” he moaned. “I’m coming.” He threw his head back and stopped pulsing. Instead, his body twitched, and a deep groan slipped past his stern lips.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, waiting for him to withdraw, waiting for him to do, to say something. Instead, he stood before her and stared at her with a warmth that touched her soul.

  “I’m bewitched.” Sweat poured from his forehead, his chest, every inch of him, glistening in the morning light. “You’re in my blood, and I’ve a fever for you.” He took a step back, and running both hands through his hair, he leaned forward.

  “That’s a good thing, right?” she asked, trying to smooth her skirts, but they were hopelessly wrinkled. “I’m your wife. I should be in your blood, as you are in mine.”

  “No,” he shouted, his face growing pale. “No, it’s not a good thing. Go home to your parents.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said, reaching out to touch him, but he dodged her hand. “Please, I don’t understand.”

  His lips curled into a snarl. “Just get out.”

  Tears filled her eyes and tumbled over her cheeks in hot, salty streams. “You want me to leave? For good?”

  He lowered himself on the bed, his gaze hitting the floor. “I don’t know. I need time to think.”

  “I see.” But she didn’t see. She didn’t understand, but she longed for the earth to open wide and swallow her whole.

  Chapter 4

  “What do you mean, he threw you out?” Herbert boomed, his round face crimson with rage. “What did you do?”

  Goldie bit back her tears and sat on the edge of the settee. “I didn’t do anything…”

  “Nothing? You did nothing? You did allow him to…to…”

  “Herbert,” her mother chimed in, her mouth wide with her horror. “That’s not our business.”

  “Christ, woman, if she didn’t allow him access to her bed, you can’t blame the man for giving her the boot.”

  Her mother wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Damn you, Herbert. This is all your fault. You forced her into this, laying guilt upon her gentle feet. You acted as if we were at death’s door. Your melodrama has cost our girl dearly.”

  Goldie buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck, finding comfort in the familiar scent of roses. “There there, child,” Mother cooed. “’Twill all be all right. You’ll see.”

  Herbert paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, his hands behind his back. “I need to know, girl, if he chooses to annul the marriage, were you intimate? I mean, he’ll pay a high price for your virginity.”

  “Stop it, Father, please,” Goldie cried out. “What does it matter? I’m ruined if he doesn’t take me back. Who would want a discarded woman?”

  “It matters,” her mother coaxed. “It matters.”

  Goldie sprang to her feet, heated anger and humiliation spiraling up on a rush of blood toward her head. Her heart raced with the effort, and her head grew light. “Well, of course we were intimate. Not once but three times.” She glared at her father. “He’s very good at it, too. Do you want to know all the details? Do you?”

  Herbert stared at his child, his thick lips dipping into a frown. “Of course not.” He reached up over the mantle and pulled down his musket. “And, by God, he’ll do what’s right by you.”

  Her mother stood and rushed forward. “Dearest, no, you mustn’t.”

  “Damn it, Aggie, I must. This is my fault. I did pressure her, and I’ll fix it one way or another.”

  “Father, it will be all right. I know that Joseph will come to his senses.” Goldie tugged on the musket. “You can’t do this. He and I are married. He can’t back out of that. Can he?”

  Herbert’s graying brows joined in confusion. “I don’t know, but you’re my girl, and you’re not dirt beneath his feet. I’ll not have him treating you as if you are.”

  Tears clouded Goldie’s vision as she looked at her father. It was the first time since all this started that he acted as if he cared. “Just give it a little time, all right? Please. I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt.”

  “I’m sorry, child,” Herbert said, brushing a kiss across her cheek. “I have to do this. Your honor is at stake.”

  Aggie held tight to her daughter. “Oh, dear Lord, child. What are we going to do?”

  Contemplating an answer, Goldie returned the embrace. What could they do? They were at the mercy of a serpent. The realization had her hating Joseph with every fiber of her being.

  She pulled free and led her mother to the settee, where they both sat. The silence in the parlor had Goldie’s ears aching. And then she thought of him. The Marquess.

  “I have an idea,” Goldie said. “You stay here, Mother. I’ll be back soon.”

  “What are you going to do?” Mother called after her in a panicked tone.

  “Just wait here for Father,” she said as she hurried from the house.

  Rushing down the hall, she reached the front door. Should she saddle a horse or run? After all, the Dunbar Estate was less than a mile away.

  * * * *

  William burst through the front door, the only thing on his mind the leather sofa, a newspaper, and a warm fire. Hunting was supposed to be relaxing but not this day. The dogs had gone crazy, the fox nowhere to be seen, and Edmund’s constant complaining had thoroughly ruined the experience and his mood. Oh, who was he kidding? Those were all normal parts of hunting. What plagued him most was his longing for Goldie.

  “Where are you going, Will?” Edmund called after him, his boots tapping against the cream-colored marble floor. “I thought perhaps we could have a game of chess. Instead of a pretty little fox, you could hunt down my queen.”

  “No, Edmund,” William called out, his voice echoing against the walls of the cavernous entryway. “I’m into a more solitary endeavor at the moment. Maybe after supper we can play a game of cards? I’m not much on chess, you know that.” And it was true. Despite being quite adept at the game, William didn’t feel the need to master it. Edmund, on the other hand, could play from sunup to sundown.

  “Will, I don’t care for cards.”

  “Sorry, old chap.”

  Entering his study, William glanced over his shoulder at his blond-haired brother. “Why not ask Lewis to play? He’d no doubt love a moment away from the kitchen staff.”

  Edmund pursed his lips. “Lewis is an oaf.”

  With his hand resting on the door, William shrugged his shoulders. “Aye, but he’s an oaf willing to play chess.”

  He began to close the door, to erase his brother from view. A massive headache was setting in, he could feel it. Blast the headaches. Blast the stress. Blast his family. All of them drove him to distraction.

  And that fool, Herbert Locksley, had a nice wife and daughter, a lovely little house. Yet he strove for more. Didn’t he realize how attractive a simple life was? That’s all he ever wanted, and yet he was bogged down by the responsibility of acquiring more and more through any means possible. And that included wedding Lady Louisa Carnton. Just the thought of her shot a throbbing pain to his head. The woman’s voice wore on him like a cat in heat.

  Rubbing his temples, he flopped onto the sofa and straightened his legs. The soft pillow at his back, the sweet popping of the fire in the fireplace, and he closed his eyes. Ah, just a moment to gather his wits before starting to read. Yes. The afternoon belonged to him, and no one was going to disturb him. No one.

  “My lord?” There was a gentle rapping on the study door.

  “Goddamn it.” He barely stifled a sh
out. “What is it, Lewis?”

  The oaf stuck his head through the crack in the door. “Uh, sir, there’s a young lady here claiming to be your sister-in-law. She says she’s married to Lord Joseph.”

  The groan that escaped his lips was only the external manifestation of his dread, for his stomach plummeted and the lump that seated itself in his throat promised suffocation. What had the sneaky bastard done now? He should have wondered when he didn’t come home last night. “She doesn’t happen to have the most glorious mane of golden curls, does she?”

  “Aye, she does.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Beg your pardon, sir?”

  William rose to his feet. There went his afternoon dedicated to catching up with the news and some sleep. Resting his hand on the chocolate marble of the fireplace mantle, he watched the door and waited for the fallen angel to enter.

  “Show her in.”

  And there she was, every bit as pretty as that day on the trail, where she yielded to his kiss. Damn his brother. Damn him to hell.

  Dressed in pale blue, the satin of her gown complemented the soft blue of her eyes. She dipped her knee, and he nodded in return. “Miss Locksley, ’tis a pleasure to see you. How may I be of assistance?”

  Her porcelain cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. “I am married to your brother.”

  “Against my father’s wishes? Just Monday, Joseph was told there would be no wedding. I see he didn’t pass the news on to you.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, the color draining from her cheeks. Damnation, was she going to faint? He came to her side, and taking her arm to steady her, he led her to the sofa. “Sit. Lewis, bring me a glass of port,” he demanded.

  There was no reply.

  “Damn it, man, I know you’re eavesdropping. Bring me the blasted port.”

  At the shuffling of the oaf’s feet, he seated himself beside her. The sweet scent of lavender swirled around him and set his blood on fire.

  “He said he had his father’s support,” she replied, her glorious breasts rising and falling as she took in rapid breaths. “His Grace and my father discussed terms via messenger.”