The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

I reached blindly for his hand and followed him into the water, letting it cool my heated body. The fabric of my underclothes clung to my every curve and I was aware of the power I had by the look of pure hunger in Deven’s eyes.

  “I cannot help myself, Sara.” He came to me then, fumbling with my chemise until he was able to draw the dripping cloth over my head. My dark hair tumbled from my combs, lost now in the pond.

  His mouth moved over the tips of my wet breasts, his fingers teasing and taunting, pinching my raw buds and sending a line of fire straight between my legs.

  “Are you wet?” He kissed my mouth, brushing my hair over my shoulders.

  “I’m standing in the water, Deven, of course I’m wet.”

  His hand smoothed over my flesh, briefly pausing above the band of my drawers before dipping lower, his palm resting over the fabric that covered my dark curls.

  “I mean here.” He kept his eyes on mine, as his fingers slid to my nether lips, parting them, pushing the thin, soaked fabric farther inside. “Do you trust me?”

  I nodded, my body teetering on the precipice of the unknown. He slid his hands over my hips, easing down the last barrier between us. A rush of cool water kissed the opening between my legs. With gentle reverence, he kissed my torso as I held his shoulders and stepped free of obstruction. He rolled up my drawers and tossed them onto the grassy bank.

  “Come here, Sara, let me hold you,” he said, drawing me deeper into the water, until I nearly floated into his embrace.

  The water lapped against my breasts, my toes barely touching the rocky bottom. He reached down and grabbed my hips, his rigid staff brushing against my opening.

  “Don’t be afraid. I promise you will enjoy it as much as I.”

  He captured my mouth, drugging me with his kisses, unaware until I felt the sharp sting of my maidenhood tearing that he’d entered me. My fingers dug into his back flesh as he pushed deeper and I leaned back, arching against his mouth upon my breast. “This is what you meant by fit, then?” I asked, moving my hips awkwardly trying to meet his rhythmic thrusts.

  “Aye, Sara, isn’t it like I told you it would be? Perfect.” The muscles in his neck strained, and I sensed the tightening of my own body in anticipation of something far greater than I had ever known.

  Determined now, he looked at me, a fierceness glazing his eyes. His hands pressed my backside tightly against him.

  “Come Sara, let go, it will be all right, you’ll see.” He clenched his teeth and odd, strangled noises came from his throat with each fervent thrust of his cock.

  My body was not my own. I was filled with tension and yet I felt myself soaring, spinning higher. I shook my head as if to make the sensation cease, yet I wanted more. Sore as I was, the water aided the friction of his cock that I found quite pleasant. I didn’t want the feeling to end. I had the definite idea that Deven pressed for that very thing. “Does…it…have to…end just yet?” I said, my words punctuated by his driving force.

  “It is the way it works, Sara. I am about to…oh, Jesus.” He pressed his teeth over his lower lip. He took a deep breath and stared at me.

  “Kiss me, Sara. Kiss me hard and do not stop.”

  I cupped his face, bringing my mouth to his, forgetting all else save the wetness of his flesh and the taste of his tongue mating with mine. A sensation coursed through me, surprising me, nearly knocking me out of his arms. I turned my face to the heavens, unable to breathe as my body was rocked over and over.

  “Aye, there’s my girl” he breathed, and shoved hard, his face contorted in sweet agony.

  It had lasted only a few moments from start to finish.

  He licked his lips and smiled. “You are no longer a virgin, Sara. How do you feel?”

  I slid from his arms, my muscles aching as I tried to navigate my way back to the bank. I had suspected I would feel something more, some twist of emotion, of joy or guilt—something.

  There was none of that.

  “Sara?” He trudged through the water after me, sitting down beside me, his member semi-limp against his leg. “Did I hurt you?”

  The event had been pleasurable enough—certainly the journey to the conclusion, at any rate. “Should I feel strange? Because I don’t.”

  His gaze on me narrowed, a frown creasing his brow.

  “Oh, no, I mean it was fine, perfectly fine, Deven. I—I…it…well…it doesn’t last very long now, does it?”

  He grinned and shook his head as he stared at the ground. “I’m afraid I’ve been ready since I received your note, Sara. I’m sorry it was not more of a pleasure for you. But I tell you it was heaven for me.”

  “I did enjoy myself, Deven. Perhaps I expected more…you know, before.” I felt no shame or discomfort seated beside him which, in itself, I found a bit odd, but perhaps it was my newfound independence helping me to place things in perspective. After all, when one is learning, the idea is to study the subject from as many angles as possible, isn’t it?

  “Might we try it again, only here on the ground this time? And then after, I would like to enlist your partnership in a matter most grave.”

  “Grave, you say?” He smiled wickedly and pushed me to my back. “More secrets for me to keep, Sara?”

  Chapter 4

  DEVEN KISSED ME THOUGHTFULLY, BEING MORE thorough than before. I could envision a lifetime of his attention. He’d make a fine husband for any deserving woman. Kind, handsomely built, unafraid of hard work, determined in his way, and confident.

  He moved his hands over me, caressing, slow in his reverent worship of my body. I was lost in his adoration, floating without a care, accepting without reservation the pleasure he offered.

  “Sara,” he sighed. “I want to make you happy.” He left a trail of kisses down my belly, causing gooseflesh to pop up over my skin. I wondered, as I stared at the sky through the leaves above, whether I could make Deven happy. Was it possible to make another person happy by sheer want of it?

  He kissed the tops of my thighs, running his hands over my hips, down the length of my calves. I threaded the fingers of one hand through his tousled, sandy-colored curls as he nibbled playfully at my flesh. His thumb brushed softly over my nether lips, parting my flower. With a glint in his eyes, he glanced at me, bent his head and slid his tongue along my silky folds. The sensation brought me upright, my legs spread-eagled before him. “What are you doing?” I stared at him in wide-eyed shock. I knew a little of what transpired between a woman and a man, but this had to be something no lady would ever allow.

  Perched on his knees, settled between mine, his cock projected proudly in his lap.

  “’Tis just another means of pleasure, Sara. Did I hurt you?” He frowned.

  I thought a moment. “Well, no, not entirely.”

  “Then, you rather enjoyed it?” He studied me.

  I chewed at the corner of my lip, a nervous habit. “It was not altogether unpleasant, I guess. It was…well, a surprise.”

  He smiled. “I will let you know from now on what I’m going to do to you.” Leaning forward, he took my shoulders and kissed me gently.

  I glanced down at his ample phallus. “Do men like to be touched…there?”

  “Aye, Sara. If you’d like to touch me, I would not mind a bit. In fact, I would like it very much if you would.”

  He took my hand, placing a kiss in my palm. “Do you want to?”

  My lips pressed together as I studied the pale pink glistening head. “All right, yes.”

  He kept his hand over mine, moving my fingers down his length. It was smoother than I thought it would be. I drew my hand slowly back to the velvet knob. He held my hand as a guide, his eyes glazed over, his breathing growing erratic.

  “Not q-quite so hard, gentle. Yes…that’s it,” he sighed, his hands taking my face and kissing me as I continued.

  I was intrigued by this strange power I had over him. His eyes drifted shut as a low moan escaped his lips. “This offers you enormous pleasure, doesn’t it?” I asked in rap
t fascination, watching his expression turn to one of ecstasy. Wanting to see what more I could elicit from him, I slid my thumb over the tip and saw a glistening drop appear. “And what should happen were I to put my mouth here?” I placed my mouth over him, teasing the soft flesh with my tongue, tasting the salty tang of the miniature pearl.

  His eyes glittered with a dangerous passion. He swallowed hard. “Too much more of that and you’ll have me in your hand.”

  “And that is not where you wish to be, is it?” I smiled, proud of my accomplishment. Brazen, I took him deeper this time, stroking with my hand. I discovered that in giving him pleasure, my body, too, reacted with pleasant sensations.

  “Do you want me to do this to you?” he asked.

  I nodded, licking my lips from the taste lingering on my tongue. Deven proceeded to show me that sex between a man and a woman could be more than a quick poke.

  My fingers dug into the mossy grass as the mastery of his mouth brought me to the edge of release. “Please.” The word stole from my lips. He settled between my legs, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss.

  This time I needed no prompting for I was more than ready. He pushed deep and I lifted my legs around his waist, pinning him to me. Would this be what it was like every night were I to marry Deven? With such a voracious appetite, it would be no time before we had little ones running about. Then all my time would be spent at a scrubbing board, hanging clothes in the sunshine while my dutiful, hardworking husband tended to our land.

  Deven panted hotly against my cheek, his elbows digging into the soft grass on either side of me. Fluidly, we moved, as if timed to one another in perfect union. The sweet motion of his cock was delightful, heating me to the core. My breath caught as a sensation that threatened to tear me apart tore through my body. He uttered a groan and his body tensed once before he pushed deep again and shuddered. Then his hard body, slick with exertion, lay atop me and I could feel his rapid heartbeat against my chest. At that moment, I understood how easy it would be to lose my heart to this man. “I cannot breathe,” I whispered, disappointed when he moved off me.

  Neither of us spoke. What more was there to say? I could not determine what had changed between us, but something had shifted—I sensed it. I knew that while I could be content living a life with Deven, I could not be truly happy married to him. I wanted more to my life.

  He slanted me a strange look as he stood and began to dress. “We should be getting back to the house. Amelia may begin to suspect your absence.”

  I wanted to tell him that she already was a co-conspirator in my recent plans, but something niggled at me. I had to find a way to ask for his help without compromising the friendship—the very intimate friendship—that we’d forged. I did not want to wound his pride.

  We walked silently, Deven following me on the worn narrow path that led to the back of the barn. Was I different now, truly a woman? Not in my own eyes, but in the eyes of society, I had stained my virtue. Something that I could never take back. Unexpected tears threatened to weaken my resolve.

  “You’ve not said much, Sara. Are you well?” Deven asked. His concern was so like him. I felt his hand touch mine, urging me to slow down and address him.

  “Sara?”

  I faced him boldly, trying to show my newfound sense of womanhood. “What is it, Deven? What do you want me to say?”

  His eyebrow twitched as he stared blankly at me.

  “Whatever it is that you said you needed to speak to me about. Let’s start there. We have a lot to talk about, I think.”

  Frustrated, I turned around and continued to walk. I didn’t want to hurt him, nor did I wish to make him think that there was more to our relationship than what had just happened between us.

  “You really haven’t the courage to tell me the truth, have you?”

  I stopped short, looking up at the dark rain clouds. “Tell you what?” I pivoted on my heel and faced him. He’d stopped a few feet behind, his arms loose at his sides. I shut my eyes, refusing to look at the hurt and anger I saw in his.

  “You don’t have the courage to tell me that I’m not good enough for you.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Deven.” I walked on.

  “Tell me the truth. By God, Sara, I’ve a right to know,” he bellowed, quickly closing the short distance between us. He grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to face him.

  I was frozen, pinned by the fierce look on his face. I fought back in my poor defense. “This is not entirely my doing, Deven Mooreland,” I warned, pointing my finger at him. He grabbed my shoulders and I tried to wrench away, but he held tight.

  “Tell me you feel nothing for me,” he demanded.

  “Don’t, Deven.” I tried to break free. He was right. I was a coward.

  “Say it, Sara. You owe me that much. For the past year or better, you have teased and taunted me, pretending to be interested when all you wanted was someone to help you keep your lies a secret.”

  I ceased my struggling, the sting of his words making their mark on my heart. His handsome face pleaded with me to tell him what I knew…what he deserved to hear. Was I no better than a common whore? I needed his help, but now, more than that, I needed him to understand. I didn’t want to hurt him. I never meant for that to happen.

  I plopped down on an old tree trunk at the side of the path, ready to confess my secret. “I need your help,” I said wearily, kneading the dull ache throbbing between my eyes.

  A short disgusted laugh pushed from his throat. “So you gave yourself to me thinking that it would win my cooperation? Poor Sara. I’m sorry you felt the need to go to such measures. I’d have helped you anyway, don’t you understand that?”

  I felt nauseous. Not because what he said was true, but because he knew me better than I knew myself. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Deven. You must believe me.”

  He walked a few feet, facing away, and leaned his hand on a tree.

  “Oh, you didn’t, Sara, but I’d like to know what is worthy of giving me your virginity.” He glared at me over his shoulder. “That must be some secret.”

  “Don’t, Deven,” I said quietly.

  “Don’t? Don’t what, Sara? Speak the truth?”

  I sighed, a lump forming in my throat. “I’m leaving.”

  He whirled to me, pinning me with a fiery hatred in his eye. “What do you mean, you’re leaving?”

  “I’ve been offered a job. A position in town.”

  He raised his brows. “A governess? House servant?”

  “No, I won’t be serving others. I’ll be gainfully employed as a…performer.” I chose my words carefully, knowing Deven was not going to approve. But I needed his help, not his approval.

  “A performer, you say? For whom?” he asked warily.

  “Thomas Rodin.” A moment ticked by.

  “I’ve never heard of the gent. Who is he? What does he do? Is he one of those American playwrights come over to make his fortune? Bloody money grubbers,” he muttered.

  I shook my head. “You met him, the other night. He was the man who fetched you from the pub and no, he is not a playwright, nor American, but a British artist and known within the circles of the Royal Academy.” I chose not to share on what terms he was known, finding it inconsequential to my purpose in needing Deven’s help.

  “That bloke is an artist?” he repeated with unmasked skepticism. “What does he want you to do for him, Sara, clean his brushes?” He smirked.

  “Of course not,” I said, my frustration growing measurably. Wasn’t he able to see the natural beauty in me, as had Mr. Rodin? Wasn’t it perfectly clear that an artist would only see me as a potential model?

  “He wants me to model for him, you ninny.”

  Deven stared at me a moment before answering. “And you believed him?”

  My intelligence bruised, I glared back at him. “Yes, he thinks that I have what it takes to be a…what did he call it…oh, yes, a ‘stunner.’”

  “Is that so?” Deven snorted.

&nb
sp; “It’s the truth, I swear.”

  “Be careful Sara, ’tis a cloudy day. Don’t tempt God with a lightning bolt.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Did this artist fellow happen to mention that you might have to take off your clothes for him?”

  “Enough. I thought I could speak honestly to you about this—”

  “Honest? Now you want to talk honesty?” he tossed back.

  I leaped to my feet, hands fisted. I could have continued to argue until my face turned blue. It wouldn’t have mattered. He wasn’t going to understand, because he didn’t want to understand. I walked away, deciding to allow him to wallow in his bitterness. How could I be held responsible for his mistaken perceptions?

  “Don’t you dare walk away from me, Sara Cartwright.”

  I stopped but refused to turn around. In my next breath I was spun around to face him, looking up mere seconds before his mouth descended hard on mine. It was a desperate kiss, neither passionate nor welcome. I turned my head, breaking the kiss and he leaned his forehead to my temple.

  “Deven, you will forget me. Someone more worthy of you will capture your heart.”

  “Sara, I beg you, don’t go. This Rodin…this man who claims to be an artist. He will never feel for you what I do,” he whispered. “What kind of a life is that?”

  I pulled from his embrace and placed my hand on his unshaven cheek. I was going to miss him and I knew one day that I would realize it fully. “I don’t know what kind of a life it will be, Deven. But I want an education, I want to see and do so many things before I settle down—if ever I choose to settle down.” I studied his face. “You deserve someone who can return those feelings. You cannot give me what I want. I’m sorry, but that is the truth. You hold a very special place in my heart—”

  He jerked his face from my hand and scowled.

  “You made me a woman, Deven, and I am grateful that you were my first. But I do not feel the same for you as you apparently feel for me.”

  “Grateful?” he spit out the word bitterly.

  “Please don’t say it like that.” I averted my eyes from his gaze. Taking a deep breath, I faced him straight on. “Will you help me?”