The first slaps were relatively gentle and provoked a light oh of surprise to fall from my lips. With each impact he hit harder until I was squirming and yelping in pain. My buttocks stung even when his hand wasn’t against my flesh and exploded with heat when it was. The constant throb sank through me and seated around my clit. Each new impact shook me with orgasmic vibrations.
“Oh, I think someone’s enjoying her punishment.” Xander laughed huskily and ran his hand over my sore buttocks, dipped between my cheeks then down into the wetness of my pussy. “Oh, really, really enjoying her punishment.” He fucked me with his fingers then. He had one hand on my arse, the pressure intensified by the prickling heat lingering from my spanking. I felt the outline of his digits, the heat of his palm painted on my flesh with pain. The stinging of his steadying hand intensified the pleasure that came from the plunging digits of his other hand, which pumped into me with such precision and power that I lost count of how many times I came over his digits. It blended into a rollercoaster of peaks and troughs, no rest, no break, constant pain and pleasure pummeling my body.
“I’ve got to have you,” he groaned, lifting my hips higher and kneeling on the bed behind me.
The emptiness haunted me. I pushed back, desperate to be filled once more, and he didn’t disappoint. He pushed into me quickly, and I eagerly accepted him. His moan of appreciation made me smile with pride. It made my heart swell to know I was pleasing him, I hoped as much as he pleased me.
Xander dug his nails into my hips and dragged me back onto his cock repeatedly. The only noise was the slight groaning of the bed and the slapping sound of our bodies impacting wetly together, punctured with the gasps, moans and pants of pleasure as we both headed toward climax.
The pace intensified, the pressure grew and he tensed inside me. He held still for a moment then slammed into me again. He repeated the rhythm a few times then rubbed my back and slid away from me. I collapsed onto my stomach with a sigh.
Warmth and spice enveloped me as Xander pressed his body against mine. I rolled to face him and snuggled into his embrace, my head resting on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around my back. I trailed my fingers down the center of his chest, teasing the dark hairs, and enjoyed the warmth and the undulation of his breath.
He stroked my back with a light pressure of swirls and circles, making me tingle and shudder. The touch made me long for more connection with him, reminded me I still needed to come.
I brazenly hooked my thigh over his, opening myself, offering myself, begging for the release I needed. He stilled the hand at my back and traced his other gently along my side, and at the point where my thigh kinked he didn’t follow the outer sweep but dipped his fingers down between our bodies. When he touched my swollen lips, I gasped and he pushed forward then slid his digits into my warm wetness. I moaned against the curve of his neck, finishing with a gentle, encouraging kiss against his throat.
It turned me on to hear how wet I was, knowing that some of that wetness was his cum. I shuddered, his fingers embedded inside me.
“God, you’re so sexy,” he purred.
I opened my eyes and cricked back my neck to look deep into his bright blue eyes. He continued to finger-fuck me. Lust and curiosity shone through his gaze as he intently watched my reactions to his movements. Did he notice the way my eyes widened and how my lips dropped open into an ‘o’ as the pleasure within me escaped as a groan?
I watched him watching me, him licking his lips and swallowing. His face tensed with arousal, his eyes, his deep, penetrating eyes overflowing with erotic energy, and eventually the pleasure of watching became too much and my lids closed once more. Xander’s lips imprinted onto mine, and I groaned my arousal into his mouth. The louder I got, the more passionately he kissed me. He pulled his fingers from inside me and changed his motion to rubbing against my clit, making me whimper and pant all the more.
We continued to kiss. I felt like I melted into him, my toes pointing back and resting on the back of his calf. I tensed and shook with the first vibrations of my orgasm. I clung to him, nails digging into his chest. I was washed over with lust, my whole body shaking from the impact of ecstasy. I gripped onto him and he stroked my back with tenderness as he swept his other fingers gently down over my wet lips. I trembled and snapped my thighs closed, trapping his hand between my legs.
“Gotcha.”
“Uh-huh,” he responded. “I like it.”
“Me too.” I panted and curled up against his chest. Unbidden tears mounted behind my eyes. I squeezed them closed. I couldn’t cry. I glimpsed for a moment how good we could be together, and in the next realized it could never happen. I couldn’t let it happen.
Chapter Twelve
Xander Patrick
I didn’t think India realized that I knew she was crying but I felt her hot tears on my chest. I just held her. Why she was crying was a mystery to me but I wanted to comfort her anyway. After all, I had just experienced the most intensely pleasurable fuck of my life.
Okay, there hadn’t been many, but even those few kinky interludes I’d shared with Ariana didn’t compare to the intensity of emotion and the amazing reactions of India. What a woman, what a sensual creature. She gave herself up so freely to me. My heart sank—she would leave Mallard’s in the morning.
I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. I couldn’t tell her that I wanted her to stay, couldn’t confess she was the best sex I’d ever had and I’d really like to have some more. She’d think I was a total freak. A woman like India Grace wouldn’t fall in love at first fuck. I was starting to suspect that maybe I had.
The longer the silence lasted, the harder it was to break.
“Can we move under the covers? It’s cold.” India’s words broke through the heavy atmosphere.
“Sure, sure.”
We shuffled and rearranged and ended up below my duvet, still huddled close.
“You can sleep here tonight if you want,” I said, hoping I sounded casual. “Share body heat.”
“I’d love to but I think I need to go back to my room eventually. Won’t look good if someone sees me creeping out of your room in the morning. I don’t fuck folks I’m reviewing as a general rule.”
“Does that make me special?” I tipped her chin up and made her meet my gaze.
“Yes, it does,” India replied.
I kissed her and saw something brewing in the depths of her eyes and I didn’t want to see it anymore. A hint of sadness, of regret, which just didn’t bode well for me.
“Oh good, do I get extra marks now?” I tried to keep the tone light.
“No, I think I have the marks.” She winced dramatically then giggled. “This doesn’t count toward the review, no. I don’t think all members of the public get this attention as part of their experience of Mallard’s, do they?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’d be exhausted if they did.”
She chuckled again, her light laugh vibrating through my chest. It felt like my heart was squeezed. God, why was she leaving me so soon?
“I best go.” She yawned. “Before I fall asleep.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Yeah, yeah, I am.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
She threw back the duvet and danced to the end of the bed to find her clothes.
“Brr, it’s cold tonight.”
“Then stay in my bed.”
“Xander.” Something in the tone of her voice, a hitch, a stutter, made me realize I shouldn’t push her any further. “I’m sorry but I can’t.”
“Okay, sorry.” I gulped. “Goodnight, India.”
“Goodnight, Xander.” She pulled on her dress and slipped into her shoes. She carried everything else in her hands.
“See you in the morning?” It was a question but also a statement. I’d make sure I saw her before she left.
“Sure, yeah.”
She blew me a kiss on her way out of the door. I pretended to catch it, how suave, then
she shut the door and I collapsed back onto my pillows.
I berated myself. How could I be so confident and in control one moment then completely at a loss the next? When we’d had sex it all seemed so right. I’d happily taken control—God, I could have spanked her arse for weeks. Such a beauty, such a wanton beauty. She’d loved it too. She’d truly loved it, and that was the real turn-on.
Why didn’t I simply command her to stay in my bed?
Because I knew she’d leave. I had to let her go. And for once it wasn’t the voice of my dead mother nagging me about sleeping, quite literally, with the enemy, but the thread of common sense I actually housed in my head.
India Grace was out of my league. I was nothing more than a handy shag for her. She would go back to her city life, her journalistic ways, and forget all about me and Mallard’s. She didn’t feel any connection to me past whatever sexual chemistry we shared.
I was the only one feeling anything deeper. I was the stupid prat falling for a woman I couldn’t have. Talk about history repeating. King of unrequited love, I’d mooned over many women from afar right from my teenage years. I’d rarely asked any of them out. Those I had had nearly always denied me, with the odd exception.
I seemed incapable of love that didn’t involve some kind of barrier, some kind of distance that would keep the woman away from me. I craved love intensely yet I was scared of it.
I rolled over and closed my eyes tightly. I had to sleep. I could beat myself up once India left. I had to hold it together until then at least.
* * * *
I slept fitfully that night and had to drag myself out of bed in the morning to check on Harriet and baby. I’d just stepped out onto the dew soaked driveway when Mary yelled my name. I knew it was her—only she could compress my name so sharply.
“Xander!”
I looked round and she wasn’t far behind me, shuffling in determined fashion. I waited for her to catch up.
“I’ve been calling you all down the main stairway.”
“Sorry, Mary, I didn’t sleep so well last night.”
“Well, no, neither did I.” She sighed. “I’ve been looking deeper into the accounts and there’s stuff that doesn’t add up. I think we’re losing livestock.”
“How the hell are we doing that?”
“I don’t really know but there are more animals being born than we’re slaughtering. Now if that were the case we’d be knee-deep in livestock but we’re not.”
“No, we’re not. How many are we out by?”
“I’ve calculated about a dozen.” She sighed. “In the last six months.”
I wanted to curse but Mary wouldn’t approve. I shook my head violently instead.
“How on earth can that be? Is Phil fiddling us?”
“No.” Mary’s voice lifted an octave. “I mean no. Phil’s been here for almost as long as I have. I can’t believe he’d be involved in anything dodgy.”
“I know, Mary, but he has direct contact with the slaughterhouse and he’s the man who does our butchery. He might be slipping food out with him at the end of the day.”
“I’ll keep my eye on him.” She sighed heavily.
“I will too.” I squeezed the top of Mary’s arm and smiled. “We’ll get to the bottom of it, Mary, I know we will.”
“Thank you.” She covered my hand with hers. “We will, I know we will. But it’s wearying being this untrusting.”
“I know what you mean, I really do.”
It was difficult being friendly with staff when stuff like this happened. How could I even start to imagine that any of the manor workers would do anything so underhand? I’d known many of them for years—even the newer members haven’t been strangers to me. Mum had always said it was best to recruit from those already within our social circle. That connection made the employee more honest because they knew you as a person, not just as a faceless business.
Sure, there were staff members I wasn’t fond of. Phil was good at his job but bored me to tears within seconds of starting a conversation. Graham was pretty much every ‘ist’ in the book but he pretty much hated everyone equally. He wasn’t great at being social but the man was fucking brilliant with flowers and bushes, not to mention fixing fences, rebuilding barns and renovating pieces of old farm machinery that went out of fashion in the 60s. That man could get anything to work. I’d have sworn he had some kind of magic in that toolbox of his.
And Gerald had something about him that creeped me out but he loved Mallard’s so much he wouldn’t do anything to put it in jeopardy. He lived for the place. That left Harry and Jenny, the newbies, and really I wanted to put them in the beyond-thought category. How could such sweet and, to be blunt, thick people even come up with a plot that would confound me and the rest of the staff?
Visiting Harriet and the little one gave me a moment of escape in a dark day. I tried to think of a name for the baby but whenever I thought of girl names they all seemed to lead to India. I sighed, put down fresh hay and headed back to the manor. I didn’t want to say goodbye to her but I couldn’t bear not to either. I was sick to death of the contradictions but I couldn’t do anything about them.
Back at the hall, I found India at the bottom of the main stairs. The marble echoed with the tinkle of her laughter and two other joyful voices that I didn’t recognize. A deep baritone chuckle coming from behind Harry’s droopy fringe and a light giggle from Jenny, who really didn’t look like the kind of woman to giggle at all, let alone lightly.
India had the couple standing behind one another on the stairwell. Both were in their work skivvies, probably just come in from feeding the pigs from the smell of them.
“Come on, really pretend this place belongs to you. Stiffen your backs and your upper lips, lift your noses. No, Jenny, don’t snort through your nose.”
All the time India talked she stared down the camera lens and clicked. She might be acting like she was trying to get a pose from the pair but she was clicking away as they shook with laughter. I watched the trio—not one of them had noticed me coming in. I lurked in the entrance, hidden behind the second set of doors.
“You’re not very good at this, are you?” India sighed. “You’re supposed to be serious.”
“Sorry, India. He keeps blowing in my ear.” Jenny squealed and ducked. “And it tickles.”
“Harry, will you behave!” She exclaimed, still clicking away with the camera.
“I’m just breathing, India. I’ve got to breathe, don’t I?”
“You’re bloody not just breathing,” Jenny cursed. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
“No I’m not.” Harry stuck his tongue out…directly into Jenny’s ear.
She yelped, spun and slapped him. The echo bounced off the walls, making it sound much harder than it was.
“Right, you’ve had it now.” Harry grasped Jenny and blew a raspberry on the side of her neck.
“Be careful,” India yelled, but there was a lightness to her caution. “We don’t want you to fall down those stairs, you might leave a pool of blood and that wouldn’t go down well with the tourists.”
Jenny wriggled out of Harry’s grasp and careened down the stairs. He was in close pursuit, and as he reached the ground he grabbed the back of her overalls and dragged her back to him. She protested and wriggled, but I’d obviously underestimated the kid’s strength because he twisted, turned and pulled Jenny into his arms. Not an easy feat. Although by the way Jenny returned his passionate kiss I didn’t think she was trying very hard to get away from him.
India cleared her throat, once, twice, then very loudly indeed.
“Oh, forgot you were there.” Jenny squirmed. “Erm, have you got any good photos for the article, like?”
“Yeah, loads,” she replied. “Have you got an email address? I can send them to you to check over for me before I use them.”
I had to smile when Jenny peered at her with such derision.
“No? Okay, I’ll print out the best and post them to you.”<
br />
Jenny nodded. “Great. Thanks, India.”
“No, thank you, I got some great shots then.”
“India, look what happens when I do this.” Harry dug his fingers into Jenny’s ribs, and she squirmed, screamed and tore herself away.
As Harry chased her toward me I realized that I was very soon going to be discovered and ducked back behind the door. Before they reached me, Jenny turned and headed in the opposite direction down the corridor. I should have shouted at them for mucking about in the public area of the hall but their sweet, youthful enthusiasm was so palpable I couldn’t stop smiling long enough to do it. Once their cries had dissipated, I peeked around the door to be greeted by the lens of India’s camera.
“Oh, Xander.” She dropped the camera. “I didn’t know you were there, I was taking photos of the doors.”
“Did you get me?”
“Yeah, I think I did.” She looked down at her viewfinder, and I strode toward her. “Yes, yes I did.”
I walked up and stood beside her, glanced over her shoulder at the image.
In it I could see the impressive frame of the ancient oak doors, and there I was, just coming into view but with a very obvious grin.
“It’s an amazing photo,” she said. “The light is fantastic and you look so content. That would make a brilliant lead photo for the article…” She left her sentence hanging.
“I don’t know, India. The photo is impressive, you have great skill, but I’m not sure—”
“Please, Xander? That is the most perfect photo. I promise you that it’ll do nothing but good for Mallard’s if I use it. It really captures something special about you and your relationship to Mallard’s.”
I sighed. I didn’t know if what she said was true but I could hear the real passion in her voice and I just didn’t want to deny her.
“Okay, you can use it.”
“Really?” she squeaked and turned to stare at me.
“Yes, really.” I couldn’t go back on it now. Mum turned in her grave, but my heart skipped a beat when she laughed and threw an arm around me.
Good Manors Page 11