by K. Webster
“I can feel myself growing hard inside you. How is it that I’m already eager to make more of this love with you? Under normal circumstances, my body requires rest. Alone. But now, I want to take you again and then I want to rest with you in my arms, dear. You’ve bewitched me, I believe. However, I’m your willing victim.”
I giggle as he begins thrusting at an agonizingly slow pace within me. “Husband, you best be hastening your speed. Because, if you keep it up with your teasing, you’ll be a victim for sure—a victim of having been smothered by a pillow.”
He slams himself into me hard enough to make me scream his name again. “So my sweet wife loves the slow but she also loves the hasty fucking as well? Am I right, love?”
My words are garbled as he takes me roughly. He’s right. I’ll take him any way and at the moment, I’m quite content at the way he owns my body.
When I don’t answer him, his mouth finds my earlobe and he nips at it with his teeth.
“Yes, Alexander. I like it when your lovemaking is turbulent as well. Take me hard,” I instruct as my nails dig into his shoulders.
The moan that rings out into the room is almost embarrassing when he forcefully sucks my neck into his mouth.
“I’m going to impregnate you with my children,” he announces unexpectedly.
I’m too far into the throes of passion to do anything other than nod emphatically. “Yes,” I agree and then give in to another all-consuming orgasm.
The thought of becoming a mother has always been a dream of mine. But hearing it aloud that he, my husband, wants me to be pregnant with his child washes through me, and I’m cloaked in the joy of his proclamation.
He grunts and unloads more of his seed into me. As he settles and relaxes, he once again makes no moves to sever our physical connection. Unlike my lovers in the past, he slides his arms beneath me and hugs me tight. My hands slip into his hair and I hold him to me.
“Don’t ever let me go,” I murmur as I begin to drift to sleep.
His voice is thick with sleepiness but firm. “I’ll never let you go. It isn’t an option. You’re mine until the end, Edith Dumont.”
THE SUN HASN’T RISEN YET, but I’m awake. And watching her. After last night, I’m completely enthralled with the way she’s managed to seize my heart. If someone had told me a couple of days ago that I’d be falling for the vixen of a woman with whom I started this journey, I’d have laughed.
But now?
Now, I can’t take my eyes from her. It satisfies me to watch her breaths softly come out and see the tiny smile that twitches at her lips from time to time. I’m not sure what’s made me this way—so eager to devour every detail that is her.
At some point in the middle of the night, she must have removed the pins from her hair, because now, it lies wild and unruly beneath her. The desire to tangle my fingers in it as I make love to her is strong.
What is it about this woman that draws me in so?
“Mmm,” she whimpers in her sleep.
The sound sends swirls of want directly to my cock and it thickens in response. During the night, we made love countless times, yet now, I still crave to be inside her. The woman has simply infected my brain, and I can’t say that I’m complaining one bit.
Sitting up on my elbow, I drag a finger across her bare breast and circle the nipple in a soft manner that doesn’t wake her. Her body must be exhausted from our exertions. I take pause with my movements and wonder if I can stay true to her and not sleep with other women. I know I’ve promised her this, but it seems against the very fabric of who I am.
Her lips pucker into the cutest of pouts. It’s as if she’s clued in to my very thoughts. And as the craving to kiss her threatens to rip me in two, I know. There’s no way I’ll ever want another like I want her.
That is simply fact.
It’s guaranteed that I won’t let another man even so much as look at her—especially Alcott. It will be a man’s death wish if he is to gaze upon what’s mine.
I would kill a man for this woman.
That is also fact.
My feelings for her are overwhelming to me and they grow stronger by the second. Dear God, I hope she feels the same way for me.
“Alexander,” she murmurs as she turns toward me.
I expect to see her big, brown eyes, but she’s still sleeping. An alpha response to the knowledge of the fact that she dreams of me too possesses me, and I nearly growl in satisfaction.
My hand finds her hip and I glide my thumb across the bone. Soon, I hope to see her fatten up with pregnancy. I want the evidence of our love all over her body, especially in the form of a largely swollen belly.
Do I love her?
I think that, on some level, I already have for the past six months. It’s as if I always knew deep down that it would come down to this—our being inseparable. And that’s how it will be because I don’t want her to leave my side. In fact, if I had it my way, we’d stay in this bed forever.
“I believe I love you, dear Edith,” I whisper so soft that she can’t hear.
But in her slumber, I ascertain that she does hear, because her lips twitch again in that smile I’ve grown to adore.
My cock begs for me to wake her up, but I don’t want to. I want to freeze the moment at hand and bottle it up for eternity. This must be the wedded bliss Jasper of which speaks so fondly.
I’m lost in my thoughts when a petite hand grips my cock. When my eyes fly to her face, I find her grinning at me. She blinks slowly, as if to rid herself of her sleep, and I have a new favorite moment—watching her wake up.
God, she’s so beautiful.
“Good morning, dear wife.” I dip down and kiss her lips with a peck before lifting back up so I can look at her.
“Is it morning already?” she questions in confusion but never stops the fisting of my cock.
“Indeed, it is. In fact, the sun shall rise soon.”
At my words, she jerks up into a sitting position. “Damn! I promised your mother I’d meet her for breakfast before daybreak,” she shrieks.
She’s about to spring from the bed, but I grab her arm and haul her to me. Her legs instinctively straddle my hips, and the worry melts away. Something else takes its place.
“Someone is quite awake and frisky this morning,” she giggles as she rocks her hips, causing her pussy to rub against my cock.
“Woman, if you have any desire to meet my mother today, I suggest you stop your teasing and fuck me,” I growl.
Her eyes narrow as if she has something up her sleeve and my eyebrow raises in question.
“You want me to fuck you, hmm?” she purrs.
Everything about that sentence drives me to the brink of insanity. I need to be inside her nearly as badly I need to breathe.
“Can a countess properly fuck an earl, or will it always be the other way around?” I taunt.
She throws me a sexy wink before grabbing my cock. I watch with hunger as she aligns herself with me and sinks down onto my length. It feels borderline sinful to have her sitting on me, me deep inside her. Her breasts are on full display, and I gaze at them in awe.
“What do you call this?” she questions as she begins circling her hips in a teasing pattern that makes my cock throb.
I’m at a loss for words when she tosses her head back and cups her own breasts. With each rhythmic rocking of her hips, I feel myself about to come.
“Mmm,” she moans as she rides me as if I’m her favorite horse.
“Countess, you fuck like a goddess. You make me insane for you. It is through my own carnal thoughts that I assume I’m the one who owns you as my wife, yet as you perform your magic on me, I swear you’re the one who owns me.”
I am useless as she fucks me into oblivion, so I slip my thumb between her thighs and stroke her clitoris, which I find beneath her thatch of dark hair. It is warm, throbbing as if it requires my touch. The very idea that her body responds to mine ignites the selfish desire to possess her, and I once ag
ain take over the reins of ownership as I pleasure her.
“Yes!” she cries out.
Her body shudders as she clenched around my cock, and it causes me to explode inside her. Then we both groan out in unison as we come together. When the high of our bliss finally subsides, I grab her biceps and tug her to me. I want her plastered against my chest.
“Stay,” I beg as I stroke her hair.
When she sighs, I know she wants to. “I can’t. I already promised Ma. The rest of the day, though, can be about us. If you want to stay in here, we’ll stay in here. If you want to go for a walk or have lunch by the river, I’m certainly happy with that idea as well. I’m yours after breakfast.”
Her lips find mine and she kisses me as if she wants to assure me she isn’t going to be gone for long.
“You’re mine always,” I grumble once she breaks away.
She rolls her eyes as she climbs off me. I see a flash of her pussy as it drips with my release, and I’m half tempted to drive myself back into her.
“You’re such a man,” she says in faux annoyance.
I sit up on my elbow and watch as she saunters toward the washroom, her arse jiggling slightly with each step. “A man you love,” I chuckle.
She flicks her gaze over to me, and her cheeks turn red. Then she bolts into the washroom and closes the door behind her.
What did I say?
The punching bag swings back toward me, and I pummel it some more with my fists, which are wrapped in the cloths I use for boxing. I’ve lost myself to my actions so much that I don’t realize that someone has entered the room until a voice speaks.
“So this is what you do,” Alcott chuckles. “What? The wife make you angry? Need to take it out on the bag instead of Edith to keep up appearances? We all know your wedding is a farce.”
I whip my head up and sweat flings off my hair with the action. “Our wedding is not a farce, and I would never strike my wife.”
“I’m only teasing, brother.”
But he’s not and we both know it.
“Why are you here?” I snarl.
“I wanted to discuss a matter of business with you,” he begins. “Since, clearly, you’re sticking to your story about Edith and you being happily married, then we need to discuss alternatives.”
“Alternatives to what?” I grumble as I begin punching the bag again.
“To your inheritance, of course.”
I pause and stare at him, incredulous. “Father is doing quite well, it would seem. I won’t be inheriting anything for probably another ten years or more. Why is it that you’re so concerned about my inheritance? Do you wish to off me in my sleep and run away with my bride?” The very idea of him touching my wife has me clenching my fists.
“Edith? No. Offing you? Maybe?” he says in jest. His dark orbs twinkle with mischief, and I’m reminded of when we were children—when I actually liked my little brother.
“Get to the point, Alcott. What is it that you want?”
“I’m weary from waiting on an inheritance on which I may never have my hands. I am still young and have my life ahead of me. I don’t want to wait on this estate for half of my family to die. Instead, I want to go abroad, much like you did, and enjoy the world. I’ve even approached Father about lending me some money to start my own business in London. However, he’s made it clear that my place is here on the estate and to not bother him again about the matter. So it is my desire to create my own future, because the one destined to me as a second-born is bleak.”
I fold my arms across my bare chest and glare at him. “How does this involve me? I just told you I’m not receiving my inheritance for at least another decade.”
He smiles. “I overhead Father speaking to Mother about gifting you and Edith some of your inheritance early so that you may start a home of your own. It is in honor of your wedding that they would bestow such a gift. My request is that you lend me a portion to start my company. You could be the sole benefactor, and once I begin making my earnings, I could pay you back with interest.”
His desires seem genuine, and I ponder his words.
“So, that’s what this is about? You’re not set on destroying my marriage to Edith to ruin me in front of Father?” I question in disbelief.
He frowns at me as if he’s disappointed. “Brother, you think so ill of me. I’m not as cold and calculating as you would believe. I have desires and wishes for my future much like you do. It is my hope to find a wife to love and bear my children one day. I think I deserve a happy life, too, despite my birth order. Staying on this estate until the day I die makes me feel as if I’m a caged animal when I was born to run free.”
“I suppose that, if Father were to gift me the money, we could make arrangements for you to borrow a portion of it,” I agree with hesitation. “But if this is some ruthless trick, I swear to you, Alcott, I’ll kill you. I’m finally at peace with my life now that I’ve found Edith. I love her, and I don’t intend on losing her or my rightful place in this family.”
His face breaks into a grin. “No tricks up my sleeve, Alexander. Thank you for your generosity. I promise to not fail you, and you’ll soon have the return on your investment plus a healthy interest payment.” Then he gives me a nod and strides from the room.
Is it possible that, finally, I may relax in this life? That, finally, I have more than I could ever ask for? Something deep inside, though, begs me not to let my guard truly down. Everything seems too perfect—Alcott’s attempting to befriend me, my parents’ accepting Edith so easily, and my loving Edith.
What happens if it all comes crashing down on me?
The very thought of losing Edith causes rage to bubble in my chest. I proceed to pound the bag as if I could absolutely beat my insecurities into submission.
“YOU MISSED THE SUNRISE,” MA chides as I step out onto the porch.
My gaze travels along the expansive deck that overlooks the river and eventually lands on Ma and Elisabeth, who are sitting at a small table. Elisabeth avoids my gaze as she sets to stirring her tea as if she doesn’t even realize I’ve arrived.
“I’m sorry. I, uh, was tied up with Alexander,” I stammer out.
When I finally meet Ma’s stare, she’s beaming at me. “That boy has a way of demanding one’s attention. You should have known him when he was two and then again when he was in his teen years,” she chuckles.
I grin, imagining a small boy with a mop of messy, brown hair, wearing suspenders, and tugging on his mother’s dress as he begs her for a lollipop. It reminds me of his words—that he wants me to bear his children. The very thought of sweet, little boys who look just like Alexander running around is almost as satisfying as it actually happening.
Almost.
Now, I crave the real thing more than anything.
“I do apologize,” I say as I sit between her and Elisabeth. “Lissa, we missed you at supper last night.”
She finally looks over at me and nods. “I was ill. Do forgive me.”
When she looks back down, I sneak a glance at Ma, who is observing our exchange. I feel as though this breakfast will be uncomfortable, and it’s confirmed when Ma bluntly calls out the obvious unease between my sister and I.
“My sister, Magdalene, and I were very close. In fact, I helped deliver her first child when her husband was away on business. She was my confidant and my friend. Even after we both married, we spoke often and drove our husbands mad with our incessant giggling.” She smiles at the memory. “But then, one day, we had a disagreement. She accused my Alcott of forcing himself on her daughter. My boys were as rowdy as they come, and I can always sniff out their lies, but Alcott was adamant that he wouldn’t do such a thing to his cousin. As it turns out, my niece was seeing a boy of whom her father didn’t approve. When they caught a glimpse of a man sneaking out her window, she threw herself into hysterics and claimed it was my son. Of course, they had her examined by a doctor and discovered she was no longer a virgin. They had taken her word without consid
ering there could be an alternative story.”
Elisabeth and I are both completely enraptured in her story, and we wait for her to continue.
“Our families were divided. I stood by my son’s word and she hated me for it. Two years went by and we didn’t speak. When I would see her in town and attempt to approach her, she would glare at me and take off in the other direction. Eventually, I gave up on attempting to clear my son’s name.”
“So, you lost your sister over a misunderstanding?” I blurt out. I know that Elisabeth hates me for what I’ve done, but not ever speaking to her again breaks my heart.
When I risk a glance at my sister, I find her eyeing me warily. So I smile at her in such a way that begs for forgiveness. We hold each other’s gaze until Ma speaks again.
“Nearly, darling. It wasn’t until my niece turned up pregnant by the boy her family disapproved of. The very idea that she was carrying the child of a simple man who worked at the mill despite their own family’s higher social class was the talk of the town. I felt bad for them and sent my sister a letter. In the letter, I reminded her that we were still sisters and, if she needed someone to confide in, I was still here.”
“What did she say?” I question.
Ma purses her lips together. “She wrote back and told me that she was thankful for the sentiment and the offer but she had to decline. There was also a small apology stating that her daughter finally came clean and confessed that the boy from the mill was her only lover. Alcott never touched a hair on her body, much like I already knew.”
“So you two forgave each other and worked through your problems,” I state with hope filling my voice.
Ma glances at Elisabeth and then at me. Her eyes fill with tears before she blinks them away. “No, that was not the case. I’d been planning to visit her in an attempt to rekindle our relationship. It was as I was packing that I was informed of the fire.”
I gape at her, and when I turn, I see Elisabeth doing the same. Out of habit, I reach across and take my sister’s hand to comfort her. She accepts my hand, and I squeeze it.