Just two more days until she flew to England. Emily packed. England in autumn in Suffolk. She’d need her riding pants, which were put away, but she knew where to find them. They would need a slight alteration. Her boots and a tweed jacket, and two pairs of slacks, sweaters, one little black dress, because she knew they would eat out at least once, and her London Fog raincoat. Savannah would have Wellies if the weather was mucky.
She paid a visit to Lacy Nothings and stocked up on a few outrageous items: two garter belts, one in black, and the other a wild magenta with matching stockings; and four very naughty teddies, one a very hot pink, one red, one cream, and the other black. She also bought a pair of wicked black stilettos with rhinestone studded heels; and she couldn’t resist a pink feather boa.
The local girl totting up her purchases looked at her somewhat askance. “These all for you, Miss Shanski?” she said, one eyebrow just slightly raised. Emily was known to love beautiful lingerie, but some of these items were positively raunchy.
“For my friend Savannah Banning. I’m going to England to visit her tomorrow,” Emily said. “She just loves all the things I have from the shop, and she’s got a birthday coming up soon.”
“Ohhh,” the salesgirl said, smiling. Now it all made sense. She had read Savannah Banning’s novels. “Yeah, some pretty naughty stuff in this lot.” She grinned. “Hope Miss Banning likes ’em.”
“I’m sure she will,” Emily lied. Why did people think only someone like Savannah Banning would wear racy lingerie? But she knew the answer to her own question. Emilie Shann wrote romantic love stories with chaste heroines and manly heroes who only alluded to sex. Well, not anymore! And she almost giggled aloud.
The flight was perfect. Emily always flew first-class. Like pretty lingerie, it was one of her weaknesses. She could afford it, and she liked being able to stretch out her legs. And she always booked the entire row, so she didn’t have to talk if she didn’t want to talk. A young stewardess in first class was a fan, however. She oozed compliments, and practically swooned when Emily agreed to sign her copy of Vanessa and the Viscount, which she just happened to have with her. The senior stewardess, who had flown with Emily before and knew her habits, nodded to her passenger with a sympathetic smile. Then she murmured quietly in the younger woman’s ear, and the rest of Emily’s flight was a peaceful one. Lord Palmer’s car was there to meet her. The drive down to Barrow, in Suffolk, was smooth.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Savannah Banning squealed, flying from her house to greet her guest. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman with a mane of midnight black hair, gardenia skin, and gray eyes. “Did you stop at the inn and leave your bags? Devlin phoned from London. He’ll be down by teatime, and he’s meeting you here.” She stepped back and looked at Emily. “Oh, God, you really are in love with him!”
Emily laughed. “I am,” she admitted. “Now all I have to do is bring him up to scratch, as they say in my novels.”
“I read what you e-mailed me, darling,” Savannah said, and she smiled her little cat’s smile. “Your fans are in for both a shock and a treat, Em. I love The Defiant Duchess.”
“Give me a quote then,” Emily said. “That should please J.P.”
“Screw J.P.! The woman is a dreadful bitch, but if she knew you got what she didn’t I suspect she would explode in a puff of her own nastiness, darling!” Savannah laughed. “Is he good? Really good?”
“Savannah, we had this conversation before, and I have no real comparison,” Emily said, laughing. The two women linked arms as they went into the house.
“Is there a similarity to the duke?” Savannah wanted to know. “I thought we’d wait for tea until Devlin gets here.”
“There is, and there isn’t,” Emily said as she settled herself into the cushions of a flowered sofa. “Trahern seems a bit rougher, but then, he is eighteenth-century, Sava.”
“Actually I think he’s quite dreamy,” Savannah murmured. “And so in love with his defiant duchess, darling. It’s a wonderful book, Em. It will make you oodles of money.” And at Emily’s look of disbelief, Savannah Banning giggled. “I know, I know.” she said. “Authors don’t make money. Publishers make money.”
“If it weren’t for the early books I couldn’t have my simple small-town lifestyle,” Emily said. “When was the last time you saw royalties?”
“Oh, let’s not talk about publishing,” Savannah replied. “I think I hear a car.” She got up and went to the bay window of the room. “Yes, Devlin is here.”
Emily felt her heart jump. He was here. Would he feel the same way he had felt before he left for Frankfurt almost two weeks ago? Did she? The door to the lounge opened, and oh, yes, she did! Emily launched herself at Michael Devlin, whose handsome face was suddenly wreathed in a broad smile at the sight of her.
His arms closed tightly about her. “God, angel face, I’ve missed you,” he said, and then he was kissing her.
“I’ll go and check on tea,” Savannah said diplomatically, wondering if they even heard her as she left the room.
“I can’t wait,” Devlin growled in her ear. He unzipped his fly.
“Neither can I!” Emily moaned as he turned her about, bent her over the padded arm of the couch, and yanked her skirt up. “Oh, God, yes!” she sobbed as his long, thick penis pushed into her. His hands held her steady as her hips moved in rhythm with his. He stopped for just a moment, and the throbbing of his talented cock made her dizzy with her own heated desires. “Make me come, Devlin,” she begged him. “I have missed you too. Oh, yes! And yes again!”
He had become an engine of lust with her. He felt himself growing harder than he could ever remember. He plumbed her depths first with slow, almost majestic strokes of his dick. She whimpered with her need, and so he increased the tempo until he was moving with increasing rapidity, and he could feel her orgasm approaching. He slowed himself, and she protested, but, laughing, he first kissed and then nipped at the nape of her neck. “Be patient, angel face. I want it to be extra good for us this time.” Then he began to thrust harder and harder, until she was crying out to him with her need for release. He gave it to her, his come spurting in thick gobs into her vagina. Then with a groan he fell forward briefly, his hands reaching around her to clasp her breasts.
Lord Reginald Palmer, Baron Tilbury, had come upon the scene shortly after it had begun. He smiled and watched as Michael Devlin fucked the adorable Emily Shanski, his own dick getting harder and harder. The scene seemed to go on forever, and he was sorely tempted to pick up where the Irishman had left off. But then his wife was drawing his penis from his riding breeches, kneeling down, and sucking him off. “Good girl,” he murmured low as she swallowed every bit of his salty cum.
“I heard you come in,” Savannah said softly. “You’re a very naughty boy, Reg, spying on Emily and Mick.” She stood up and smoothed her dress down.
“He covered her like one of my stallions with a mare,” Lord Palmer replied admiringly. “No hesitation at all. And damned if she didn’t seem to quite enjoy it, Sava. Didn’t know Emily fucked. Do you think she would enjoy a threesome with us?”
“Already asked, darling, but she said no. Thought it would make a nice birthday surprise for you. Unfortunately you’re married to me, and that makes her uncomfortable. Sorry about that. Now I’ve told Roberts to give us ten minutes and then serve tea. We’re fortunate he didn’t come upon us, but, of course, it wouldn’t be the first time.” She took his arm. “I think they’re finished now,” she said, peeking through the door to the lounge, which hadn’t been quite shut. “Let’s go in. Emily, Mick, look who’s just come in from the stables.” She led her husband into the room.
Emily was flushed rosy, but she managed to stand up from the couch, where she had just been sitting. “Reg, how nice,” she said as they kissed each other’s cheeks.
“You are radiant, Emily, my dear,” Lord Palmer replied. There was just the faintest scent of sex about her, and it was very erotic, he thought.
He turned to Michael Devlin. “Mick, how are you?” Dumb question. The man had the look of a well-fed tabby, and why not? He was fresh from a boisterous fuck with a lovely woman.
They were barely seated again when Roberts appeared, accompanied by a little maid and carrying a large silver tea tray. He set it down on the butler’s tray. “Shall I pour, m’lady?” he asked Savannah.
“Yes, but just first cups, Roberts. Then you and Agnes may go,” she answered. She glanced at the tray. Watercress, cucumber, and beef-and-cheddar finger sandwiches. Scones, clotted Devon cream, and strawberry jam. A plate of Mrs. Munson’s miniature lemon curd, and mince meat tartlets. Another plate of thin-sliced dark fruitcake. A bit skimpy, but it would do. Tea was a bit late, after all, and there was dinner to consider.
“Didn’t they feed you on the flight?” Lord Palmer asked Emily innocently.
“Your English air makes me extra hungry,” Emily replied, snatching the last beef-and-cheddar sandwich from the plate. “Sava, this mustard is delicious. Where do you get it? Is it French?”
Master William and Miss Selena were brought into the lounge by their nanny, a starchy-looking older woman, to greet the guests and then bid their parents a good night. They were fresh from their baths, and in pajamas and nightgown. Selena, her mother’s miniature, was shy, for she hardly knew Emily, but she did recall Michael Devlin, and was soon curled up in his lap.
“Her mother’s daughter,” Emily said with a smile.
William, however, remembered his godmother. He put his arms about her neck and kissed her cheek. “Did you bring me a gift?” he asked her.
“It’s at the inn, and I will have it for you tomorrow,” Emily told him.
“What is it?” he wanted to know.
“It’s a surprise, William,” she replied.
After fifteen minutes Nanny announced it was time for Master William and Miss Selena to depart. Their supper would be waiting for them in the nursery. The children bade their parents and their guests good night, and left the lounge without protest.
“They have beautiful manners,” Emily remarked. Then she glanced at her watch. “I think we have to be going, Sava. I’m exhausted with the time change.”
“I thought you would remain for dinner,” Savannah protested.
“Not tonight,” Emily replied. “I need my rest. It’s after eleven at home.” She stood up.
“I rented a car,” Michael Devlin said, and he stood too. “We know our way back to the inn.”
“We’ll ride tomorrow about ten,” Savannah said. “Join us?”
“I brought my breeches,” Emily answered her. “Do you still have that lovely gray gelding I like? He’s such a sweetie, and has a nice gait.”
“I think we keep him just for your visits, my dear,” Lord Palmer said. “I’ll see he’s saddled and waiting for you. How about you, Mick? That mean black fellow you always seem to favor?”
Michael Devlin nodded. “Perfect. Savannah, my love, thank you for a delicious tea. Reg, we’ll see you in the morning.” He took Emily’s hand, and together they left their hosts. “I’ve rented a Jag,” he said as they came out of the house and helped her into the car. “Shall I order supper in the room?”
“Yes,” she agreed, knowing she could look forward to a night of bliss in his arms. “And champagne, Devlin.”
“What are we celebrating?” he asked her.
“Being in England,” she replied lightly. Having your cock in my pussy again. Being in love with you, she thought to herself.
Savannah had arranged for them to have a charming little suite consisting of a small lounge and bedroom, both with fireplaces. The bed was large and hung with flowered curtains. The bathroom was small, but serviceable. Their bags had been unpacked for them by the maid. Emily smiled, wondering what the poor country girl must have thought of all her naughty lingerie. They ate a simple supper and drank their champagne before the fire in the lounge. Then they slept for a while in the big bed, awoke, made tender love, and slept again. When morning came they lay together for a time, watching as the sun crept into the garden outside of their bedroom windows.
“I really did miss you,” Michael Devlin said to her. He was holding her hand. It had been lousy without Emily, and he had realized with shock that he didn’t like being without her at all. He needed her, which was difficult for him to admit, for Michael Devlin had never needed anyone—especially a woman. But he needed this woman. Still, while she seemed to enjoy the passion they shared, and was an enthusiastic bed partner, she had never indicated that she cared for him. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was just all about the sex, and hanging on to her career. Well, he could live with that if he had to, couldn’t he?
“I missed you too,” Emily admitted. “It was so wonderful in August when we could be together all the time. I’m glad you asked me to meet you in England, Devlin.” She snuggled against his shoulder. “Rina’s afraid you’re going to ruin my reputation.”
“I certainly hope I am,” he teased her. “Ruining you is a most enjoyable pastime, angel face.” Then he leaned over and kissed her slowly and sweetly.
Emily sighed with her happiness as their lips touched. But then, as the kiss began to grow more serious in its intent, she pulled away. “We promised milord and milady that we would ride with them at ten,” Emily said. “We have to get up. I need my breakfast, Devlin. Knowing Sava and Reg we’ll be gone for several hours, and won’t see food again until teatime.” She slipped from his arms and from the bed.
They showered together, dressed, and went downstairs to the inn’s little dining room for breakfast. They were just in time, the hostess told them as she announced that there was only scrambled eggs and sausage left, plopped a rack of toast on their table, and asked if they would have coffee or tea. When they had eaten they drove through Barrow village and several miles on to Tilbury Manor, where Lord and Lady Palmer were waiting for them at their stables with the horses.
As they mounted their animals Devlin noticed Lord Palmer admiring Emily’s ass, which looked particularly fetching in her taupe riding breeches. He felt a sharp prick of anger. He knew the Palmers’ predilection for threesomes. He’d been invited once to join them himself, but he’d refused. The bastard had no right looking at Emily like that—like a damned fox contemplating a particularly delicious chicken dinner. And then Michael Devlin realized with surprise that he was jealous. He was jealous! Jealous because he loved her. And she was going to damned well love him or he’d know the reason why.
It was a beautiful day, and they rode for several hours. Savannah had arranged for Roberts to bring a picnic luncheon to a designated spot beneath some willow trees in a meadow by a winding stream. When they finally returned to the stables, Reg’s cell phone rang, the ring tone playing “Rule Britannia.” After a few terse words he went into the house, followed by his wife, who called to her guests to come in for tea.
Emily caught Devlin’s arm and drew him back into the darkened stables. The horses had been unsaddled and rubbed down, their feed bins filled. There were no stablemen in sight. “My clit’s been rubbed back and forth all day,” she whispered in Devlin’s ear. “I have always wanted to be fucked in a stable. Would you like to screw me here in a darkened stall on the hay?” She licked at his ear, and then nipped the lobe. Then she unzipped his riding pants and drew his penis out. Kneeling before him she pulled his pants down and began to play with him, nuzzling and licking his balls, twisting her head to take them into her mouth. Her tongue rolled them about slowly within the wet warmth.
Michael Devlin drew a sharp breath. Where had she learned to do that? Her sexual manuals, of course. But dear God, she did what she was doing very, very well. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” he ground out, “but you’ll have to get out of your pants, and getting back into them if someone comes in won’t be easy.”
Emily released his balls. “No, I won’t,” she said. “I made a little alteration to my breeches, Devlin. I told you, I’ve always wanted to be fucked in a s
table à la Lady Chatterly. Trust me.” Then she licked up and down his penis a few times before taking him into her mouth and suckling him.
His fingers dug into her scalp. “I’m perfectly willing to be the gardener to your Lady Chatterly,” he groaned, “but I don’t want to come in your mouth, angel face.”
She nodded and continued her glorious torture of his cock, which swelled and lengthened until Emily began to gag slightly.
“That’s enough,” he said low, pulling her up. “Now, madam, show me how I am going to fuck you with your damned pants on.” And she took his hand and drew it down to her crotch, pulling the fabric there apart. “Where the hell did you find these breeches?” he asked, both surprised and delighted as they slid to the hay.
“I sew,” she murmured, guiding his penis to her very wet cunt. “God, I am so hot for you, Devlin! I don’t think I can wait too long.”
“Let’s get your legs up over my shoulders,” he said. “I want to go deep.”
And he did, thrusting harder and faster into her until she screamed softly with her orgasm, and he came so hard that they both shook with the force of their pleasure.
“Ohh, that was incredible.” Emily gasped as she began to come down again. “It was even better than I thought it would be.”
“Glad to be of service, madam,” he replied weakly. “You are becoming insatiable, angel face. And I love it.”
He adored her. He loved sex with her. Was it possible he had real feelings for her? Of course he did. He loved her. “We’d better pull it together,” she said finally. “Sava is no fool, and she’ll have figured it out already. But I don’t want Reg leering at us when we come in for tea.”
“Agreed.” Devlin stood up, pulling Emily with him. “Don’t forget to close your breeches. How did you make that alteration, by the way?”
Forbidden Pleasures Page 17