“This is for you alone, Milady.” His voice was muffled, the words tangled around her nipple as he sucked and sucked and sucked.
But I want more!
Fighting for coherent thought, Hettie pushed at Starr’s shoulder and made him lift his head.
“Let me touch you. Let me do something for you. It’s what I want.”
A strange, complicated expression passed across his astonishing face, then with a wry twist of his lips and a slight shrug, he reached for her hand and put it upon him.
The miracle of Starr’s cock never ceased to amaze her. He was so hard, and yet the skin there was fine and delicate as satin. He stirred in her hand and seemed to grow harder than ever, if that were possible. As she gave him a slow, exploratory squeeze, his eyelashes fluttered and his lips parted in a stifled gasp.
For one frozen moment in time, Hettie almost seemed to feel Starr’s pleasure. It was as if he were allowing her into his male mind and showing her what her touch did to him.
But the intimate communion was over almost as soon as it had begun.
“Enough, Milady,” he whispered, gently but firmly putting her hand from his flesh, then bending over her and taking her nipple between his lips once more.
And now each pull on her breast seemed to pull on her clitoris too, seemed to pass right through her struggling body and meet the gentle petting finger between her legs. Pinned between two nodes of pleasure, she could only thrash and moan. Tearing at the sheets beneath her, she soared to first one excruciating climax, then another and another and another.
“Thank you, Starr! Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” she chanted in time to the pulsations that rippled through her. The sensations were sublime, and yet, even in the midst of them, her mind longed for something more, something different. She had no intimate name, no romantic lover’s name with which to praise this incredible man who was so close to her, yet more distant than the stars he was named for. He had never offered a first name, and there was something so remote about him—even now!—that still made her afraid to ask.
Orgasming continuously, she babbled and raved, and her obedient demon switched to a different assault. Two fingers went deep, deep inside her, sliding easily into her buttery flesh and curving deftly to press against her G-spot.
One firm touch there and she was screaming and kicking her legs, her bottom bouncing high off the sweat-soaked sheet.
But Starr would not be shaken from his target. Or his infernal internal stroking.
“Please,” she begged hoarsely, not even knowing whether it was for less contact, or for more. Her fingers flew to her jumping clitoris. To meet his caressing finger at her body’s most exquisite nexus.
She was still rubbing when she felt his hand withdraw and his mouth leave her breast. She whimpered with loss, but the cries were wildly premature. Within moments, his cock filled the void inside her and his firm lips were covering her mouth.
She sobbed silently as their breaths mingled. A kiss was somehow closer, more joined even, than the sex. If he could kiss her so sweetly, it must mean that he cared for her in some deeper way? As he began to fuck her, she worked her clitoris greedily in time to his thrusts. The combined stimuli were deliciously wicked. Each time he plunged deep, her fingers were jammed against her flesh. It was a double pleasure. A double fuck. And in moments she was coming again, the orgasm doubly strong.
“Starr!” she keened as her body seemed to dissolve and reform, her complicated emotions calmed, for the moment, by simple uncomplicated pleasure. Grief for her late husband, confused guilt, frustrated longing to touch the heart of the man inside her…all were soothed by the power of magnificently satisfying sex. “Starr!” she sobbed, smiling beneath his lips as a warm flow bathed her pussy, his thick rush of semen a balm for all her ills.
His own orgasm was intense, staccato, almost animalistic, and on the last thrust, he collapsed and sighed heavily into her neck. It was just a long exhausted exhalation, but at the very limits of her hearing, Hettie knew she’d heard her own name.
“Oh, Starr, that was beautiful!” she murmured, winding her arms around him, trying to crush every inch of herself against his damp, hard, muscle-packed form.
But he gently pried her off again.
“Let me up, Ma’am. I’m too heavy. I don’t want to squash you,” he whispered, shaking himself free and lying down—long, golden and magnificent—beside her.
“What if I want to be squashed?” she replied, drowsily resigning herself to being “Ma’am” once more.
It was no use taking him to task about that again. She couldn’t be upset or angry with him after the beauty he’d just made for her. The way he’d lifted her from the pit and made life bright again. Badgering him about what he called her—either while they fucked, or at all other times—made not one iota of difference. He was as intransigent about her name as he was about his. Starr was always, always “Starr”, and Hettie was only “Hettie” when he had his cock lodged deep inside her.
Which it wasn’t now, so she was “Milady” as she curled up alongside him and got the warmth of his strong arm around her shoulders, drawing him against her. She was tired now, really tired, but as she started to drift, stray thoughts popped into her head.
What was she going to do about Darryl? She’d agreed to take him in, and yet the presence of another man in the house would only make the task of understanding her relationship with Starr more complicated.
Without thinking, she sighed, and as she did so, she felt Starr’s grip on her tighten infinitesimally, as he sensed her tension.
Why now?She knew even as she thought it that there really was no other choice. Heaven knows, I know enough about grief and confusion and loneliness… How can I deny the poor man a refuge?
We’ll just have to go on as we are a bit longer, Starr, she told her servant silently, instinctively pressing her cheek to the warm cushion of his muscular chest. She’d so longed to breach this beautiful man’s barrier of formality, and find out if the locked-down feelings she sensed—and prayed for—in him were as real as she hoped them to be. As real as hers were, she acknowledged in sudden astonishment, shocked at first, then in her mind seeing her late husband’s smile of impish approval.
Oh Piers, what’s happening to me? Is it really possible to love two men at once?
She’d loved her husband, really loved him, but she knew he would have been the first person to encourage her to seek love again. And perhaps even put forward his choice for the recipient of her love. God knows, the two men had been as much friends as employer and employee. Within the bounds of Starr’s strict adherence to protocol, of course…
For a long while, her thoughts circulated around and around, touching on Starr, Piers and occasionally the mysterious Darryl. But finally, and mercifully, all her anxieties began to melt and become formless in the face of sheer exhaustion, and she surrendered to the comfort of the living pillow of Starr’s chest.
When she woke the next morning, Hettie felt unexpectedly refreshed and at peace with the world. Despite the troubled whirl of her thoughts before sleep, she sensed, in the optimistic light of day, that some sort of progress had been made. She and Starr had been physically intimate again, and that was one step closer. Closer to the goal she sensed her heart wanted, and that every instinct told her that Piers would have wanted for her too.
“I’m think I’m getting better now, old thing,” she murmured softly, talking to her reflection in the mirror as much as to her dead husband. “I really think I’m going to be okay soon. I’ve just got to go for it, haven’t I?”
Piers would’ve been delighted, she knew, to see her eyes looking brilliantly sparkling again. And to recognize the glossy sheen that only comes from superlative sex overlaying her smooth pale skin.
The most radical proof of recovery though was actually thinking about Piers without pain. She missed her dead husband, of course, but now she could think about the rest of her life, and what, and who, she wanted in it. She could
remember the good times with Piers, but she could also believe in the possibility of better ones to come.
Especially now Starr was back in her bed performing his “special” duties. The ones he’d begun when Piers had become too ill to make love. The strong, quiet blond had been a sort of combination of personal assistant, concierge, bodyguard and chauffeur throughout the whole of the short Miller marriage, but in the last few months of it, sexual surrogacy had been added to his multifunction role.
Hettie had said nothing about Piers’ reduced libido at first. His gentle lovemaking, his clever hands, and his experienced, exploring mouth had always given her immense pleasure and made her climax repeatedly. Even if their sex sessions hadn’t been that frequent. But as a woman with generous erotic appetite, she soon became painfully frustrated as the gaps between those interludes became longer and longer and longer.
She had taken up horseback riding. She’d swum twice, three times a day. She’d started a rigorous aerobics program. And she’d masturbated in every private moment she could grab, rubbing her pussy with a frantic desperation that’d often made her sore but rarely eradicated her need. She’d even tried therapy. And though it’d been good to talk to someone about her frustration, talking could do nothing for the fires that burned in her sex.
And as Piers had become weaker, she’d simply lain next to him, letting him hold her close while she’d stroked her own pussy and given herself the orgasms her fit young body demanded. She’d not complained, because she’d loved him so much and there was a certain sweetness to masturbating in his arms. For Piers’ part, just to be there when she climaxed seemed to make him happy.
Then one night he’d said, “This isn’t enough for you, my love, is it?”
She’d protested vehemently.
“It is, Piers! It is! I love you, darling! Fucking isn’t everything. I knew what the deal was when we married. I married you for yourself, not your sexual performance.” She touched his dear, gaunt face and looked into his weary eyes, trying to convince him. It was the truth. She missed full-on, hard-driving sex quite cruelly, she missed having a man’s rigid flesh stretching her own. But she’d have missed not being with Piers more.
“You’re the sweetest and kindest of girls,” he said softly, his smile wry, “but you’re a terrible liar! You’re the sexiest creature I’ve ever met, my darling Hettie, and you need a damn good rogering! And often!”
“But—”
“No buts!” he said firmly, and even the small effort of raising his voice seemed to drain him. Sinking back against the pillows, he took her hand and clasped it with surprising force. “Will you trust me, Hett?” he asked, “Trust me and not ask questions?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to arrange something. Make something happen. I want you to accept it and enjoy it for my sake. Believe me, it’ll make me as happy as it’ll make you.”
After that, she did question him, but he pleaded tiredness, smiled and went straight off to sleep.
The next night, Hettie had left him and returned to her own room, where she’d taken to sleeping so as not to disturb him with her tossing and turning. She’d just begun settling down to another sexless night, when the door opened and Starr stepped soundlessly into the room.
She opened her mouth to speak, then in her mind heard Piers’ voice. “Trust me. No questions.”
This—the arrival of his strong, virile servant—was Sir Piers Miller’s “arrangement”.
The dawning of this must have been clear on her face. Still without speaking, Starr walked over to the bed and looked down at her. His glacier blue eyes were calm, yet they were asking. She too had to agree. To want him…
It wasn’t difficult. Though she’d been in love with Piers since they’d first met, she was red-blooded enough to appreciate the charms of other men.
And Starr had charms in abundance. He was tall and long-limbed, with broad shoulders and a slim tapered waist. His torso rippled with muscle and his whole body was in superb condition, but in no way heavy. His face was handsome and sculpted, his high cheekbones and hard jawline vaguely hawkish but strangely exciting. To round all this off he had the most piercing and unnaturally blue eyes Hettie had ever seen, and hair that was almost platinum blond. What she could see of it from his brutal, militaristic crew cut.
And when he slipped off the thin robe that was all that clothed him, she saw one of the most impressive cocks she’d ever had the luck to encounter! Thick, with defined veins and almost angry with life, it was frighteningly long and already erect as he lifted the single sheet and climbed into her bed beside her.
To her surprise, any guilt she might have felt ebbed as she moved into Starr’s strong arms. The man would not have come here if it wasn’t what Piers had wanted. And she realized—as she laid her fingers on the warm, velvet skin that sheathed Starr’s mighty erection—that this was what she wanted too.
She knew nothing whatsoever of the inner life of her husband’s enigmatic servant. She was even a little afraid and in awe of the cool, remote blond. But right now, in her lonely nocturnal frustration, she did want him. Furiously. Fabulously. Totally. Starr read her mind and slid his long fingers into her sex, stirring a heavy wetness there that shocked her. He’d only been in the room a couple of minutes and her pussy was running with slick moisture. She curled her hand around his cock and started edging him closer to the place that screamed for him. Starr responded by rubbing her clitoris.
And rubbing and rubbing and rubbing until she had her first quick, light orgasm. With a cry of surprise as much as pleasure, she let go her hold on his cock and squirmed like an eel beneath his touch. While her vagina still pulsed and fluttered, he pushed her gently onto her back, parted her legs and with no poking or probing, no help at all from his hand or hers, thrust into her right to the hilt.
“Oh God, I—” Whatever she might have said was crushed under Starr’s kiss, and pounded out of her as he started fucking her fast and hard.
It was just what she needed. And probably, she acknowledged, half hysterical with sensation, exactly what Piers had ordered for her. Starr had always served the Millers faultlessly, and his performance in bed was no exception. This was the rough primitive sex that Hettie had missed so much. Even when he’d been able to make love, Piers had always been gentle and courtly.
But Starr was fucking her! Shagging her, powering into her and giving her everything a strong, graceful lover could give her! As he thrust into her again and again, stretching her slippery sex in every direction, she screamed and groaned and shouted, hoping that Piers was awake and listening and aware of how much she appreciated what he’d sent to her.
Within minutes, she came again. And again. In this too Starr seemed superhuman. She knew he lifted weights, jogged and practiced a variety of martial arts. She ought to have known he’d be a sexual athlete par excellence too. He seemed inexhaustible, thrusting smoothly and deeply with no sign of either flagging or coming himself. It was Hettie, eventually, who had to sob, “Enough! Please… I…I’m going to pass out!”
Never in her short but enthusiastic sexual life had she come so much and so powerfully. But there was a limit even to ecstasy.
With one final manic lunge, Starr shot his scalding, creamy tribute deep inside her and the heat of it, the fine pulsing spurt of it against her spasming womb, brought a wave of pleasure so acute she really did start to pass out. Tears of relief and gratitude dried on her face as she slid slowly from consciousness. Her last awareness was Starr lifting himself neatly clear of her body.
Mister Perfect, precise as ever, was her final thought before oblivion.
And that was how it’d been throughout those final months with Piers.
By day she would spend her time with her increasingly feeble husband. Talking to him, reading to him, enjoying the benefits of his still-ready wit and his erudite comments on life, the universe and everything. He would inquire quite shamelessly about her sexual wellbeing, and laugh at her blushes as she supplied
the details he demanded. The raunchier her escapades, the better Piers liked it.
And her accounts were raunchy. Because by night she was getting better sex with just one man than she’d had with any of the lovers she’d had before her marriage.
Starr was skilled and inventive, just as much an artist in bed as he was a technician. The satisfaction, the orgasms he gave her at night were a soothing anodyne to the growing anguish of seeing a loved one die.
If she’d been asked to comment on such a relationship before she’d been in it, Hettie would have been horrified. Filled with disgust and revulsion. But as Piers slipped slowly but surely away from them, it seemed that the knowledge of his young wife’s continuing sexual fulfillment was the one thing that lifted his spirits.
On that last morning, Piers had died in her arms—with Starr ever watchful in attendance—a final devilish smile on his lips as he’d listened to an explicit description of the previous night’s pleasures.
Yes, Starr was the one who’d stood beside her as her husband had died, and the one who’d sustained her at his funeral. He was the one who’d supported her in every way. He was the one who’d run her household and maintained the pattern of her life while she’d fought to come to terms with her loss.
It was difficult to remember what she’d done with herself during the early months of her widowhood. But Starr had been the one constant reassuring presence, always there when she needed him.
And it was Starr’s strong arms, beautiful golden-tanned body, and virile, thrusting cock that had finally brought both her body and her heart back to life last night.
Mysterious Starr was both her servant and her lover, and now, revivified by the power of the sex that joined them, she was going to breach his wall of silence…even if it killed her!
Chapter Two
I must’ve been out of my mind to agree to this!
The next day, Hettie walked into the First Class Lounge at Heathrow to await the arrival of her mysterious visitor.
Lessons and Lovers Page 2