by Jenna Jaxon
A counter, two chairs set around a table. On the other side, a single chair and a bed barely large enough for two. When the door closed behind them, Loretta glanced over her shoulder and held his gaze.
“How long has it been, Duchess?” He repeated his question from earlier.
Dare she?
Loretta bit her lip, took a deep breath, and flung everything she’d ever been taught to the winds. “Too long,” she finally answered.
CHAPTER FIVE
She did not disappoint. How had he known? He mentally shook his head. He did not know. But when that energy built up between two people, it was foolish to ignore it.
But this duchess. This woman… She presented something of a quandary to him.
He’d heard about these nabobs, how the ladies were taught to lie upon their beds and think of their duty to England. And God help this one, from what he gathered now, the duke hadn’t even liked women.
And then the tip of her tongue peeked out to lick her lips, and most of his blood began flowing to his nether regions.
She might be a duchess, but she was a willing female, and damned if Thomas Findlay didn’t know what to do with a willing female.
Allowing nothing but pure instinct to take over, he took her into his arms again and held her close, absorbing the occasional tremor.
“Are you afraid, Duchess?”
“No. Yes.” She buried her face in his chest.
Best to take her mind off any fears right away. Tilting her head back, he tasted her lips again and removed her coat at the same time. “Loretta?” He knew that to be her given name. He thought he’d read it somewhere.
“I was named after my grandmother,” she murmured, tilting her head back farther so that he could trace his lips along her chin to her throat.
“Unusual name for a duchess, isn’t it?” He dragged his mouth along tender skin until he located pulse beating wildly.
“She was American,” she explained on a gasp.
Thomas sucked and then nipped, his hands now exploring her back beneath the thinner material of her gown.
He was glad she wasn’t wearing the blacks today. His hands didn’t stop when he smoothed past the indention of her waist, instead boldly settling themselves upon the plump flesh of her derriere. He squeezed, tugged her close, and then growled. He’d taste every inch of this woman.
“I don’t like the name Lettie, though. My brother called me Lettie.”
He hushed her again with his mouth.
“How ’bout I just call you Duchess?”
“Um hm.”
Walking forward, he backed her against the bed until her knees buckled, causing her to drop and break the kiss.
Thomas held her gaze and tipped her back so that she could only lie there and look up at him.
“You’re wearing far too many clothes, Duchess.” He wasn’t sure if the shock in her eyes was from his words or the fact that his hands now rolled her slightly to one side, exploring the back of her dress in search of buttons he might unfasten.
For nary a second, he thought that he should have done this before she was lying down. But no. This was just as good. No matter how a man undressed a woman, the end result would be the same.
He helped her remove her arms, and then pushed the dress all the way down her legs and onto the floor.
Beneath her stays and chemise, he caught glimpses of warm, sweet woman now.
“Must you? Remove everything?” That arrogance sounded in her voice for a moment, but a quiver gave her away.
“I didn’t get to where I am in life by doing anything halfway. I’m not about to start now.” He tasted the skin on her shoulder as his fingers deftly unlaced the stays. She shivered but moved so that he had better access.
To both the laces and the skin on her shoulder.
She liked this. She needed this.
What surprised him was the tremor in his own hands. She was so very different from any woman he’d ever bedded.
The first time they’d met, he’d been a bit in awe of her. And then he’d pitied her. It took a few additional meetings before he’d begun to feel attracted to her.
Before he’d realized how much of herself she was hiding from the world.
“Beautiful.” He said the words aloud now, as he remembered that exact moment.
He’d been a guest at a house party at Eden’s Court last summer, and he’d spied her haunting the gardens in the moonlight. The wind had blown her dress against her figure, revealing voluptuous curves. It had caught her hair, unravelling most of her chignon. She’d appeared regal and wild at the same time.
It was then that he’d known. She was so much more than a duchess. This woman. This female with needs.
Thomas reveled in each inch he uncovered as he removed the rest of her clothing and shoes, kissing, nipping, caressing… distracting her.
She moaned and arched her back with her eyes closed. Perhaps she was able to acknowledge the sensations he caused so long as she didn’t acknowledge who he was.
A commoner.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded once he could finally hover over her. Although she lay naked beneath him, he remained fully clothed.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly before eventually fluttering those eyelashes and meeting his gaze.
“What do you want?” He knew what she wanted. He simply needed to hear it.
She frowned in confusion.
“What do you want?” He repeated and then lowered his body to press her into the mattress.
She pushed back up against him.
“This?” His hand covered her breast, and he squeezed. But he needed to know. Not what. He needed to know who.
Would just any man do? He didn’t want to believe this.
Because he felt something for her. Damn his eyes. He felt something other than simple lust, and she was bound to stomp all over it when they returned to her family.
“I want…” And then her fingertips came up to caress the side of his jaw. “I want… you. I want you, Thomas.” Her eyes closed and she arched into him again. The words had been hard for her to say.
Thomas shifted himself atop her, spreading her legs beneath him and devoured her mouth with his kiss.
She wasn’t candy, she wasn’t ice. This woman was sustenance, life. Her mouth tasted of wine, and the scent of her skin wafted over him like springtime.
***
Loretta’s emotions battled between pleasure and object mortification.
Pleasure was winning.
When she closed her eyes, focused on the sensations his hand aroused, her last misgivings dissolved.
“Yes,” she whispered. She’d felt empty for so long. Dry. Unfulfilled. It was as though Thomas Findlay had been sent to bring her back to life. With each flick of his tongue, stroke of his palm, he sent her blood flowing, coursing through her limbs and into her core.
She’d always wondered if there was more. She’d not wonder after today. She’d know.
There was.
The taut muscles of his arms flexed beneath her hands. She could barely wrap her fingers around half the girth of his arms. Thomas Findlay was not a small man. If she were to fight him, she could do nothing to stop him, but she had no fear. The hands that stroked her held only tenderness.
“So damned beautiful, Duchess.” He didn’t just say the words. He worshiped her with them. And not because she was a duchess, but because he was a man who would starve if not fed.
He consumed her as though his life depended on it.
Loretta arched into him, heady at the sensation of being wanted.
“Open for me, love.” His hand touched her there, cupping her and caressing. When she felt the invasion of his finger, and then two of them, tears threatened to overflow.
Prescott had done his utmost to never touch her that way. He’d only ever taken her in darkness, her gown raised modestly while he moved between her legs.
“What are these? Tears?”
She pinched her eyes clos
ed at his question. He’d halted his assault upon her senses.
“Duchess?”
“Please,” she begged. “Don’t stop.” She couldn’t look at him.
His breath warmed the skin around her eyes. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”
His voice held an odd insecurity coming from this giant of a man. It reached inside and inadvertently touched her heart, and when she opened her eyes, she gazed into a troubled expression. She studied the roughened texture of his skin, the small creases around his eyes for a moment before speaking.
“I’m not afraid.” She admitted. He thought he’d been hurting her or scaring her. “I’m… affected.” How could she explain the tumult caused by his seduction?
One corner of his lips lifted in a sardonic, somewhat disparaging grin. “Affected, Duchess? Only affected? I must be doing something wrong. I want you roused to the height of passion. I want you begging me for more.”
He teased her.
Nobody ever teased her.
“Begging you for more, Mr. Findlay?” She lifted one brow. “But that you will be begging me.” Such boastful words!
But then she pulled his face down and pressed his lips against hers. She wasn’t as graceful in her kiss, as practiced as he, but she sensed he appreciated her efforts. When she slid her tongue past his lips, he sucked it inside of his mouth farther.
She squirmed a bit in frustration, wishing she had the confidence to show him how to touch her. Her lips parted but she lacked the courage to speak her needs.
“Show me,” he goaded, as though reading her mind. “Show me what you want.”
How could she deny his husky command? Not giving herself the opportunity to hold back, she placed her hand on his and raised it to her breast. “Your mouth.” But that he’d understand her wants.
He growled. “Anything.” And then hot, laving, tugging sensations “Anything.” A gentle nip.
And then a not so gentle nip.
He devoured her with an enthusiasm she could not have imagined, fanning the desire he’d already ignited.
Everything he did, every touch, every taste, every move he made focused upon her needs and wants. He’d yet to remove any of his own clothing, and Loretta wasn’t so emboldened as to do it for him.
In no time at all, she was lost to all logic, pressing herself into his hand, gasping and writhing. How did he know? All she knew was sensation. Need and then gratification. And then greater need, sharp, vulgar carnal need.
Until everything spiraled mercilessly, sending her flying into the white explosions behind her eyes. She cried out, clutching him. Riding his hand. Tumbling around inside of her mind.
Ah.
Ah, yes.
CHAPTER SIX
Thomas feathered kisses along her brow. There was nothing else in the world like a woman after she’s experienced her climax.
After she’d come.
She lay beside him, spent, soft and lethargic. The color in her face, the flush on her neck and breasts had him unfastening his falls. He didn’t think he could hold off much longer without embarrassing himself.
Settling himself between her thighs, he placed himself at her opening and slid into her silky wetness. Her heated muscles clutched around him tightly.
He sensed her withdrawal, her reluctance, at once. “Don’t go all duchessy on me now,” he ordered. Likely, guilt was already forming. She’d oppressed such needs for years, her conscience probably was niggling. He watched her open her eyes, expecting to see regret.
“How can duchess be an endearment one minute, and an insult the next?” A light danced behind her eyes as she teased him. Not regret.
Thomas reached up to smooth some stray hair away from her face. Lovely, shiny brown hair with golden glints in it.
“I guess I’m just complicated that way.” He couldn’t hold back the intensity he felt burning inside him.
“Complicated? How so, Mr. Findlay?”
He answered with a deep thrust, causing a gasp to escape her lips. “How’s that for complicated?” And then another thrust.
And another.
Slender arms wrapped around his neck. “Thomas.” She mumbled his name.
He lifted her legs around his waist and pleasured them both this time. Sweetest rhythm in the world, most erotic dance, loveliest embrace of them all. His face buried in her neck, his mouth open to her skin. “Duchess,” he gasped. Not in a million years would he have imagined. “Loretta.”
She began moving with him. Clutching and meeting him as he drove them both. Was that her heartbeat or his own? Closer. He wanted closer to this woman.
He would conquer her and yet forever be her servant.
Another kiss. Deeper than the others. His tongue stroking inside her mouth, mimicking the motions of his cock. Drinking of her. Filling her.
She gasped. She cried out.
He hurried his pace, pounding into her, seeking her very core. He couldn’t go much longer.
And then it hit him hard. Jerking, convulsing, with one last thrust he released himself. Wholeheartedly. A climax unlike any he had ever known.
As he did so, she clutched and pulsed around him. He couldn’t stop tasting her. Loving her. Kissing her.
When he could no longer hold himself up, he collapsed atop this duchess. He’d move off in a moment. But for now, he couldn’t bring himself to let go.
***
Loretta had known there was more.
So much more.
When Prescott had come to her during those first few years of their marriage, he’d been performing his duty. He’d been dedicated to securing the succession.
She’d always felt like something of a chore.
He’d snuff the candles, push up her gown, spread her legs, and work himself inside her. “You are a good wife,” he’d told her on more than one occasion.
Thomas Findlay had proven her theory to be correct, oh, so very thoroughly. Although much larger than her husband had been, there had been no pain.
He’d prepared her for his entrance. And there had been more.
So much more.
Upon releasing his seed, Prescott would hold himself over her for a moment, withdraw and then leave the room.
It had never been about the two of them. It had always been about the dukedom. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Talk to me, Duchess.” Thomas lay atop her. “You’ve gone awfully quiet on me.”
Loretta opened her eyes and found him watching her intently.
“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t understand what they were doing, other than finding physical pleasure together.
He didn’t seem to appreciate her gratitude. “Thank you?” He raised both brows. “You are the most aggravating woman I’ve ever known.”
He would say these words to her with his member yet between her thighs. Blasted man!
“What would you have me say, Mr. Findlay.” Upon which his lips covered hers as though to stifle her speech so much as to express desire and affection.
“You’ll not ‘Mr. Findlay’ me now,” he growled, causing a girlish giggle to take over her affronted indignation.
“Mister Findlay,” she repeated when her mouth was finally free.
But then he grew serious. “I would thank you, but I think we both found pleasure.” Blue eyes gave her nowhere to hide. At moments like this, she recognized his insecurity with her.
She nodded. Yes. She’d found great pleasure with him. “It’s why I thanked you.” And then she added. “Thomas.”
Even with his hair mussed and sweat drying on his brow, this man’s looks affected her. So ruggedly masculine. A man who had labored. A man who was proud of his labors.
He possessed a self-esteem, the thought came to her from nowhere. She would never have discovered in her husband. Before she could stop herself, she’d reached out and was tracing the strong jaw hovering above her.
“You don’t talk to me enough, Duchess. Damned if I ever
knew a woman who talked as little as you.”
“I don’t know that you would wish to hear my thoughts.” For in her mind she constantly found herself comparing him to her husband.
“I’m curious as to what goes on behind those serious eyes of yours. Of what a duchess contemplates after being thoroughly swived by the great industrialist, Thomas Findlay.” Although his words were boastful, she recognized humility behind them.
Her title, her station in life, intimidated him.
“She thinks,” Loretta began, “She thinks she might possibly be sore tomorrow. She thinks she’s never known such exquisite pleasure. She thinks she might want to know such pleasure again…”
And she fears the self-recriminations she will surely experience tomorrow.
“What,” she asked, turning the tables on him, “does the great industrialist, Thomas Findlay think upon swiving the aging Duchess of Prescott?” She’d meant the question as a jest, but suddenly felt vulnerable lying beneath him.
“He thinks,” Thomas began, “that age has never looked better on a woman, let alone a duchess. He thinks…” His throat pulsed as he swallowed hard. “…he’s been given a great gift. And he thinks he might wish to know that same exquisite pleasure again as well. After…” Without breaking his gaze, he slid off her and adjusted himself more comfortably. “…a short nap.”
With his arms around her still, Loretta felt him relax beside her. The windows rattled as a gust of wind shook the small abode. A nap sounded heavenly. She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into his embrace. Just before drifting off, she was vaguely aware of him drawing the blankets up to cover them.
A gift.
He’d said she was a gift.
***
A chill sweeping through the room pulled her from sleep. But why was she sleeping in the middle of the day? For surely daylight filtered from behind her eyelids.
Loretta opened her eyes and all the indiscretions she’d engaged in swept through her in a rush of shame and something else.
Rebellion?
But she was alone now. Clutching the sheet to her breast ——good heavens, she was naked—— she crawled off the bed and then padded across the floor to peer outside.