And yet, when he lifted his mouth from hers to draw breath, she asked, “What of Darius?”
This caused Corwin to smile, but his hand did not cease its maddening attention to her breast. “I am not sure I understand, Miranda.” He lifted her breast upward and planted a silken kiss on the exposed skin right at her gown’s neckline. As soon as his lips touched her there, Miranda could not remember what she’d asked.
But it was important. It was. “Should we ... without him?”
Corwin drew back, his face a study in wounded pride. “Do you doubt my ability to satisfy you without Darius’s assistance?” He leaned close again, his breath hot against her ear. His hand worked her breast, his ceaseless bold caresses filling her with the sweetest agony she had ever known. “Miranda, you have only begun to discover what I can do with you and to you.” She tightened her thighs to try to stop her pussy’s straining, but this proved to be a mistake. It only trapped her wet heat, and even that felt good.
“I will make you come with my mouth on your pussy; then I will make you come again with my fingers inside your sheath,” Corwin whispered, and each word seemed to invoke the sensation it described. “I will teach you all the delights of servicing a man’s cock, and I will drive you to the heights of pleasure while you have me in your mouth.” Miranda moaned at his words and rubbed her thighs together. She could come like this, with just his words and breath burning against her skin. “Only then will I enter your sweet, sweet pussy. I will fuck you long and slow until you beg me to make you come again. Then, for doubting me, I will make you wait while I take my full pleasure of you, sheathed so tight inside you, stroking your ass and your clit ...” A thought seemed to strike him. “Do you know what I mean by your clit, Miranda? It is just here ...”
His hand thrust between her thighs and pressed the fabric of her skirt right into her slit, and his fingers found the sensitive nubbin of flesh there. Delight lanced through her and she moaned.
“Or perhaps I’ll just tease you like this.” Corwin circled his fingers, rubbing her own skirts against her. “Perhaps I’ll show you I can make you come for me without even removing a stitch of clothing.”
Miranda groaned, and Corwin laughed, a low, throaty, intensely exciting sound. He pressed his fingers closer, rubbing harder. She gasped and arched her hips, and he caught her ass with his other hand. Now she was trapped. He was rubbing her hard with both hands, one front and one back, a wicked, burning massage.
“Touch your breasts, Miranda,” he urged. “Caress yourself. It will feel so good. You know it will.”
She did know it. She ran her hands over her breasts, capturing her own nipples through the fabric of her demure day gown, pinching and rolling them as Darius and Corwin both had. She sighed with the pleasure flooding her, and this only made him rub her harder. The pleasure sharpened, stretching to fill her, raising her up toward her limits.
“Oh, yes!” she cried. “Oh, Corwin!”
“Tell me what you want, Miranda. Tell me what you need.”
“I want to come! I want you to make me come!”
“As my lady commands.”
He cupped her ass tight with one broad hand and pressed the heel of his other palm firmly and suddenly against her throbbing clit. Miranda squeezed her breasts and the pure hot pleasure burst through her, splintering her awareness and driving her body into spasms. It seemed an age before they faded, bringing her back down to the world of sunlit warmth and to Corwin cradling her against his strong chest.
“Miranda.” He kissed her softly on her cheek, on her brow, as she wilted against him. “My beautiful Miranda. You will not, I trust, doubt me anymore?”
“No, oh, no. But ... that wasn’t why I was asking ...”
“I know.” She felt him smile wickedly against her temple. “But I could not resist.” He kissed her throat. “Well, perhaps I could, but I did not wish to.”
“But ...” Guilt threatened. She had done so much that was beyond the pale in the last forty-eight hours—in the last forty-eight minutes—that she felt in danger of losing all sense of right and wrong, at least while this man was near her. “But, aren’t you and Darius ... together?”
“We are lovers, and have been for several years. You knew that, Miranda.” He took her hands and backed into the woods, drawing her with him.
“Yes, I did. And that’s why ... if you and I ... That is ... if we continue ...”
He arched his brows. “Are we betraying him? Specifically, am I betraying him with you?”
“Yes. You must be aware, this ... situation ... It is a little complex.”
“And highly unorthodox.” Corwin sat down in a nest of ferns with his back against an ancient oak and stretched his legs out in front of him. From this angle, Miranda could see the outline of his hard cock clearly, and it was a most distracting sight. “To answer you, no,” said Corwin. “Being here with you is in no way a betrayal of my relationship with Darius.”
“I don’t understand.” He still held both her hands, and now he was looking up at her with the most absurd lopsided smile on his face. Drat the man, this was important! Even now, with him so hard and her still so wantonly, wickedly hot.
“You don’t understand wanting to make love with Darius? Really, Miranda, you certainly had me deceived ...”
“Stop it.”
“I’m sorry, but, my dear, you do turn such a wonderful shade of rose when you are teased.” He let go of her hands, and began to take his gloves off, tugging at them one finger at a time. It was a simple thing, an everyday sight, but Miranda couldn’t take her eyes from his hands. Her breath grew shallow and her dress felt far too tight across her breasts.
“I don’t understand how you could be with him, and still want me,” she said hoarsely.
“And I don’t understand how anyone could see you and not want you,” he replied frankly as he removed his hat, dropped his gloves into it and set it aside. “Or Darius either. You are both so strong, so passionate and so very beautiful.” He took her hands again, drawing her down to him. She moved to sit beside him, but he guided her straight onto his lap, not astride, but what she could only think of as sidesaddle. “I do not deny I am unusual in that I have no preference in whether my bed partners are ... crested or cloven, shall we say. I enjoy the delights of both men and women, and both at once if all parties are willing. It is not something that has always been easy.”
“And Darius? Does he play this game because of you?”
“It is no game, Miranda.” Corwin lifted her dangling—and somewhat squashed—bonnet off her shoulders and set it down beside with his hat. “Not to me, and I hope not to you.” He raised her right hand and with his very capable fingers undid the buttons on her gloves. He was undressing her, and himself, in daylight. She should have been shocked, she should have been at least distracted, but as it was, she felt ever-so-slightly impatient.
“But what of Darius?” she pressed.
Corwin stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. “You care a great deal about what he thinks.”
“I have no wish to hurt him, or to ... come between you.”
A new light shone in Corwin’s dark eyes, something softer and gentler. It felt for a moment that she had seen through to something deeper than she had yet known from him. “You are a good woman, Miranda Prosper, and you have a good heart,” he said with a true tenderness in his voice. “I cannot tell you all I know, because there are some things it is only right that Darius tell you himself. But I can tell you this much. Darius is like me, although he does not choose to admit it. He wants—he needs—both men and women. But he does not give himself as ... lightly as I sometimes have. His heart has been broken in the past, and broken badly. Now he guards himself from harm by pushing those around him away.” Corwin tilted his head to one side. “Again, in this I think you and he are very much alike.”
Which was truer than she wanted to consider at this time. “But ...” she began.
“Miranda.” Corwin wrapped h
is arms firmly around her waist. “I have been most patient with these questions, but the time for talk is long past. I want you, my dear, and I will have you.”
She had no idea what mischief made her raise her brows. “Will you indeed, sir?” She started to scramble to her feet.
The world spun. Miranda suddenly found herself flat on her back amid the ferns. Corwin held her wrists pinned on either side of her head and he straddled her, his hard, muscular thighs trapping hers.
“Yes, I will.”
His kiss was hard, hot and merciless. He gave no ground, gave her no chance to respond in kind; he simply took and took until breath and sense were gone and Miranda could only yield before his onslaught. It was wonderful. He was magnificent, and her surrender to his thrusting, stroking tongue sent a fresh wash of delight through her sensitized body. His weight should have overwhelmed her, but it didn’t. She welcomed him, arching her hips against his, reveling in the tight press of his body. She wanted to touch him, to caress his ass and his thighs, but he held her helpless, intent on taking all he wanted of her mouth.
All at once his arms were around her shoulders and the world spun again. Now he was the one on his back, and Miranda was on top and astride him. His hands stroked her back, and lingered on her ass, cupping, massaging, wantonly enjoying the soft flesh there.
Miranda wriggled, rubbing her breasts against his chest, and her pussy against his cock. She sat up, which, she found, pressed her ass more firmly into his eager hands. She could see his face now, his wicked and delighted grin, his eyes made bright by passion.
Miranda ran her palms down his chest, feeling how hard he was breathing, and then she dragged them in slow circles over his bulging cock. She’d never get enough of touching him there. It was as exciting and fascinating as the feel of his hands on her, especially when he sighed as he did now, and arched himself underneath her.
All of which turned her mind toward their previous conversation. “You said you would teach me ...”
Of course he knew instantly what she was talking about. “So I did, and so I will. But not now, my dear, we have not the time I wish to devote to that most-pleasant lesson. No, for now, we must take the road we have traveled before.” He reached beneath her skirts, running his hot hands up her thighs. Miranda sighed and closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on his touch. His hands splayed across her thighs for a delectable moment before he found her curls and stroked, dexterously fondling her folds. Then, all at once, he thrust two fingers into her and she gasped and rocked forward, forcing him deeper.
“Naughty, naughty, Miranda.” His fingers wriggled inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her and at the same time making her giggle. “You are so eager to touch me, my dear, why don’t you put my cock into this lovely, wet pussy?”
It was difficult to move with any kind of conscious volition while he stroked her, long and slow, as he’d promised. Only the understanding that his cock would feel even better inside than his hand gave her the ability to work the buttons on his breeches’ fly, to reach inside with both hands to cup and caress his hard, thick cock.
“Oh, yes, Miranda.” Corwin closed his eyes and his fingers thrust deep, showing so plainly what he wished to do. She ran her fingers up and down his shaft, delighting in the heated velvet of the skin there. “Yes.”
He withdrew his fingers and with both hands roughly pushed her skirts up around her thighs. Miranda lifted herself onto her knees and with both hands guided him to her entrance. His hands gripped her ass and she felt him shudder, sensed he was restraining himself from slamming her down against him so he could bury himself to the hilt inside her. A sense of power surged into the pleasure and she lowered herself a bare inch, just enough so her folds enclosed the head of his cock.
“Oh, Miranda.”
“‘Oh, Miranda’ what?” She reached behind herself and pulled his hands away, holding them out to the sides. She had no idea what made her so wicked and bold. She had no idea if such things were even done. But she wanted to do this. She wanted to see the way it made him drop his head back as she snuggled him inside her, just a little bit more.
“Oh, Miranda, please.” It was a game; they both knew it. He could break her hold in a second if he wanted to, but the sound of him begging her sent another rush of heat through her. She was strong, daring, free. She could do whatever she wanted to this beautiful, powerful man and he would only beg her for more.
“Please what?” she settled herself further. It was maddening to have him half-in, half-out like this, and yet she forced her knees to hold still.
“Please, take me deep,” he groaned. “Please, take me all the way inside your gorgeous, hot pussy.”
“As sir commands.”
Miranda let her knees buckle and pressed down until he was fully seated inside her. She gasped and called his name and he wrapped both hands around her hips. She leaned forward, meaning to kiss him, but he lifted himself up and instead rubbed his face against her breasts.
“Wicked woman,” he whispered, kissing her breasts, lapping at her nipples through the fabric of her gown while his hands stroked her thighs. “Ride me, Miranda. Ride my cock.”
She began at once to move, rocking her hips back and forth. The sensations were maddening. But it was evidently not enough for Corwin. He shoved his hands back under her skirts and gripped the halves of her ass, lifted her up, and slammed her down.
“Ah!” she gasped as he filled her utterly. “Ah!”
He lifted her again, and again. It felt so good. She wanted it, wanted more, wanted faster. She raised herself, and fell on him, impaling herself on him over and again, aware of nothing except the honeyed delirium of his hands, his cock.
“Ride it hard!” he commanded.
“Yes!” She bucked against him, her body beyond her control, seeking only the pleasure of him, wanting him entirely inside her, wanting to hear him cry out, to command, to beg. His hands were on her ass, her hips, her breasts. His tongue was everywhere too, laving her breasts, lapping her throat and thrusting inside her mouth as his cock thrust into her pussy.
“Corwin!” she screamed against his mouth as she came undone. He gripped her hips ruthlessly, forcing her against him even as her climax rocked her so hard she could not see. There was nothing in the whole of the world save the ocean tide of ecstasy rolling her under, and then she felt him beneath her, thrusting up, wild uncontrolled, lost, completely undone by the pleasure of her body.
Ten
Viola Thayer waited while the footman announced her, then breezed into Daphne Quicke’s sitting room. Mrs. Quicke stood as Viola entered, looking cool and collected, but Viola felt the excitement simmering just beneath the woman’s skin. Daphne was at home, alone, on a fine afternoon in a sitting room that sported last year’s colors. Viola also could not help but note the distinct absence of invitation cards on the mantel. Even with the season just about finished, there should have been one or two for the coming summer exodus.
Oh, dear, Mrs. Quicke, are the ladies of the ton finally tired of you chasing after their men?
“Lady Thayer.” Mrs. Quicke made her curtsy. “How delightful! Won’t you sit down? Halloway, send in Mellon with another cup.”
“I am so glad I caught you at home, Mrs. Quicke.” Viola smiled and settled on the chair offered, adjusting her skirts minutely. “What a charming room! So sunny, and such delightful colors.”
“Why, thank you.” Mrs. Quicke accepted the compliment without batting an eye. “And may I say what a wonderful time Miranda and I had at your party. Such charming society! I declare I feel ten years younger for it!”
The girl arrived with the fresh cup and saucer, and there was a pause in the mutual flattery while Mrs. Quicke ascertained how Viola took her tea—with lemon—and offered sandwiches—cucumber—and biscuits—declined. Viola watched Mrs. Quicke surreptitiously while she fixed the plate and cup. Daphne was aging as gracefully as a woman could, but the signs were there. Her hair was too bright from the dye.
The skin around her throat was beginning to sag and the creases at the corners of her eyes were deepening and spreading. But it was the veins on the backs of Daphne Quicke’s hands that truly gave her age away. No young woman had such hands. And it was not only the room that was wearing last year’s colors. Mrs. Quicke’s light blue afternoon gown had been made over at least once.
“Thank you.” Viola accepted the cup and sandwich. “I am a little surprised to find you alone,” she remarked. “Where is Miranda this afternoon?” She sipped her tea and had to acknowledge that it was very good. Daphne Quicke clearly was a mistress of the art of keeping up appearances.
“She has gone walking with that charming Mr. Rathe. You won’t mind my saying, Lady Thayer”—Daphne Quicke dropped her voice into a confidential tone—“I had all but given up hope for Miranda. It pains a mother’s heart to say it.” Here Mrs. Quicke laid a dramatic hand on her bosom. “But it is true. Now, though, I should be very much surprised if there was not something ... beginning.”
“As should I, Mrs. Quicke.” Viola nodded, grateful her opportunity had come so soon. “That was why I particularly wished to have a word with you.” She set the cup down and assumed a serious mien. “I wanted to put you on your guard.”
“On my guard? Why, Lady Thayer, whatever do you mean?” It was a breathless protestation, but Lady Thayer saw the caution behind it. You already suspect something, don’t you? Perhaps that your little Miranda is not quite the innocent she was? If you only knew ...
Lady Thayer laid her hand on Mrs. Quicke’s “I am afraid, my dear Daphne ...” She paused. “I may call you Daphne, mayn’t I?”
“Of course, of course.”
“And you must call me Viola.” Viola watched her flattering familiarity do its work before she scooted just a little closer. “I’m afraid, Daphne, that Mr. Rathe is not quite what he represents himself to be.”
Marissa Day Page 9