Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  "When we are alone like this, anything is permitted." "Anything?"

  "Yes. Whatever you say or do, it's all right. Do you understand?" "No."

  He smiled. "You will. This endeavor takes some getting used to, so this will seem awkward, but we'll practice till you get the hang of it."

  "You sound as if I'm a skittish mare and you're breaking me to saddle."

  "In a way, I guess I am."

  His gaze drifted down her torso, lingering at each delectable spot. His rapt focus made her throb and burn, made her desperate to try any deed he suggested.

  "You're very fine, Anne," he said. "Very beautiful. Have I ever told you that?"

  "No."

  "Despite what you assume, I'm delighted in my choice of bride. I couldn't be more pleased."

  He kissed her so tenderly, so sweetly. A silly flood of tears surged into her eyes, and she was beyond speech. She moaned a sort of pathetic wail and pulled him nearer, deepening the kiss, anxious to halt his compliments. She had no defense against them.

  The embrace intensified, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers at her bosom. They'd been down this track on the carnal road before, so she knew what was coming, and her anatomy was disgusting in its eager welcome.

  He trailed down her chest, rooting at her cleavage, and he tugged on the thin straps of her chemise, baring her breasts so he could feast. He suckled her, pushing her up and up into the spiral of ecstasy, and she was so disordered that she didn't realize he'd continued ridding her of her chemise, that he was working it down her belly, her legs.

  Shortly, she'd be nude, and she grabbed at it, needing the scant protection it provided.

  "Let it go, Anne." He appeared tense and annoyed. "I want you naked."

  "No, not naked," she protested.

  "Yes."

  She held on to it as if it were the last wall around the castle, and he the invading army, but he ripped it away.

  "This is how I want you," he said, "and how you shall be for me whenever I demand it of you." "But... why?"

  "Because I am your husband and it's what I enjoy more than anything in the world." "It's too much, too soon."

  "If we went slower, we'd still arrive at the same conclusion, and I can't bear to delay. I want you too badly." "You do?"

  "Yes. I always have. From the very first day."

  Could that be true? She didn't think so. He'd been complaining about her to his brother.

  His hand was between her legs and probing her sheath, making her wet, making her ache. His thumb dabbed at the sensitive nub he'd previously located, and she easily soared to the heavens. With this second demonstration of passion, the ending came more quickly and was much more powerful, and she could only wonder if it grew more potent with each attempt. If so, she'd likely expire from lust.

  As the commotion waned, he hovered over her, strained and keeping a firm rein on his control. The ferocious gleam in his eye was terrifying, and it boded ill for whatever was coming next.

  Nervously, she licked her lip, the gesture galvanizing his attention.

  "What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

  He was fumbling with his trousers. "This is the wifely obligation you've heard about, Anne. All women learn it eventually. In the beginning, it might seem peculiar—or even a little scary—so relax as much as you can."

  Relax! Was he insane? She was so rigid with alarm that she felt as if she might shatter. 'Tell me what will occur."

  "We're about to mate, Anne. I'll join myself to you in a special way."

  "What does that mean?" ' "I'll show you."

  He clutched her thighs and widened them, his torso dropping between them as if he was created to fit there perfectly. Suddenly, he was pressing something into her, and she panicked and started to struggle.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Hold still."

  "Not till you tell me what's happening." "You trust me, don't you?" "I absolutely don't. You're a fiend and a bully." He chuckled, but it was a tortured sound. "If I'm not inside you immediately, I can't predict what I'll do." "You're talking in riddles."

  He flexed against her, again, again. The pressure was extreme, the exploit too odd to be described or believed.

  "Jamie, you're frightening me." "I'm almost done." "Stop it. It's too big."

  "No, it's not. It's exactly the right size. You're a virgin, so your body is fighting its fate. It's a natural

  It didn't feel natural, and she wrestled in earnest, but he scarcely noticed.

  He yanked her thighs even wider, and with a particularly vicious thrust the object he'd wielded burst into her. She reared up and cried out in agony, but he swallowed down her anguish with a delicious kiss. He was very still, cradling her in his arms.

  "Hush," he soothed.

  "What was that?" A few tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. Her respirations came in short gasps.

  "I've finally made you mine in the only way that counts."

  "You said it wouldn't hurt," she accused. "I lied." He wasn't contrite in the least. "But this is the only time it will. After tonight, it won't bother you." "I'm not a virgin anymore, am I?" "No."

  She now understood why maidens were kept in the dark about matrimonial duty! What female would willingly submit to such a humiliation?

  "What did you push into me?"

  "A piece of myself, Anne. We're built differently. I've bonded with you as no other man ever will."

  She was trembling with shock, but he wasn't in such a great condition, either. Obviously, he was restraining himself, every muscle taut with anticipation. She took a deep breath and let it out, the simple motion calming her slightly, and she seemed to pull him into her even farther.

  He shuddered with what appeared to be pain. Was he suffering as she was suffering? Males were purported to relish the endeavor, but why would they?

  "I can't wait," he said. "I have to finish it."

  "What should I do?"

  "Hug me as tight as you can."

  He eased into her over and over, and he was being very careful, trying not to injure her more than he just had. To her amazement, the ache was lessening, the position seeming more normal by the moment.

  He growled low in his throat, and he drove in all the way, his anatomy quaking with his attempts at control, then it was ended, and he slumped down onto her. She could feel his heart hammering under his ribs.

  They were frozen in place, the rod he'd inserted remaining hard, and he sighed with satisfaction. But as he grew more composed, he glared down at her, almost as if he were angry.

  "I want you again," he peculiarly claimed. "Already, I want you again!"

  He voiced the comment as if it was a complaint, and he began, once more, but with none of the moderation he'd exhibited prior.

  She'd acclimated to the strange coupling, and while she'd found the initial experience unpleasant, the second one was very interesting—as he'd promised it could be. As he kissed and fondled, coaxed and praised, she was stunned to find herself responding quite vigorously.

  Her hips adopted the tempo he'd set, meeting him thrust for thrust. He became more focused, more wild, his penetrations working her across the mattress till her head was banging into the headboard.

  The tension escalated, and as he reached down and touched the special spot at the center of her torso, she shattered with ecstasy, and he did, too, both of them shouting out with an excitement that was shamefully thrilling.

  They soared to the peak together; then they floated down, until they landed—tangled and sweating—in the middle of their marital bed.

  "Oh my," she murmured. "Is it always like that?"

  "It definitely can be, my little strumpet."

  He laughed and slapped her on the rear; then he drew away. As their bodies separated, she winced, her feminine flesh protesting its new state.

  He turned her onto her side so that he was spooned to her. As if he cherished her, as if she was his dear bride in truth, he brushed a tender kiss on her bare shou
lder.

  'That wasn't so bad, was it, Mrs. Merrick?"

  "No," she said, her tummy tickling at hearing how he'd referred to her. "Not bad, at all."

  "Let's rest a bit; then we'll do it again." He paused. "Unless you're too sore?"

  "I'm sore," she admitted, "but if you're game, so am I."

  "That's my girl."

  He tucked a blanket over them, sealing them in a snug cocoon, and she closed her eyes. In an instant, she was asleep.

  Eleven

  Jamie awakened next to Anne. She was snuggled to him and sleeping like a babe, as if they'd been wed for an eternity

  He'd been a beast, and he understood that he had been, but his crude behavior couldn't be helped. He wasn't a calm or patient man, wasn't prone to verbal discussions or romantic wooing. He was a man of action, of few words and plenty of authority.

  It was growing painfully obvious that being married to her would never be boring. She had a temper, and she had some backbone, and while he'd always presumed he liked his women to be meek and submissive, he was slowly changing his mind.

  He liked her just fine, when he didn't want to like her, and his elevated sentiment scared the hell out of him.

  He simply wanted to wed her and get his line of heirs established. His sons and their sons would rule at Gladstone for a thousand years and a thousand years after that. Whenever a new boy was birthed, Jamie's father would roll in his grave, the thought of which tickled Jamie enormously.

  Anne stirred, cuddling closer. They were both naked, her lush, shapely body pressed to his all the way down. He was hard as a rock, his cock keen with arousal and demanding a bit of morning delight.

  It would be easy to coax her to consciousness, but he wouldn't. He'd had her several times during the night, and she had to be sore as the dickens. After he'd rutted with such reckless abandon, she'd probably need a month to recover, and he'd be lucky if she let him near her ever again.

  He couldn't describe what had driven him to such excess. He never lost control with a paramour, yet he'd been randy as a sixteen-year-old lad.

  There were so many willing women in the world, and so many of them had drifted through his worthless life. He viewed sex as a physical release, and he'd always deemed one female to be much the same as the next, especially after he blew out the candle.

  Why was Anne so different?

  He studied her, thinking how beautiful she looked, how sweet she was, and the strangest sensation swept through him. His heart began to ache, and it seemed to swell, as if it didn't fit under his ribs anymore.

  She was so perfect, so young and innocent, and she was his. His!

  Shortly, he'd marry her true. He'd be expected and entitled to watch over her and keep her safe, and the notion created a possessive wave of excitement so foreign to his character that he was terrified.

  What was the matter with him? He was carrying on like a virginal girl with her first swain, and he wouldn't allow himself to be inundated by affection.

  He was marrying Anne because the Prince had asked it, because Jamie would have done anything to secure his place at Gladstone. She was a means to an end, very much like a brood mare he might have purchased at an auction.

  If he was unsettled, it was merely because he'd been under so much pressure. The stakes were very high, and she was part of the resolution. Plus, he'd been extremely busy and too distracted by events to locate a good whore. The combination of abstinence and tension must have made their fornication seem more refreshing than it actually had been.

  She was pretty and interesting, but not unique by any stretch of the imagination. He wouldn't let her be. Nor would he wallow in bed with her like a besotted bridegroom who was too infatuated to leave her side.

  Very carefully, he slipped from her arms and eased off the mattress. For the longest while, he stared down at her in a smitten stupor, massaging his wrist and rippling with unfulfilled yearning, but once he realized how pitiful he was acting, he lurched away and hurried to his room. He washed and dressed, then raced downstairs. Briefly, he considered stopping for breakfast, but he was so overwrought that if she waltzed in while he was eating, he'd gape at her like a love-struck fool, which he refused to do.

  The chances were great that there'd be no wedding that day, and maybe not for a few days after that. They couldn't possibly proceed until he'd gained some control over his careening, absurd emotions.

  He marched out to the stables, saddled his horse, and galloped away, quickly putting as much distance as he could between himself and the manor, and he couldn't predict when he'd return.

  Hello, Jack. You don't mind if I call you Jack, do you?" "No, I don't mind." Jack glared at Ophelia. She resembled a deadly spider, one that would sneak up and bite without warning. No doubt, her sting would be lethal.

  He was perched on a log behind the stables, taking a break in the shade from an afternoon of chores. As she sauntered over, she was very fetching, the bodice of her gown tugged extra low to reveal her large breasts, her bonnet tilted at just the right angle to flatter her winsome face.

  He couldn't move beyond the impression that she'd intentionally tracked him down, so instantly he was on guard. He was aware of how she'd crawled into Jamie's bed, which was one of the more bizarre occurrences since their arrival, so Jack wouldn't put anything past her.

  She sat next to him, and she took an inordinate amount of time fussing with her skirt so that it was perfectly arranged. Then she shifted and leaned in, surprising him with how much of her body rested against his own.

  Her pose had to have been rehearsed for maximum effect, and he almost laughed aloud but didn't. Obviously, she wanted something from him, and whatever it was, his response would be no, but he was humored to have her beg so charmingly.

  "I need to ask you a question." She was practically batting her lashes.

  "I hope I have an answer."

  "Oh, I'm sure you will. I noted that there's a new boy working in the barn." "Yes, there is."

  "But no one sought my permission for the change to be implemented." "Really?"

  "I've always given the orders as to the house and grounds." "Have you?"

  She gave a credible pout, the sort that pursed her lips in an appealing way and would have spurred a more imprudent man to kiss them.

  "You're making me feel positively unnecessary."

  "We can't have that, can we?"

  "Will you promise to consult with me from now on?"

  "Why, yes," he lied. She was the last person on earth from whom he'd solicit an opinion. "I don't see why not—if it will make you happy."

  She smiled her thanks, and she placed her palm on the middle of his chest, rubbing it in slow, calculated circles.

  "I've been watching you around the estate," she said. "You and your brother are so much alike." "We certainly are."

  "But you seem so much more manly than him."

  She simpered in not-so-subtle invitation. Her nipple was poking into his forearm like a shard of glass.

  "I can't believe you noticed," he replied, toying with her. "Everyone thinks he's the best and brightest, simply because he's a few minutes older."

  "Who would presume such nonsense? Only an idiot would fail to observe your vigor."

  "That's what I've always thought."

  "You should have been earl. Not him. It's written in your character as plain as day. Oh, how can you bear it? How can you stand by as he runs amok with all our lives?"

  "I can't. It drives me mad."

  "It's such an injustice."

  "If I was earl," he boasted, "I'd do things differently."

  "I just knew you would!" she gushed. "That's why I decided to speak with you." "On what topic?"

  Matters were getting interesting. She'd turned so that the front of her torso was flattened to his, and with how her corset was pushing her breasts up and out, his view was intoxicating. Pathetic as it sounded, his cock grew hard merely from pondering the possibilities.

  "If you were the earl," s
he said, "you wouldn't send me away, would you?"

  "Definitely not."

  "I knew it! I knew you'd be kinder than your brother. This is my home. I shouldn't have to leave it, should I? Will you talk to him for me? Will you convince him to let me remain? I'd be ever so grateful."

  She raised up and brushed her lips to his, and if he hadn't detested her so much—if she hadn't been his sister!—he'd have considered her proposition. Unfortunately, he had a few scruples in his sexual affairs. Not many, but a few. More than Jamie had anyway.

  Call him crazy, but he wouldn't fornicate with a female he loathed, and when he slid between a woman's thighs he liked to pretend he was the only one who'd been there in a while.

  His dear sister failed on both counts.

  Who was she fucking to have gleaned such carnal experience? Unless she wallowed with the hired help, which he couldn't envision, the only other man who was constantly underfoot was Percy. The notion would have been funny if it hadn't been so distasteful.

  "There's just one problem," Jack murmured, drawing away.

  "What is it?"

  "Jamie is marrying Miss Carstairs, so it will be up to her to determine who is to stay and who is to go."

  At his mentioning Anne Carstairs, Ophelia's flirtatious mask slipped, and she scrambled to keep it from vanishing altogether. "But you can't mean for it to be me who goes. Not when we've just begun to get acquainted. We could become such good friends."

  "It's out of my hands, I'm afraid."

  "What if Anne sides with your brother? What if she demands my departure?"

  "Then there'll be no hope for it. You'll have to leave."

  "There must be something I could do to make it worth your while to intervene." "I can't imagine what it might be." "Are you certain?"

  She flashed a wicked look of licentious promise that he felt clear down to his toes, and he could vividly picture the whore's tricks she might ultimately perform. It was such a diverting prospect that he nearly relented.

  Instead, he clasped her arms and set her on her feet; then he stood, too. She frowned with fury, and suddenly she wasn't quite so attractive.

  "You never had any intention of assisting me," she charged.