Miranda's Dilemma

by Natasha Blackthorne

  He traced a finger along her cleft. “How do you know that you do not like it? Did Carrville…”

  “No, no God no.” She panted for breath. “I would not have allowed him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I…I…”

  “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” He stroked her belly. The slow circular motion lulled her to a degree. Made it easier to draw a deeper breath.

  “You will expect me to…to…”

  “No, I won’t Miranda. I am not asking for this so that you will be obligated to me.”

  “No?” she asked, breathlessly.

  “No,” he replied, firmly.

  “Then why…”

  “I want to feel this—” He flicked his thumb against her erect, throbbing nub. “…against my tongue.”

  “Oh goodness.” It was all she could think of to say, his reply was so unexpected. She had never even thought of something like that, a man being so acutely aware of a woman’s…a woman’s what? Erection? Never would she have thought that he would want to stroke his tongue against it!

  But the image made her grow wetter. Made her internal muscles clench harder.

  Her channel clenched his finger as he thrust it into her. Oh, the delightful pressure. She gasped with pleasure.

  He put his hand over her lower pelvis, pressing down gently.

  A melting sensation threatened to overtake her senses. She moaned, unable to keep her hips from arching.

  “You are so deliciously wet now.” His voice was deep, impassioned. “I want to taste you.”

  “You do?” she asked, incredulously.

  He traced his thumb over her nub, making small circles.

  She cried out softly.

  “Do you like that, love?”

  “Oh God, you must know that I do.” Her voice sounded strange, distressed, and she couldn’t stop herself from writhing and writhing.

  “That’s all I want to do.” He kept circling and circling her. “Only I wish to do it with my tongue, not my thumb.”

  “Oh goodness…”

  “My tongue will be wet and warm, wouldn’t you adore that?”

  She put her hand to her mouth, stuffing it inside as her cunny clenched harder and harder. So intense. For a moment, she thought she was on the verge of coming.

  He stopped stimulating her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At the loss of the sweet pressure on her nub, Miranda gasped. She clutched at Adrian’s hand, unable to keep herself from trying to drag it back. “Oh please, oh please!”

  “Let me do it the way I want. Let me show you everything you have been missing.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips, turning it palm upward.

  His eyes glittered darkly. Wickedly. He snaked his tongue over her palm.

  Heated shivers passed through her. She writhed.

  “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop immediately and we’ll never do it again.”

  “All right,” she said, softly.

  “You want this from me?”

  “Yes…” She thrashed her hips. “Yes!”

  He traced his fingertips over the lips of her mons. “You are so beautiful here.”

  He bent. She held her breath as his head came to rest between her legs. Just the sight made her heart pound.

  He touched her with his tongue at the entrance to her channel then slid upwards.

  Sensation sparked through her.

  She arched her hips and cried out.

  He repeated the stroke of his tongue, once, twice, thrice.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” She arched and thrashed.

  He kept stroking her, just like that. His motions became a tease. Her nub throbbed and throbbed, making her long for him to stroke higher, to touch the straining protuberance.

  She clutched at his head. “Please, please!”

  He kept on teasing her

  She thrashed harder, shaking her head from side to side. Digging her nails into his scalp. “Please!”

  The last was a pained scream.

  He flicked her nub with his tongue. Pleasure sparked through her. She cried out, clutching his head more fiercely, drawing her legs together, as though her body sought to imprison him there.

  Her nub became harder than ever. Harder than she could remember it being. Her flesh clenched.

  He licked her nub, again and again. Wet, silk heat.

  The pleasure became almost a torture. Her hips jerked up and down, rapidly, frantically.

  She had never needed to come so badly. It was driving her insane. It was pain.

  Everything within her seemed to draw tight. Tighter than she could bear. She cried out with the distress. Then her whole body stiffened.

  Pleasure, unbearably sweet hot, molten honey shot through her loins, into her belly, firing sparks up into her womb. Down to her legs, her toes.

  Wave after wave of exquisite pleasure and delicious release. The waves rocked her from head to foot.

  The sensations were slow to die away. His open mouth resting on her flesh was still. Just resting there, absorbing the little shocks that continued to spark there.

  She panted for each breath. Her hands had gone a little numb from how desperately she had clutched his head.

  “Oh my God…” She was so breathless, she could barely speak.

  He lifted his head and rested a hand on her still heaving belly.

  His gaze was hot, burning her. “You are so sweet there.”

  He arose then jerked her skirts down before pulling himself up level with her face. Then his mouth was on hers, open, heated and hungry.

  His lips were still wet from her. She tasted the tang of herself on his tongue. The sense of intimacy was nearly shattering.

  He lifted his head then reached behind her to pull her hood over her head. Then he brought the two edges of her pelisse together and began fastening the frogs. “It is cold out here.”

  “Now you notice?”

  He laughed, his voice slightly husky. His eyes devoured her face and he touched her cheek gently. “Now when you think of taking a walk in the moonlight, you will always think of me.”

  She caught her breath, hearing what he was really saying. He had brought her here, done this delicious, delightful thing to her. But he had done it for a specific reason. He had done it to replace the memory of the boys’ attack on her.

  Affection filled her heart. It flooded her, threatening to overflow.

  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and her throat burned. She leaned forward quickly, pressing her face into the curve of his neck as hot wetness escaped her eyes. She bit her lip, hard, to keep herself from saying something foolish. To keep herself from showing this weakness.

  “My beautiful Miranda. We must get up into bed.” He stood then reached down and lifted her up into his arms then carried her to the house. Up to his chamber.

  He sat her in the chair. Then he ripped the covers from the bed, came back to her, swept her up and carried her to the bed.

  He laid her on the sheets, bending over her, his eyes dark and glittering with lust. He put his mouth on hers, kissing her deeply.

  He still tasted of her.

  That taste drove her wild. She moaned deep in her throat.

  He growled then lifted his head and then he began stripping her, quickly, systematically.

  Still dazed by the pleasure he had given her, she lay limp as a rag doll, allowing him to lift her and move her this way and that way as he worked to remove her garments. Here and there, she heard a seam tear. Perhaps a button or two popped.

  She didn’t care.

  She had never dreamed such pleasure could even exist. She had been acquainted with what pleasures her hand could give her but she had not known the extremes her own body was capable of.

  Clad now in nothing but her stockings and garters, she gazed up at him. “I did not know.”

  He walked away then returned to bring the lamp closer so that its light illuminated the bed. His eyes moved slowly over her body. C
aressing her.

  Devouring her.

  Then he chuckled. “You still don’t know. Not fully.”

  He stood and went to strip off himself, tossing his clothes to the chair by the bed.

  She wished he had not moved into the shadows and that there was more light than just the one lamp and the fire. That dim light cast frustrating shadows on his tall, lean-muscled, elegant frame.

  Without clothes, his hips were incredibly narrow, his stomach rock hard. A thin line of inky hair trailed down to a larger patch from which sprung the pale marble like shaft of his erection.

  His size made her suck in her breath and a slight tremble passed through her.

  But her intimate flesh clenched. Wetness gushed between her legs. She arched her hips and writhed.

  She uttered a soft moan.

  He swore softly. Then he lowered himself over her, covering her, his weight pressing her down into the bed. He slid his hand down her belly, over her mons and then delved between her folds to brush her nub.

  It tingled with his touch, becoming stiffened, enlarging.

  “God, I love this little part of you,” he said, still working it.

  She cried out.

  Her wetness increased. Her nub throbbed hungrily against his circling thumb.

  “God, God…” he said. Then he removed his hand and shifted his body. He put his knee between her thighs then he knelt there. His features were sharp with desire. He looked so fierce.

  Heated chills raced through her. Delicious shivers wracking her whole body.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was almost a growl.

  He touched the head of cock to her entrance.

  She sucked in her breath and grasped fistfuls of the sheet beneath her.

  He trust.

  Despite her wetness, her readiness, slight discomfort shot upward through her belly. It was the sweetest sort of discomfort. She tightened her hands on the sheets and arched up.

  He took a loud inhalation, then with a jerk of his hips, he thrust forward, harder, impaling her, stretching her. Filling her.

  She had never felt so stretched. So completely stretched.

  So completely possessed.

  It was a little uncomfortable.

  She clawed at the sheets, her flesh clenching and clenching around his girth.

  But her body was coming to terms with his size, with the depth of his invasion.

  The sweetest ache began to build within her.

  She rocked against him and moaned.

  He rocked his hips.

  Pleasure filled her. She moaned and savored each incredible inch of him embedded within her.

  He began to move. Faster and faster. He grasped her hips, his fingers digging in. He groaned. His erection seemed to become harder, bigger, throbbing relentlessly against the confines of her walls.

  She had never felt any thing like this.

  Oh, it was good. So good.

  He moved within her, faster and faster until suddenly he stopped and fell upon her, panting loudly.

  His cock still throbbed within her, seeming, unbelievably, to still be expanding.

  He was like steel within her.

  She reached up and clasped his shoulders. “More!” she demanded.

  “Wait—” His harsh breaths shook her. Sweat from his body fell upon her.

  She dropped her head back, feeling the muscles strain in her neck. She moaned and rolled her head on the pillow.

  “Christ, but you have a tight, hot little cunt,” he said, hoarsely. His erection throbbed hotly within her.

  Her flesh clenched in response.

  “God, God, you’ll kill me with that,” he said. “You are too deliciously tight.”

  “Please, please, please!” she urged, pressing her hips up against his pelvis.

  ”So perfect…so tight.” He spoke between giving her several hard, slamming thrusts.

  She dig her nails into the hard muscles of his upper arms.

  He drove into her harder and harder, faster and faster.

  She met him thrust for thrust, sweat pouring off her body. “Oh God…” she cried. “Oh God!”

  Her flesh clenched, spasms overtaking her, pleasure exploding within her so intense that she screamed.

  As the waves of her joy subsided, he pulled out of her.

  Panting for air, she watched him press his erection to her belly. White fluid shot from the tip of his shaft, leaving ribbons of hot seed on her belly.

  She reeled, both from the intensity of pleasure and the shock of loss that he had withdrawn from her.

  As she listened to the sounds of his harsh breathing, she slowly came back to her senses. She realized that of course he couldn’t come within her.

  He was not her protector.

  He would not want children of hers to support.

  Would she want a child of his?

  She had never allowed herself to ponder such a question before. There had never been worry to spare over such a question as would a protector ever make her with child.

  But of course it could happen.

  She didn’t know what she thought of that prospect.

  However, she still felt the sense of loss, emotionally, even as her body still twitched and ticked with the after effect of pleasure.

  He kissed her cheek. “That was for me.”

  She laughed. She did it to cover her lack of knowing what to say or do. She was overcome, dazed with pleasure.

  “This next will be for you,” he said, as he slid his hand up her waist.

  “So soon?”

  He smiled down at her. “There are only so many hours allotted per each night. We must not waste any of this one.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Their fifth day alone at Applewaite proved warmer than any day previous. Miranda cajoled Adrian into allowing her a respite from the delights of his bed so that they might enjoy a day exerting themselves at shuttlecock in the brilliant sunlight of the courtyard.

  The aim of the game was to keep the shuttlecock aloft at all times. Miranda had only ever played with older men or more sedentary men. It proved harder than she could have imagined to meet and match Adrian’s stamina for the game, and her gown was damp with sweat by the time luncheon approached.

  “Papa! Papa!”

  The child’s voice cut through the silence. Miranda whirled in the direction of the sound. A small boy of perhaps five or six ran towards them, clad in a blue superfine jacket and nankeen riding breeches. A tall, thin man dressed in an upper servant’s suit, Sanders the butler, followed close on the child’s heels, his face contorted with strain.

  Miranda glanced at Adrian, his face suffused with such love, it made her catch her breath.

  “Davey!” he called. A grin split the seriousness of his expression. He dropped to his knees and held his arms open.

  The boy launched himself into those arms.

  Adrian wrapped his arms about the boy’s small frame then stood, lifting him in his embrace into the air and spinning three times in rapid succession.

  The child squealed with delight.

  “Happy Birthday, Davey.” Adrian lowered him then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. The boy chortled then turned his attention to the path.

  Sanders stood there, catching his breath, beads of sweat on his forehead. “My lord, I am sorry. I meant to have them wait inside and to come and announce their arrival but…”

  Adrian held up a hand. “Never mind, Sanders.” He glanced at Davey with a grin. “And instruct Mrs. Meyers to bake a cake for we’re to celebrate Lord Davey’s birthday.”

  Sanders nodded, his expression softening. "She’s been baking all morning in anticipation of his lordship’s arrival.”

  Davey stared at Miranda with open curiosity, but Adrian’s attention was focused now on the path back to the house.

  A serious-faced boy of about eight was walking sedately toward them. With his coal black hair and handsome features, he was clearly another of Adrian’s sons. In Miranda�
�s experience, his dignified bearing marked him as the heir. An elegantly dressed, slightly balding man of middle height trailed behind him. The man’s gaze narrowed in on Miranda, and his mild countenance hardened into a scowl.

  From his appearance, she realized that knew this man as Carrville’s brother. But previous to this morning, she had never met him. But she had seen his portrait.

  “Percy,” Adrian said with a nod.

  “Danvers,” the man replied, now practically glowering at Miranda.

  She lifted her chin and offered the man a cold, haughty stare in return.

  Adrian held out his hand as the older boy approached. “Good Morning, Brentwood.”

  The boy’s gaze lingered on Miranda with mild curiosity. He did not take his hand but merely nodded. “Good morning, Father.”

  A look of discomfort flickered over Adrian’s face, but then he slowly lowered Davey to the ground and turned to Miranda. “Davey, Brentwood, I would like to introduce my friend, Miss Miranda Jones.”

  Percy made a choking sound, and his face turned red, even as his eyes widened with curiosity as he stared at Miranda.

  She was used to reactions like that. From fools. She ignored him and smiled at Adrian’s sons, greeting them and asking them the same banal questions about horses and dogs that she relied on to make conversation with gentlemen of all ages. She had never had to make conversation with noblemen of such a young age, but, to her relief, it turned out the same.

  Davey was practically breathless with joy over being gifted with his first pony. Even Brentwood allowed a small smile at his brother’s enthusiasm.

  Adrian watched Davey’s animation with amusement yet he could feel Jane’s uncle’s anger almost as though it were a tangible, seething ether on the air. Percy glowered at him. “A word with you, my lord, if you have the time.”

  Adrian nodded.

  “Miss Miranda Jones!” Percy’s voice broke and his face turned red. “She was Carrville’s night bird. And she is infamously wicked!”

  Adrian waved dismissively. “She’s just a girl.”

  “She is one of London’s most shameless jades.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I can’t believe you are here with a…a…” Percy turned even redder, the color spreading to his ears. It appeared that he might be struck by apoplexy any moment.