by Alison Shaw
Rafe stared at him with glazed eyes and said hoarsely, “Please come here.”
Johnson stood still for a moment and then seemed to take pity on him. Calmly shrugging off his jacket, he began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Oh God!” Rafe cried out with frustration, and then Johnson put him out of his misery by kneeling on the bed next to him, gently pulling Rafe's hands away from his angry cock and lowering his head.
Rafe moaned even louder but this time in relief as Johnson's hot lips closed around the head of his cock and sucked him in. It was pure bliss and Rafe's hips thrust upwards as Johnson sank down almost all the way. Then he slid back up and licked and sucked the tip while Rafe grasped handfuls of his hair and moaned and moaned.
Johnson looked up at him, his dark eyes amused. “Is that good?” he asked, his tongue flicking out and licking over his slit.
Rafe merely grunted and pulled Johnson back onto him, ramming his hips upwards until with a hoarse cry he shot out streams and streams of seemingly never ending cum into the back of his valet's throat, making him choke and splutter.
“Blazes,” Johnson laughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You nearly bloody drowned me with your bloody spunk. You could have warned me.”
Rafe felt lightheaded. “That has been building up for days,” he said, slumping backwards onto the bed.
“It tastes rank,” Johnson said.
Rafe frowned at the silk lined canopy above him. At some point Johnson had stopped behaving as a servant should and he wasn't sure he liked it. His head swam not just with the lack of blood. He felt at the moment as if his life was in flux, as if everything he had tried so hard to rule was spinning out of control and whirling away from him.
Rafe was thinking about Charlotte as he made his way downstairs for dinner. He was wondering if she was lonely, left all alone at Fairburn House with no one to drag her into the nearest shady spot and lift her skirts. He stopped half way down the stairs and laughed to himself. She was probably glad to be rid of him and be left in peace. And then for a moment in the dark stairwell he allowed himself to wish he could marry Charlotte instead of an elegant virgin picked out by his mother. Lydia Maitland may make him as hard as nails but he doubted she would do half the things that Charlotte had done. He had a feeling that the Lady Lydia was going to be rather hard work, and just contemplating it made him tired. He loved an erotic challenge but not when it might last for the rest of his life. Maybe he would be better off with someone he desired less, or Charlotte who would make such a pleasant wife. But just imagining his Mother's response to that thought made his balls draw up tight.
The Lady Lydia grinned at him coquettishly throughout dinner, making sure he had a good view of the small bouncing breasts that peaked enticingly from her low cut bodice. His hands clasped his own thigh as he imagined what a perfect handful her tits would be and his lips itched to kiss her no doubt perfectly pink nipples. But he was no fool. He knew what she was up to. These delectable English roses were all masterful cock teases. They preened and pouted and tantalized but had no intention of actually delivering what they promised. She would be crying for her mother if he so much as touched her hand. If only she knew what she did to him. He was sure that if she were to see his rampantly enormous erection she might not be so amused by her own antics. He almost spat out his soup as he imagined her fleeing in horror.
She chose that moment to reach out for a strawberry and pinching it between her dainty fingers she eased it between her lips, fluttered her eyelashes and sighed. All Rafe's remaining blood rushed to his cock so suddenly he had to hold on to the table. All he could think about now was pushing his cock between those lovely lips. What if he were to marry her? If he married her he could take her whenever he wanted. He could ignore her crying and pleading or feigned headaches and demand his marital rights. He could have her in the name of procreation and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Under the table, his cock grew even harder at the thought. All he had to do was behave the besotted suitor until the marriage certificate was signed, and then he would make her pay for all her teasing.
His resolution to act the gentleman was not forgotten an hour later as he stood stock still in a darkened maze and listened to the girlish giggles on the other side of the hedge.
“Where are you Rafe?” she trilled in a singsong voice as he held his breath.
The moon shone full and bright above his head as he listened to her soft footfalls and giggles and yet again he was half hard. Was there no end to this torture? She must not find him. Who knows what might happen if they found themselves alone in this ridiculously romantic spot. He might not be able to control himself and his mother would never forgive him. He grimaced as he imagined Lydia's mother loudly informing all and sundry of how her daughter was molested in the shrubbery by that fiendish rake, the Earl of Langham.
Then there she was, smiling in front of him, her blonde curls gleaming in the moonlight, her cheeks flushed.
“Found you!” she declared. “You were hiding from me weren't you?”
Rafe didn't even dare speak. It was as if he were still pretending not to be there.
She took a step nearer. “I do believe the wicked Earl of Langham is scared of me.”
He shook his head as he backed away and felt the hedge against his back.
She laughed and took another step forward, her skirts brushing against his boots.
“No one knows we're here,” she whispered, and her finger trailed along the lapel of his coat.
He gulped and turned his face safely away from her hand.
She laughed again. “You are scared of me, you foolish man!” and her fingers played with the buttons down his front. If she went any further she was going to get one almighty shock. He almost whimpered as she leant nearer, and breathed, “Don't you want to kiss me?”
That was it! He couldn't take it anymore. He was only human after all, and gripping her bare arms, his fingers wrapping nearly all the way round, he heaved her against him and claimed her teasing little mouth with his own.
There was no sound of protest. She melted under him, her arms wrapping round his neck, her slim body plastered against his as he kissed her for all he was worth. His hand held the back of her head as his tongue pushed between her lips and she began to writhe against him as he plundered her mouth, his head swimming with a mindless, out of control lust. ‘Must stop, must stop,’ a voice chanted in his head but he was powerless now as his hands let go of her arms and instead cupped her breasts. Again, he was expecting a gasp of protest but none came and instead she moaned into his mouth as his thumbs found the hardened buds of her nipples pushing through the thin cotton of her dress.
“Oh God!” he groaned as he pulled his mouth away and looked down at the glorious sight of her breasts spilling over her bodice, pale and soft in his big hands.
“Yes, Rafe,” she murmured. “I want you so much, I can hardly stand it! Put your mouth on me, I want your mouth on me.”
With an incredulous groan, Rafe tugged her bodice down a little and lowering his head, he licked the nipple that was now peaking over her corset. Her hand raked through his hair as he sucked the nipple into his mouth. He was in heaven. He had died and gone to heaven.
But then a loud shout broke through his clouded thoughts and he pulled away from the woman in his arms only a moment before Phillip Kerridge came bounding round the corner followed by a young lady breathless with laughter. She stopped laughing when she saw Rafe and Lydia standing so closely together, Lydia's lips suspiciously plump and Rafe's hair in disarray.
Rafe had the wherewithal to realise that he would probably remember this moment for the rest of his life. It looked like his mother had a wedding to arrange.
Chapter 30
The Earl's Eyes are Opened
In which our rake spends a most enlightening day.
In order to protect Lady Lydia Maitland from any damaging gossip, the announcement of their engagement came th
e next day. Rafe sent a footman bearing a letter to his mother giving her the good news, and she appeared by lunchtime having commanded her coachman to ride the few miles to Kerridge Manor posthaste. Any hope that he may be left in peace now was dashed as she immediately commandeered Lydia's mother and they both launched into a frenzy of planning.
Lydia herself seemed relatively unaffected. She spent the day behaving the perfect lady, making sure that at all times they were chaperoned and Rafe began to think he had imagined her breathy entreaties of the evening before. "I want your mouth on me," she had said to him and he was hard just thinking about it, but there she was on the other side of the room, perched on a French sofa as if butter would not melt in her mouth. He could still picture her little pink nipples, puckered from the cold night air. He could still taste them.
After lunch the ladies demanded he accompany them on their walk rather than join the men for some sport. He was sorely tempted to refuse them but he supposed he should acquiesce if only for today, the first day of his engagement. He could put his foot down later, and once they were married, well, then she would have to obey him, and that would be a treat worth waiting for.
They gathered in the hallway and Johnson appeared with his hat and cane, in his usual relaxed but highly efficient manner. Lydia, on the other hand had suddenly tensed and her usual rosy cheeks were pale. She was staring at Johnson as if he were some kind of apparition, a most unusual reaction considering servants usually went unnoticed. And Johnson's eyes kept flicking sideways at her, his face impassive but his hands were trembling as he handed Rafe his hat.
At dinner, the men were sharing animated stories of the afternoon's shooting. Apparently, Randall Drummond had bagged three braces of pheasants and was regaling anyone in earshot about this impressive achievement. Drummond was a handsome, elegant man, Rafe had to concede that but he had never liked him, not in Eton when they had been boys and not now. He always seemed so damned pleased with himself.
But there was no avoiding him tonight, Drummond seemed intent on getting Rafe's attention and eventually he found himself cornered on the terrace, a glass of brandy pressed into his hand.
“I have heard a certain Miss Kemp is in your uncle's employee,” he said in a low voice, fixing Rafe with a cool grey gaze above the rim of the brandy glass.
Rafe's blood ran cold despite the warming liquor. “Yes,” he confirmed through gritted teeth, “And how are you familiar with that lady?”
Drummond gave a relaxed laugh. “I detect from your manner that you may be familiar with her too, Langham!” Then he leaned closer, close enough for Rafe to be able to smell his slightly unpleasant breath. “She's a comely piece and that's a fact. I had her every which way, and some of my friends did too. She would gladly spread her legs for anyone.” He pulled away and took another sip of his brandy. “Sometimes I miss that eager little cunt of hers,” he said wistfully.
Rafe could not trust himself to speak let alone move. His hands itched to hit the odious man, but behind him, through the terrace door he could hear gay laughter and he could not cause a scandal, not now he was betrothed.
Drummond laughed again. “I heard you hit Hooper! The man deserved it, he's a slimy little weasel.”
And so are you, thought Rafe, and taking a huge breath of the night air, he managed to turn around and return to the reception room, his blood boiling in his veins.
It was well past midnight when he finally escaped and was in the cool sanctuary of his room. Johnson was waiting for him, the sheets turned back and hot water ready in the washbowl.
“Was it a good evening?” he asked as he undid Rafe's neckcloth, standing close enough for Rafe to smell his spicy scent and the faint aroma of cheroots.
“No,” Rafe said sulkily. “It was hell.”
Johnson's nimble fingers pulled the necktie away and started on the buttons of his waistcoat. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said, tugging the waistcoat open. “Maybe I can do something to make you feel better?” and he looked directly at Rafe, his black eyelashes swooping over big brown eyes.
Rafe gulped and felt the familiar stirring of desire as his balls grew heavy. A beautiful man was slowly undressing him, he already felt better.
Johnson was now undoing Rafe's shirt, revealing his chest now heaving slightly with laboured breath. He bent his head and settled his hot lips on Rafe's cool skin. Rafe groaned and his hand gently touched Johnson's head, his fingers running through his silky hair, as a tongue flicked over one of his nipples.
“Come to bed with me,” he surprised himself by saying. “Stay the night.”
Johnson looked up at him and smiled sweetly making Rafe's heart give a little leap.
To be naked in bed with Eddie Johnson, pressed against his hard body was a treat not often indulged in and to have him for the whole night was hitherto undreamed of pleasure. This was a relaxed, soft Johnson that Rafe rarely encountered and he was determined to make the most of this opportunity. He began by running his hands over the muscles of his arms and chest and down over the wondrous ridges of his abdomen, then repeated the journey with his lips until he was hovering over Johnson's magnificent cock breathing in the salty sea smell of his pre cum. Normally, it was Johnson who serviced Rafe by sucking his cock or giving up his tight arse, but tonight Rafe was overcome with the need to please his valet, to drive him crazy with desire, to push him over the edge. So he licked and tongued him, and sucked him into his mouth, and massaged his balls until Johnson was gripping the headboard behind him and shouting out his release, shooting his hot cum over the tight muscles of his own belly.
When Rafe returned to bed after wiping them both down, Johnson rolled onto his side and examined Rafe's face for a while, his own expression tense and serious. “There's something I need to tell you,” he said. There was a moment of silence and then he continued. “I used to work for the Maitlands.”
Rafe remembered the awkward encounter in the hallway earlier.
“It was my first job after I went down to London. I was a footman,” he said leaving an unbearable pause between each sentence.
Rafe propped himself up on his elbow and attempted patience. He had a horrible feeling where this was going.
“I was eighteen,” Johnson said in a sudden rush. “Lady Lydia was fifteen, and a precocious little minx. I tried to fend her off but my God, she was persistent. She would corner me in empty rooms and grab my cock. What's an eighteen-year-old lad supposed to do faced with that? In the end, I gave in. It was that or be driven insane with lust. I was walking around with a permanent hard on.”
Rafe knew exactly how that felt.
“I took her virginity in the linen closet,” he said quietly. “Up against the shelves with pillow cases falling on top of us. I have never come so hard before or since,” he said wistfully.
Rafe was quiet and still for a moment, taking in what he had just been told. He found himself reaching out and stroking Johnson's cheek and then rolling him onto his back, he pinned him down onto the mattress.
“Are you angry?” Johnson asked warily as Rafe stared down at him, his cock rubbing against Johnson's. It seemed it wasn't anger he was feeling. The thought of the gorgeously young Johnson fucking the fifteen-year-old Lydia had him hard and throbbing, and he rubbed more insistently against his valet who was now responding in kind, his hips making little thrusts upwards.
“I want to make you come harder,” Rafe whispered as his cock slid against Johnson's, their combined pre cum creating a delicious lubrication.
Johnson groaned under him as Rafe lowered his head and sucked the skin of his neck into his mouth. He tasted like heaven, an intoxicating male flavour that had Rafe's cock swelling even more, if that were even possible.
“Fuck me,” Rafe muttered against his neck.
“What?” Johnson asked, incredulous.
Rafe lifted his head and stared down at his valet. “Fuck me,” he said again.
“Don't marry her,” Johnson said, as they lay sweatily entwined, bot
h of them still breathing heavily. “She doesn't love you. She only wants your title. She won't be faithful to you.”
Rafe could not help laughing at that. Johnson of all people was worrying about fidelity. Johnson who had fucked practically everyone in England, or so it sometimes seemed to Rafe.
“Maybe that will suit me,” he said. “I can please my mother and continue to do exactly as I please. If you think about it, it's rather convenient.” He turned around and fixing Johnson with a steady gaze he added, “But you mustn't touch her.”
Johnson flinched at his jealous words and realising what it must have sounded like, Rafe added, “You're mine now, not hers.”
Chapter 31
The Earl's Wedding Day
In which our wicked rake finally walks down the aisle.
The Earl of Langham yawned and turned over, blinking at the winter sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. There was something important about today and his half asleep brain tried to remember what it was, but a warm fist suddenly closed around his cock and all rational thought fled from his brain. A hot mouth soon joined the hand and he was as stiff as a post and ready to come. Groaning, he turned his head to see his valet still asleep beside him, his black eyelashes fluttering slightly on his crumpled cheek, his hair sexily dishevelled. If Johnson was asleep, who the hell was sucking him off? He groaned again as a silky little tongue worked its way across his balls and down to his arsehole. Then he remembered. Bloody Henry Barnes. That amoral idiot had brought one of his little whores to the house last night, and apparently she had taken one look at Rafe and his valet and switched allegiances. She was very talented, Rafe had to admit as her tongue found his cock again and she swirled it around his weeping head. He lifted the sheet to see a curly dark head of hair as she sucked him fully into her mouth. "Fuck," he hissed and his valet stirred beside him and opened unfocused eyes.