On These Silken Sheets

by Sabrina Darby

  The room spun around her, wildly dark, but his arms held her up. His hips pressed against hers and through the thin layers of her dress, she could feel his cock, warm and hard.

  He was moving fast, as if she would stop him if he gave her too much space. Despite everything, she nearly laughed at the thought. She would not stop him.

  She sank into the embrace.

  When he tugged at her turban, unravelling the gold fabric, she didn’t protest, but when he started to touch her mask, she did.

  “There are rules, Sir Robert,” Lucy reminded him. The foremost rule of Harridan House was that if someone wished to keep their identity anonymous through the use of a mask, their wish must be respected.

  “I wouldn’t dream of breaking them,” he responded and moved his hand away—down to her hip, then sliding further to her buttocks as he pulled her tighter against him. He bent his head again. She tilted her head up to meet his lips but found only air and then the hot, dizzying press of his mouth against her neck.

  She cried out at the sensation. His tongue moved and Lucy knew she would simply die if he licked so exquisitely even another inch. Which of course he did and she wrenched her head away. It was too much.

  He let her break away. She found him staring at her as if she were a puzzle he had to solve.

  “You have limits then, as well as rules.”

  She struggled for something witty and sophisticated to say, something Lady Blount would have said in such a situation, but her mind was not working this evening. Clearly, her rational thoughts had fled the moment his lips touched hers.

  “Do you always talk this much, Sir Robert? I’d rather thought you were a man of action.”

  From the curving of his lips and the intensity of his gaze, she knew he recognized the challenge.

  He lifted her swiftly, before she knew what he was about, one arm around her back, one catching her below her knees, and he carried her the five steps to the bed where he laid her down.

  Then he grasped her hips and dragged her to the edge of the bed so that he stood between her legs. He leaned against her, hips pressing against hers once more, but in this position, with him so intimately nestled, everything was different.

  He reached forward to play with one of the long strands of her hair.

  “I wondered why you are named Rouge, but I think one theory has been disproved.” He let go of the curl and took the fabric of her dress in his hand instead. “Almost.”

  He lifted her dress so that it no longer fell between her legs but pooled around her waist.

  She gazed down at herself, at what he too studied: her naked belly, flat and pale between her hips, her naked legs, and in between the darker thatch of curls more brown than red.

  It surprised her how natural it felt, to be undressed before him, her most private area exposed.

  Lucy watched him place his bare hands on her bare hips. His thumbs began a slow, circling massage, drawing a “v” down. They both watched his progress, till his fingers met, closing in on her clitoris.

  Lucy gasped and her head fell back against the bed.

  His right hand stayed, caressing her there, but his left hand continued down, moving between the folds, where she knew she was hot and wet. He thrust his fingers into her.

  “How delightfully tight you are,” he murmured. Then his hands were gone, leaving her gasping with dismay until, raising her head again, she saw that he was unfastening the falls of his breeches.

  It was one thing to see his cock when she was several feet away, to view it as a voyeur. It was another thing entirely to know that the long, thick rod was about to go inside of her.

  It was all rather sudden, too fast almost. She wanted him, she wanted this and him inside her, but a fear she hadn’t anticipated made her stare at him in shock.

  She could speak now, she could tell him to wait, to stop. But what would she say?

  Then she felt him hot against her and she marveled at the sensation of the round head of his cock spreading her lips.

  She knew that sometimes there was pain the first time and sometimes there was blood, but not always. From the easy way he slid between her slick folds, she had the distinct feeling that if there was any pain it would be minimal.

  He pushed in further, slowly, so slowly that it made the rest of her, the part he didn’t yet fill, clench in anticipation.

  She heard him groan and her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were closed and he had the smile of a man enjoying a good wine, savoring it.

  Then he opened his eyes, those lovely striated eyes that reminded her of glass marbles, and caught her watching him.

  “I’m glad you made us wait, Rouge, the anticipation has made it all the sweeter.”

  “You find me sweet?” she asked, feeling him move ever so slightly deeper, tantalizingly deeper. She could feel just how big he was now, stretching her. There was a pressure, too, that had started to build, a tension that was not entirely pleasurable.

  “I find you…” He moved his hips just a bit more—the pressure almost painful now—and then he stopped, his expression changing.

  He eased back ever so slightly and the tension in her body subsided.

  “Is this some trick?” Sir Robert demanded.

  “Trick?” Lucy stammered. Clearly, he had figured out that she was a virgin, though she hadn’t been entirely certain a man could tell such a thing. After all, she hadn’t met any other virgins during her time at Harridan House.

  He still throbbed within her but he didn’t move, either forward or backward. She could see the beading of perspiration at his hairline.

  “Madame Rouge?” His voice was low and even, dangerously even. “Either I’ve just butted up against a rather unexpected hymen or there is some other explanation for how incredibly tight and incredibly virginal you feel.”

  Lucy could not believe they were having this discussion now, with him partway within her body. She’d imagined at the very most, after the deed was done, there might be some small question.

  “I expect, Sir Robert,” Lucy answered with as arch and confident a tone as she could summon, trying to hide her embarrassment, “that no other explanation is necessary. But will we really talk all night?”

  He didn’t answer and he still didn’t move. She could see that he was conflicted, that he was deciding what to do. But this was Sir Robert, the man whose virility was legendary in Harridan House. She offered him a welcoming smile.

  She gave him that look. As if he should ignore the most surprising fact of her virginity, the myriad questions it raised. As if he should fuck her like he had intended to. Well, he still intended to fuck her. Simply not as he had intended. If he pressed forward now, he would be doing both of them a disservice.

  He pulled out of her, consoling his aching flesh with the knowledge that he would bury himself back inside her in good time.

  She was surprised. He could see it in her expression, just before she twisted her body away from him and sat up on the bed. Now, she was angry.

  “Sir Robert, I’ve invited you here to my rooms with the understanding that we had a shared desire. If you are unwilling to…perform, then I must ask you to leave.”

  Robert laughed. Perform, indeed. As if he were a stud to her mare. Not that he would mind that so much, come to think of it.

  “I’m not leaving, my dear, I’m simply reassessing the field.” Now she looked confused and angry at the same time, as if she weren’t quite certain which direction to go.

  Sitting there, with her legs tucked under her in that red silk dress pooling around her, her long hair falling to her waist and that silly strip of silk obscuring her face, she looked utterly irresistible. For the first time in two years he didn’t have to resist her.

  “Even if we leave the question of how such an interesting condition has impossibly occurred, I would never consider deflowering a lady so roughly. It’s been quite a few years, but I do believe I know that a woman’s first time is something that must be breached gently.”


  “I’m not entirely certain I want you anymore,” she said, pointedly, almost petulantly.

  He didn’t laugh at that, although he wanted to. Instead, he joined her on the bed and took her face in his hands.

  “Don’t say that, Rouge,” he murmured, his thumb running over the soft skin of her lips.

  She met his gaze. There were only inches between them. He watched the muscles of her neck work as she swallowed.

  “Lucy,” she said, abruptly, her voice the merest breath. “That’s my name.”

  “Lucy,” he repeated, trying it out and finding that he liked the way it felt on his tongue.

  All this time, these two years, she’d been the mysterious, seductive, experienced Rouge. Now she was the mysterious, seductive, knowledgeable yet virginal Lucy. She was not what he had expected. She was infinitely more interesting.

  He closed the distance between them, buried his hands in the silken fall of her hair and kissed her.

  This kiss was different. It feathered across her mouth and melted through her body like warm honey. With his hands cradling her head, and his lips on hers, she felt as if she were floating in a world that was only Sir Robert’s mouth and Sir Robert’s touch.

  He moved slowly and gently across her skin, awakening every inch to sensation her imagination had never equaled.

  She stared at his head, at the sandy blond waves of his hair, as he lowered his lips to her bosom, to the flesh revealed by the indecently cut dress. This strange moment differed from her daydreams. This was a man at her breast—who’d been inside of her only moments before.

  Perhaps she’d gone too far. She could stop here, send him away, walk away. This moment did not need to happen.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Robert lifted his head.

  “Come back to me.” His deep voice made her feel like chocolate melting atop the stove. But for his voice, the room was silent.

  What was she doing?

  He was watching her. She met his gaze and something else loosened within her, something she hadn’t known was there.

  The mood unfurled within her, bubbling out as a smile, a slanted look, a realization that this was her moment. He was hers.

  Lucy lifted her hand to his neck, to the sliver of flesh visible above his cravat. She dragged her finger along that line, not looking away.

  She traced the line of his jaw, ran the pad of her finger over his lips.

  He caught her finger between his teeth, tugging on the silken glove, stroking her with his tongue and she felt it all the way down her body. She wasn’t melting, she was being born into acute sensation.

  There was the slightest hint of a smile on his lips as he caught her wrist in his own so that she could not withdraw her hand.

  She had him off guard and he was trying to regain control. She wouldn’t let him, not so fast. Tonight, he was hers.

  She leaned forward, letting her weight fall upon him as she pressed her lips to the place just below his ear. He let go of her hand then, moving his to catch her at the waist, to shift them both so that she lay atop him.

  Triumphantly, Lucy straddled his body, pressing herself against the still hard ridge of his cock that strained at his breeches.

  “Now I have you exactly where I want you,” she teased him, deftly unraveling his cravat, unbuttoning his coat. “Aren’t you hot, Sir Robert? I do believe this is the most I’ve seen you wear during your trysts here.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, studying her.

  The night was nothing the way he had imagined it would be. Robert raised himself up on his elbows, letting her pull off his coat, one arm at a time. Then she pushed him back gently with her palm and he relaxed into the soft mattress. He forced himself to stay there, to let her have her way.

  Her gloved hands caressed his shoulders. Something about the mixture of fabrics, the heavy silk of her gloves over the fine lawn of his shirt, intrigued him.

  He lifted his hips slightly, nestling himself more fully between her legs. Her sharp inhalation pleased him.

  She kneaded the muscles of his arms, working her way down to his forearms, to his wrists. Then she took one hand in both of her own and gave it her complete attention.

  Well, perhaps one thing was the way he had imagined it would be: Rouge…Lucy was worth the wait.

  She was finding parts of him that in all his forty-two years, Robert had never consciously noticed—the space between his fingers, the hollow at his ankle. He relaxed into her touch. He no longer had to force himself to let her have her way. He just wanted her to never stop.

  Sometime later, when he lay naked and utterly relaxed upon the bed, the sexual intensity a mere hum in the background, she began to use her mouth in all the places she had touched him.

  His body came alive instantly and he pulled his mind out of a waking dream to watch her run her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip.

  Then her mouth closed around his cock-head. Robert groaned at the exquisite sensation and at the delicious sight.

  He reached an arm out toward her, needing to touch her, taking whatever limb of hers was closest. He found her calf under his fingers and he caressed her flesh the way she had caressed his.

  She was moving so slowly upon him, watching him, as if she were listening to his every reaction to decide what to do next.

  It made him feel like a viol being worked by a master. The thought did not settle well with him.

  “You’re a virgin,” he said aloud, reminding himself, reminding her. Because where in the world was there another virgin who could work this kind of magic on a man? Perhaps in India, he’d heard, or among the Ottomans and their harems, but not here in England or anywhere on the continent.

  She kept sucking him, but he felt her smile around him more than he saw it. It made him want to turn her over and thrust himself into her. He wanted her now.

  He reached for her shoulders and gently pushed her away. She looked slightly confused as she raised up onto her forearm, her lips pink and swollen from their work.

  She was an erotic fantasy come to life. His erotic fantasy.

  “I like the way you taste, Sir Robert.”

  “Do you?” Robert asked, reaching around her to unfasten her dress. She shifted to give him better access.

  “Exactly the way a man should taste to make a woman wish to have him in her mouth always.”

  He pushed the gaping dress off of her shoulder. She wiggled to pull it off of her and then tossed it on the floor.

  Her pale naked body gleamed in the candlelight, and wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her breasts in his hands. He pressed his chest to her back, his mouth to her neck and watched his hands play.

  “And do you taste exactly the way a woman should to make a man wish to lick her honey pot till she clenches at his tongue?”

  He moved his right hand down, caressing the tight curls between her thighs, stroking the hot folds. He massaged her little pink button, enjoying her gasps and sighs. Remembering what she had felt like around him, wet and ready, he pushed his third finger into her.

  When he withdrew his fingers, he held them up for both of them to see, slick with her cream.

  “I think it’s time to find out.”

  He brought his hand to his mouth, just beside her cheek. With the musky scent of her arousal heavy in the air, he licked his fingers.

  “The verdict, Sir Robert?” she asked, her voice a shaky, breathy thing.

  He moved so that he could give her his answer, pushing her down into the mattress, spreading her legs with his hands and burying his face in her cunt.

  Her first gasp filled his ears even as the taste of her filled his mouth. He lapped at her folds, worked her, buried his fingers once more in the tight muscles of her pussy.

  The feel of his tongue on her, his mouth sucking her clitoris, his fingers—all the things he did down there between her thighs—was beyond anything she could have imagined. The room swirled when his tongue swirled, and when he nibbled, his teeth grazing at th
e sensitive flesh, her body jerked up toward him. The heat rolled through her body, gathering in waves, each rising and then ebbing until suddenly her climax surged through her. Her knees came up of their own accord, her thighs pressing against his shoulders. Her hips bucked toward his greedy mouth, which still suckled on her, drew everything out of her.

  Finally, he let go, his fingers retreated and her body still trembled, grasping at air. Robert loomed over her then, settling his hips between her thighs and she felt the blunted point of his cock touch her, part her.

  He covered her with his body, took her mouth with his own, which tasted of her in a way she found both strange and arousing.

  Then he thrust into her and all the pleasure stopped. She struggled to relax as he pushed against her, short powerful jabs that tore her inside each time he moved. She clenched at his arms, her fingers digging in. She knew she was probably hurting him but she couldn’t let go.

  She simply hadn’t imagined it would hurt this much.

  Then he was fully inside her, every part of him touching every part of her, and he stayed there, his hips stilled.

  He kissed her cheek, moving toward her neck again—small little touches—until finally she began to feel the sweetness of them.

  He was so big inside her. She was stretched and full of him.

  He lifted himself up on his forearms and looked down into her face. She met his gaze.

  This was Sir Robert George inside her. Absolutely nothing separated their bodies. It was odd, looking into his eyes, to be so aware of him, to be so joined with him.

  Experimentally she squeezed him inside of her. She heard the sharp intake of his breath as he pulsed within her, as if he could grow any larger.

  He moved his hips back, his cock retreating. She winced at the slight discomfort, but it was more like a pinch now, rather than any real pain.