A Very Surrey SFS Christmas

by Nicola Davidson

  Lady Portia had allocated them a truly sumptuous bedchamber next door to the nursery, and at the sight of the four-poster bed with its soft linen sheets and quilts piled high, she almost moaned.

  “Never thought my main rival for your affections would be a bed,” said Ethan, his lips twitching.

  Good grief. She had actually moaned.

  “Do not fret, my lord,” she replied with a saucy wink. “You meet certain needs that bed never will. Reaching items in high places, for example.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Hmmmm,” Madeline pretended to consider. “Far superior conversationalist. No bed ever told me vivid scholarly tales of faraway lands and ancient cultures.”

  Ethan nodded. “Poor form from the bed. Perhaps I could remind you of another talent.”

  A frisson of heat arrowed between her legs, and she shivered. Even their first time together, when he’d been a virgin who knew all the theory of bedding and none of the practice, had been splendid. But since then, their lust for each other had only grown stronger and more trusting, essential when they indulged in dominant and submissive play. She especially enjoyed having her wrists bound and bottom spanked, although they hadn’t done that in a while as her skin remained a little too sensitive.

  But there were plenty of other delightful activities to enjoy, and as Jessica was fed and slumbering…

  “What an excellent idea, my lord,” she said mischievously. “Please do discard your clothing. Everything looks a little constricting.”

  With little care for the fabric, Ethan removed his jacket and draped it over a high-backed chair. Soon after, his cravat, shirt, shoes, stockings, and trousers followed, until he stood completely naked in front of the fireplace, the orange flames burnishing his already golden skin to bronze. Not for the first time, she thanked providence for his Spanish ancestors. In her wholly unbiased opinion, nothing was more attractive than the combination of dark hair, amber eyes, and imposing height.

  “One moment, sweetheart, I’ll just freshen up,” he said, sauntering over to the bowl of fresh water resting on the washstand in such a manner that she received a priceless view of flexing muscled backside.

  Perching on the end of the bed, Madeline leaned back so she might appreciate him more. Underneath her the embroidered quilt was soft and cool, and when a yawn escaped, her heart sank. Oh no.

  But her eyes had already begun to close, and in seconds she was fast asleep.

  Madeline had succumbed.

  Ethan grinned at the sight of his wife on the bed, her legs hanging over the end, one shoe dangling precariously from toes, and a symphony of sighs and lady snuffles escaping her mouth.

  How he found it so alluring, was inexplicable. But he did. In fact, everything about her was alluring, from her brazen red hair, to her plump curves grown even plumper since their daughter’s birth, to her pointy little toes. As a scholar, it was enormously pleasing that his initial findings about Madeline—that she was the most beautiful, sensual, witty and warm woman in the world and no other would do—had been confirmed with just over a year’s worth of thorough investigation and journaled thoughts.

  Speaking of journals…Ethan grimaced as he pulled on a quilted robe then stared at the pile of books, scrawled notes, and sketches piled high on the desk in the corner. He’d brought his work from London, with grand schemes of finishing the first chapter of volume three in the chronicles of his study and travels in Egypt.

  He’d not written a thing. Not even the words ‘Chapter One’.

  Slumping into a chair, he pondered the blank page in front of him for what seemed like forever. No doubt it was pondering him back, and chortling uproariously at his frozen state.

  “Damned bloody paper,” he growled.

  Why was writing for payment so much harder than writing for pleasure? Abroad, he’d not been able to stop writing, even waking in the night to scrawl thoughts. Now, rather than a waterfall, his mind resembled the slow and steady drip of a rusted pipe.

  Annoyed at himself, he picked up his quill and tapped it against the desk.

  Tap. Tap. Tappity tap.

  By the gods, he’d written two books already. This process should be easy by now.

  Tap. Tap. Tappity tap.

  “No words flowing still?”

  Startled from his thoughts, Ethan jumped a little at Madeline’s sleepy question from across the room. “What gave me away?”

  She laughed and slid from the bed, before wandering over to him and placing a kiss on the top of his head. “You were talking to yourself. And gouging the desk with that bloody quill.”

  Drawing her down gently onto his lap, Ethan sighed. “I don’t know what to say on a topic I know well, learned from impeccable sources, Egyptian scholars who generously permitted me to study in their libraries, view ancient scrolls, and accompany them on desert digs. It is exceedingly frustrating.”

  “What I know,” said Madeline softly, “is that you were making excellent progress with your notes until some twit sent you a copy of that gentleman’s review of volume two.”

  He scowled. “Words now etched into my brain. ‘The young Lord Dare’s shamefully lewd content presented in a simplistic rather than academic way is nothing but chaff for the masses, bringing the field of scholarship into such terrible disrepute that it shall never recover.’ Imagine. Everyone being able to read and understand a subject, rather than just stuffy old men who wring any joy from learning because their prose is so dry.”

  “I’m quite sure that is why they do it. To feel superior. And the gentleman only wrote that because he knows everything could change. Others might present papers and studies in such a way, and he clearly hates the idea. Especially in regard to lewd content.”

  “Lewd content is the best content.”

  Madeline kissed his neck. “I greatly admire your knowledge. But that review aside…have you also considered the recent changes in our lives for your inability to write?”

  “Not sure what you mean,” Ethan replied, his brow furrowing.

  “You’re a new father.”

  “The hardest parts were, and are, yours.”

  She grinned. “Tis true, I would happily have swapped places and paced the hallway while you labored. But now Jessica is here. You have a daughter to provide for as well as a wife, and a good portion of the money from the books is going toward settling the estate debts your father incurred with his ridiculous spending. You wake with me when she feeds, so have equally disrupted sleep. That is a great deal to bear. I understand from Susanna that Clay hasn’t touched his paintbrushes in weeks, and you know how much art means to him. Creativity is hard at the best of times, let alone when under time and financial pressure.”

  Ethan blinked. How foolish that he hadn’t thought to approach Irving and Fenton for advice on being a new father. David had been born two weeks before Jessica, so they had a little more experience than him. Perhaps their great joy was also tinged a little with fears for the future and a sense of flailing confusion. Perhaps all first-time fathers experienced such emotions.

  The thought was so startling he nearly tumbled off the chair. “I should speak to them both. Irving and Fenton, I mean. Investigate this further.”

  “Yes you should. Especially Clay. You are both men who like to be in command of a situation, and this is so new, and quite frankly bloody bewildering, for all of us. But for now…” Madeline’s voice trailed off as she slid a hand under his robe and stroked his chest.

  “For now, madam?” he echoed, as his cock began to throb.

  “For now I think you should bed me.”

  “Are you ready for that? My hand sufficed before I met you, it will suffice again until you are.”

  Madeline laughed. “I am quite recovered, thank you. Although one thing, er…my breasts are very, very sensitive at the moment, and as I cannot construct a stone wall and crocodile-filled moat around them, I’d rather they be left alone. Also…good grief this is mortifying…even when I touch myself I find I do
n’t get as wet as I used to. Would you mind if we used a little oil?”

  “Sweetheart,” he said patiently, “of course I don’t mind. If it doesn’t feel good for you, then I am failing in my duty. But you must tell me, and we’ll stop or try something else.”

  “Well, my lord,” said Madeline in a sultry voice that wrapped around his cock and squeezed hard, “then I insist you fuck me. At once.”

  “Oh, you insist, do you?”

  At his stern tone, a needy whimper escaped her lips. “Please, Ethan?”

  By the gods, the way she said his name. Slowly and carefully he cradled Madeline in his arms, and rose to his feet. Then he carried her across the bedchamber and set her on her feet just beside the washstand, before removing her gown, petticoat, stays, chemise, and shoes and stockings. Just for a moment he allowed himself the pleasure of observing her naked form, the lush curve of breast and hip, the still-rounded belly that had carried their precious daughter.

  When he smoothed the damp cloth across her shoulders and back, she moaned.

  “You’re going to make me beg and beg, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  It took no time at all to sponge her arms, legs, and backside, but when he reached her mound and trailed the cloth further down to circle her clitoris, Madeline began to pant.

  “Ethan,” she wailed.

  Sympathetic to her need, and acknowledging his own burning desire to fuck his beloved wife, he took her hand and led her over to the bed.

  “Prepare yourself, sweetheart. I’m about to undertake a thorough scholarly study.”

  Ethan would indeed make her beg and beg. And she couldn’t wait.

  Well supported by several pillows, Madeline arched in anticipation of his touch. While she’d always enjoyed bedsport back when she’d been the notorious Wicked Widow, it felt different now. To be pleasured by someone you loved and who loved you in return, someone you trusted absolutely and could indulge all your wickedest fantasies with…well.

  The marriage, the partnership she’d always dreamed of.

  “I’m going to oil you now, Madeline,” he rasped.

  She shuddered. Even the sound of a bottle clinking and a cork being removed almost made her orgasm, and she squirmed on the bed. Her husband was deliberately making her wait, the wretch. But she wasn’t cold. The well-stoked fire provided plenty of heat and light, and there were two fully lit candelabras as well.

  Expecting, yearning for his skilled hand between her legs, instead Ethan tormented with gentle strokes along her spine, then across her lower back and right hip, before rubbing his oil-slick hands over her backside. Madeline groaned, attempting to spread her thighs so he might attend to her throbbing clitoris. But no, her dominant lord was in control. He decided the timing of her climax, and knowing he would make her scream with pleasure, that all she had to do was experience each sensation rather than instruct or remind, was heady indeed.

  But she was a naughty submissive. Far, far too impatient. And when her nerves were stretched to breaking point by his luscious massage, she blurted intemperately, “Touch me, damn it!”

  “Beg pardon?” Ethan replied, his hands stilling.

  A sob caught in her throat. “Please, please touch me. I need so badly to come.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart. But you must wait.”

  Again his hands began to move, but now his thumbs rubbed circles on the backs of her thighs, occasionally gliding further up to tease the crease of her bottom. Then his fingers delved between, ever so lightly caressing her back entrance, yet not penetrating at all.

  She was not going to survive this. Her entire world had reduced to one excruciating need, to one place desperate to be touched. Her fists clenched, her body quivered, and yet still Ethan continued to tease her as a disciplinary measure for her impatience.

  “Please,” Madeline said hoarsely, tears gathering in her eyes. “I can’t bear it.”

  In response he nuzzled the curve of her neck, kissing the sensitive skin, before nipping her shoulder. A jolt of sensation arrowed straight to her cunt, and she gasped. But finally, finally, one strong hand eased between her legs, parting her thighs and sliding upward. Poised on the edge of ecstasy she waited, silently pleading for him to go higher. A little more. Just a little…

  When his hand cupped her mound, his slick fingers parting the crisp hair and rubbing her clitoris, she screamed.

  Ethan tsked. “Can’t have the entire household running to provide a rescue, Madeline. Must I gag you?”

  “N-no,” she stuttered. “I’ll c-cover my mouth.”

  “Very well.”

  Again his clever fingers circled her clitoris and nudged the swollen bud, before he pinched it lightly, hurling her into bliss. But Ethan wasn’t done. Even as pulses of orgasm still shook her body, his hand moved again so his middle finger shallowly penetrated her. In. Out. In. Out.

  “How is this?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” she moaned. “Oh God…more…”

  The finger inched deeper, a gentle and yet relentless marauder. Soon he added a second finger, then a third, and Madeline panted, her eyes squeezed shut, her whole body reaching, craving a second climax more than air.

  “Come, sweetheart,” Ethan commanded.

  Given permission to soar, her senses splintered and she screamed against her hand as the inner walls of her cunt clamped around his fingers, gripping and releasing in a powerful release that lasted and lasted.

  It might have been minutes or hours later, but dazed, not entirely certain which way was up, Madeline reached behind with her free hand, needing the solidness of him to ground her again. Ethan kissed her palm, her shoulder, her cheek, and she moved her head a little on the pillow so he could kiss her lips.

  “Mmmmm,” she sighed, in complete charity with the world.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Wonderful. Excellent. Splendid. Except…”

  “Except?” Ethan replied as he eased his fingers from her cunt.

  “Except I’m waiting for your cock, my lord. I want to feel it inside me.”

  “Demanding wench.”

  Madeline laughed. “You knew that when you married me. I was never going to be a demure and obedient little submissive, was I?”

  “No,” he agreed, and she could hear the reluctant amusement in his voice.

  But it seemed Ethan was in a benevolent mood, for he opened the glass bottle again, and she bit her lip at the sensual sound of his palm slicking his cock with oil. Lying on her side like this, so comfortable and relaxed after her orgasms, and yet not knowing exactly when he would touch her or where, was exciting beyond belief.

  Then his hand curved under her right leg, lifting it a little and drawing it back to rest on his own, opening her up for plunder.

  “Hurry,” she whispered. “Please, please hurry.” It had been far too long since they had been connected in this special way.

  “Shall I come inside or out?”

  Grateful for his thoughtfulness, she wanted another child but didn’t want to risk a second pregnancy just yet, Madeline whispered, “Outside please. Until Jessica is older.”

  “As you wish, sweetheart,” said Ethan, as slowly, so slowly he pushed the head of his engorged cock inside her. “There, now.”

  The sensation nearly took her breath away, and she moaned at the fullness, the sheer size of him as he advanced inward until he was embedded to the hilt. Good grief. Even with her own arousal, she was grateful for the assistance of the oil. When he took her from behind, somehow his cock always felt even bigger, that he surged even deeper.

  As though he had all the time in the world, Ethan held his cock inside her without moving, forcing her to feel every inch of him. Then his hand slid down so he could flick her clitoris with just the tip of his finger.

  Despite her efforts to stay quiet, a sobbing wail escaped. How could this feel so damned glorious? Yet soon it felt even better as he began to move, smoothly withdrawing before pushing forward again in
a steady cadence designed to steal her wits. In retaliation, Madeline clenched her inner muscles around him.

  Ethan gasped, his big hand gripping her hip. “Naughty.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord,” she said innocently, doing it again.

  But he knew what she liked. His mouth latched onto the delicate curve of her neck and shoulder, the heel of his hand pressed hard against her clitoris, and he plunged his cock inside her with short, deliciously barbaric thrusts until she orgasmed again, her back arching hard against his chest. Ethan’s breathing sped up, he groaned in her ear, and seconds later he yanked himself out of her cunt and spurted his hot seed against the small of her back.

  “Sweetheart…” he murmured, as his hand covered hers and interlaced their fingers. “I love you. And can categorically state this Christmastide will be the very best yet.”

  “I love you, Ethan. For everything. For always.”

  Indeed, the marriage of one former Wicked Widow and one scholarly viscount could only be described as…

  Sheer bliss.

  Chapter 3

  Clayton, Joseph, and Susanna

  Christmas Eve

  “Who is the sweetest boy? You are!”

  Mr. Clayton Irving turned from his observation of winter colors and shapes out the parlor window, and smiled angelically at his second cousin Beatrice. “Why thank you. I do try.”

  She snorted. “I can think of many words to describe you, Clay, but sweet boy is not one of them. David, however…”

  They both peered down at the dark-haired, dark-eyed infant in his arms, two months old and indeed the sweetest boy. Well, when he wasn’t exploding vile substances from either end of his body, of course. It was truly astonishing how much could erupt from something so tiny, and without any warning. Thankfully he had a great many old painting smocks that he could don before cuddling his godson, the child of his lovers and life companions Lord Joseph and Lady Susanna Fenton. David preferred to be carried about like an emperor so he could observe all activities in the household, and when he’d had his fill, contentedly napped. If anyone put him straight down into a cradle, however, he would make his displeasure plainly known.