DeButy & the Beast

by Linda Jones

  She smiled as she placed her hand in his. So far, this sounded like a “yes” to her.

  “And taking a woman to the kinds of untamed places I intend to travel, well, most will say it’s madness.”

  “What do you say?”

  “I say your idea would solve my most immediate problem.”

  “And that problem is?”

  They stepped into the dining room, and Julian placed the lantern on the long, bare buffet. He very gently spun her around and took her face in his hands. “The very thought of leaving you behind, that’s my problem. How am I supposed to choose between the career I have sought for so long and the woman I have found?”

  “You do not have to choose.” She rose on her toes and laid her mouth over Julian’s, telling him again, in this most eloquent way, that she loved him. And for the moment, it was enough that he thought himself in love with her.

  His lips parted slightly, and she shared his breath for a moment before pressing her mouth firmly to his. His arms crept around her, and he pulled her close. Her hands snaked around his waist and up his back, her fingers dancing against the fine linen that covered the muscles there. Feeling his warmth, arousing him and herself with the gentlest of touches, she allowed herself to caress as she pleased.

  She had never known such pure heat, such a searching need. Without taking her mouth from his, she slid one hand along his arm until she reached his wrist, and then pulled his hand up and around and placed it against her chest.

  When she released Julian’s hand, it crept unerringly into the gap of the jacket she wore, to caress her breast gently. He found and stroked the nipple that hardened at his touch, and deepened the kiss.

  Nothing that had happened on this night could spoil the moment. Julian wanted her; she knew it well. And she wanted him, in a way so powerful and inescapable it surprised her. She had been taught control, seduction… she had not been taught to handle a power that shot through her body like lightning.

  Their mouths parted, and she laid hers against his neck, tasting the salty skin there, sucking lightly on the inviting flesh.

  “I never knew I could feel like this,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  “I’m spinning out of control.”

  “So am I. Is it not wonderful?”

  Julian’s hands slipped between their bodies and unbuttoned the jacket she wore, his own jacket. With a push, the garment fell from her body and pooled on the floor.

  Cool night air chilled her exposed skin, but Anya did not stay cool for long. Julian placed his hands at her waist and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around and placing her so that she sat on the edge of the table. His arms encircled her, his hands stroked her back, and once again he returned his attention to her breasts. First with his fingers, and then with his mouth.

  Her head fell back, her fingers twined through Julian’s hair as he suckled one nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. Fire traveled through Anya’s body, sparks and flames of a potent urgency that Julian fanned with his mouth and hands.

  “I need you,” he said as he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

  “I know.” She reached between their close bodies, raked her hand down, and caressed the stiff manhood beneath his trousers. “And I need you.” Could he feel her tremble? Did he know that she had never felt his kind of craving before? It was more than a craving. She would not survive unless he came to her. Now.

  They kissed deeply while she stroked the ridge in his trousers. Julian moaned, and she caught that moan with her parted lips, tasted it with her flickering tongue. She returned that telling moan as she began to unfasten his trousers.

  He pushed her farther back on the table, and she listed back and back until she was lying there, the polished walnut a hard bed. Julian followed, crept ever forward and up until he towered above her. Her legs crept around his, bringing him closer. Closer.

  Inch by inch, kissing and touching all the while, they moved until they were completely on the table. As he straightened his body, Julian kicked something that went rolling and then crashed onto the floor.

  It surprised them both enough so that their lips parted.

  “Never fear,” Anya whispered breathlessly. “They will think I did it.”

  Julian smiled at her, and she reached up to unbutton his shirt. A difficult task, since he was so close—since he was atop her. Still, she continued until she was able to tug the shirt off.

  “There,” she said, as she tossed the shirt aside. She ran her hands along Julian’s muscled chest. Pressed her breasts against his flesh.

  There was an opening in the crotch of her drawers, drawers she would not have worn had Grandmother not been there to insist. With a slight shifting of her body, Julian could be inside her. She wanted that, wanted it so much that her body arched toward his in silent invitation.

  But she also wanted this first time for them to be right. Perfect. She wanted flesh to flesh along the length of their bodies. “Julian?”

  “Yes?” he moaned, his body moving unerringly toward hers.

  “Undress me.”

  He did as she asked. It would have been simplest for them to leave the table, shed their clothes, and then come together again. But that would not do. Bit by bit, dropping kisses as he went, Julian removed her torn gown and what was left of her underthings. Their bodies never moved far apart. She removed the knife and scabbard from her thigh and carelessly tossed them aside. Julian rolled down her stockings and tossed them aside. Soon all she wore was the sapphire pendant around her neck.

  That done, it was his turn. The unbuttoned trousers had to come off. His own underthings. Those shoes and socks. The diligent chore continued, frenzied and still deliberate, until they lay, bare body to bare body, along the walnut table.

  Her skin was sensitive, reacting in a surprising way to Julian’s simplest touch. A finger here, a tender kiss there. She ran her own fingers down his arm, then turned and lifted her head to lay her mouth against the delicate skin at Julian’s inner elbow. He moaned, and dropped his head to her neck, where he proceeded to devour her.

  His manhood brushed against her most intimately, and she rose up in invitation, her hips swaying, a moan breaking free of her parted lips. Julian barely touched her, and still that gentle contact evoked the most powerful sensation she had ever experienced.

  She slipped her hand between their bodies and guided him to her, inside her.

  A heartbeat later he rocked forward to slowly fill her, quelling the need she had experienced and firing another to life. He moved slow and deep, so deep. She whispered to him, speaking the words that came to her, husky, tender words she could not contain. Some French, some Spanish, a few words in the language of her island. Words for which there were no suitable substitutes.

  She had never known such raw power. Julian filled her, cautiously, fully, so slowly she could not breathe until he was buried deep, as deep as possible. Then he withdrew just as slowly, stealing her breath again. And then again he pushed to fill her, and then again he almost left her. Each stroke was perfect, and she had been right. There was more. Julian was a part of her body and her heart. His soul and hers changed as he made love to her. Their very souls mingled, as deeply as their bodies did. Nothing she had ever been taught could have prepared her for the intensity of this moment.

  Julian began to move faster, and so did she. Their rhythm was quick and instinctive, as their bodies and souls ruled their minds and hearts. He drove deep and held himself there, and she shattered, crying out and arching into him, feeling and savoring the shudders that wracked his body as he found his own completion.

  He collapsed atop her, his head buried in her hair, his heartbeat pounding against hers. Sweat glistened on his body and hers, shining in the light of the single dim lantern Julian had carried from the stables.

  They lay there for a while, out of breath and wonderfully entangled, Julian’s long body resting protectively over hers. Anya stroked his long dark hair, ran her foot up and
down his leg, and sighed contentedly. More than once.

  Finally, Julian lifted his head and looked down at her. “Anya, we’re on the dining room table,” he said as if he’d just realized where they had made love.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Naked.” He seemed to be protesting, but his half smile gave him away.

  She slithered her body against his. “Yes.”

  Julian began to withdraw, but she tightened the leg that was wrapped around his and pulled him back. He didn’t seem to mind.

  “You are a wonderful lover,” she whispered. “A magnificent husband.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  She wanted, so much, for that to be true. No one had ever loved her this way. No one ever would. No one but Julian. “I love you, marido.’”

  “But we really shouldn’t…” he began.

  Anya reached up and laid her hands on her breasts. Her fingers flicked over the nipples. Julian’s hooded eyes followed her progress. “I loved the way you put your mouth on my breasts. Your tongue. Your lips.” Her husband, her lover, began to grow hard inside her. “I did not know I could feel so much, that I could desire a man the way I desire you.” She rotated her hips gently. “I desire you now.”

  “Anya,” Julian said as he lowered his head to brush his mouth across her breasts. One and then the other. He suckled one nipple deep, then lifted his head to look her in the eye. “We can’t.” His hips swayed, apparently of their own volition.

  The fever within Anya began to build again. “We can.”

  Julian barely moved inside her. His body rocked into hers, his flesh raked along her own sweat-covered skin. “But we just…” he protested weakly.

  “We can,” she said, once again wrapping one leg snugly around his and lifting her hips.

  Julian began to slowly withdraw, but before he left her body completely he surged forward to fill her again. She felt his gentle surrender, tasted it in his sigh. “Yes, we can,” he said, before he captured her mouth with his.

  Chapter 11

  Julian groaned and pulled the covers over his head, and Anya’s, as morning sunlight crossed their faces and interrupted their sleep. Well-deserved sleep.

  But it was too late. Once he began to awake there was no turning back. Awareness crept slowly in, though Anya slept on, peaceful and beautifully satisfied.

  He held the coverlet over their heads, allowing only a small amount of the morning sun to creep inside. Anya still wore a pink flush of love on her beautiful cheeks. Her brilliant, mussed hair spread across his pillow, and her warm, bare body rested against the white sheets she slept upon. She was, in fact, a vision.

  Julian reached out and touched a wayward strand of hair. Last night he had willingly put aside the beliefs he had embraced for the past two years. He had tossed his prim ideals away for the joy of loving his wife. He should be feeling at least a little bit of regret, perhaps even guilt. He felt nothing but satisfaction. Love and happiness and the certainty that this was right, no matter what the greatest medical minds of the nineteenth century preached. Twice on the dining room table and then again in this bed could only be called excess, the kind of excess that he had once condemned as unhealthy.

  But Julian wasn’t concerned. His common sense won out over the massive number of pamphlets he had collected. Loving his wife would not make him ill, it would not drain or damage him in any way. If anything, he felt more energized this morning than he ever had.

  If he allowed himself to question his own beliefs, he might admit that it was Margaret who had driven him to a life of chastity. That with his heart broken, he had forced himself into a position where it would never again be in danger. But he didn’t want to analyze his feelings at the moment. He just wanted to watch Anya sleep. He just wanted to touch her and watch her come awake. His fingers crept across the pillow to caress her shoulder, and she purred in response. Her eyes fluttered open, she set them on him, and smiled.

  “Good morning,” she whispered as she rolled over and into him, her arm draping across his waist as she lifted her head and kissed his neck. Lightly, the lips lingering and arousing.

  Dropping the covers so that the sun touched them once again, he pulled her tighter against his body, gently cradling the back of her head and pressing his other hand against the small of her back. “Good morning, my love,” he whispered into her wealth of red hair.

  “I do so adore the way you look in the morning, marido,” she murmured. “With your hair wild and your beard coming in and your eyes still filled with last night’s dreams.” She sighed, seemingly contented, and kissed his throat again. “Did I tell you last night that I like your bed much better than mine?”

  He smiled. “I believe you did.”

  “Did I tell you that you are a magnificent lover?”

  “Yes.”

  “A continued vow of chastity would be a tragedy for one so gifted,” she teased. “Such a gift should not be wasted.”

  Her hand slipped down his side until it rested on his hip. How was it possible that already he wanted her? The rest of the world faded, and nothing else mattered but the way Anya felt in his arms.

  “Did I tell you,” he said softly, “that I love you?”

  “Yes, you did.” She brushed her cheek against his shoulder, nuzzling, aligning her body to his inch by inch. “It is what I wanted more than anything, for you to love me as I love you.”

  His blood thrummed and his body grew warm. His manhood had been erect and ready since the moment Anya had awoken and smiled at him.

  The kisses she feathered across his neck grew more ardent. Her hand was no longer content to rest on his hip, but traveled and teased. His own hands would not be still. They explored her soft flesh as she explored his. After the night before there should be no secrets, nothing to discover… and yet they were still discovering.

  With a gentle shove Anya pushed him onto his back. She followed, her leg sliding over so that she straddled him and her head rested on his chest for a moment as she kissed his flat nipples. She raised her head slowly, strands of wildly disheveled hair partially covering her face until she lifted her hands and forced the curling locks back. The sun shone on bare flesh. Warming, illuminating sun. Anya was a vision to undo any man, her rounded breasts lifting with each breath she took, her mouth lushly inviting, her eyes hooded with sleep. And what a shape she possessed!

  “Last night you made love to me,” she said. “This morning I will make love to you.”

  “Anya…” His protest died an easy death as she manacled his wrists with her fingers, lifted his hands, and laid them on her breasts. The flesh beneath his fingers was giving, warm, and silky. With her hands remaining over his, Julian cupped her breasts and flicked his thumbs over her hardened nipples. She closed her eyes in response and moaned low and deep as she dropped her hands.

  She began to move atop him, teasing, torturing. It was an undulating dance, and as her body moved, barely touching his, he lost all rational thought and thought only of the way his body felt. Of how he wanted her. Every nerve was exposed, on fire.

  Finally she reached between their bodies and guided his manhood into her slick body. Slipping into her welcoming heat was a pained relief. She took him in, nurtured him, stroked him. Her body rose and fell slowly. Too slowly. The breasts he caressed swelled with each deep breath she took. Eyes closed, she continued to dance atop him, taking him deep, rising up slowly until he was barely inside her, then plunging down to take all of him before rising up again. His hips rose and fell in time with hers as they found their own rhythm.

  Without warning Anya added something new; a twist of her hips that almost sent him over the edge. It was subtle, and jarring, and erotic. She licked her lips and lowered herself slowly and twisted again… in the opposite direction.

  His body no longer knew what to expect, and what was left of his tenuous control faded fast. But Anya’s control left her, too. She began to move faster, more frantically, her body undulating above his. Julian gras
ped her hips in his hands and held himself deep inside her, and with a final twist Anya cried out and found release. He came with her, with a growl of his own, spurting his seed deep into her body, giving over to the pleasure he had denied himself, and her, for so long.

  Sated, Anya lowered her head to his shoulder and relaxed, going boneless against him. “My beautiful beast,” she said softly.

  Julian almost argued with Anya. He was no more beast than she was. He was just… a man. A man who loved his wife. He turned his head and found her lips with his.

  *

  The family had returned, and so had the servants. She and Julian no longer had the house to themselves. But nothing, not even dinner with Seymour, could ruin Anya’s mood. She was too happy. Had she ever been so content? No. She had not.

  Valerie had been silent since her return, probably wondering if Anya was still unhappy about the previous night’s betrayal. If Valerie had truly defended Anya, even belatedly, then there was no betrayal. Anya’s friendly smile across the table seemed to soothe Valerie’s frazzled nerves instantly.

  When Anya smiled at Betsy, as the maid placed a plate of fried chicken on the table, the girl flinched. Of course, Betsy knew fried chicken was not Anya’s favorite. Still, Anya was surprised at the girl’s reaction. She had not thrown anything at the servants in quite a while.

  When Anya muttered a demure thank-you, Betsy backed away with a suspicious expression on her face.

  “Anya, dear,” Grandmother said, picking at the vegetables on her plate. “You seem very happy this evening.” Was that puzzlement in her voice?

  “Of course I am happy,” Anya said in her sweetest voice. “We are all home, and I have been blessed with a wonderful family who loves me, as well as a kind husband who has a very great penis.”

  Seymour spewed wine across the table, and Grandmother turned quite red.

  Julian almost choked on his first bite of chicken.