An Affair in Autumn

by Jennifer Haymore

  He moved his hands in long strokes up and down her back, then around to cup her face, his big, warm palms holding her steady as he kissed her, his tongue sliding between her lips and tentatively stroking the inside of her mouth. She shivered with pleasure.

  He pulled back, touching his forehead to hers. “I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for too damn long.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed long and low. “I want you, too.”

  He shuddered, then reached down and took her hand in his. He opened her palm and pressed it to his trouser placket. He was solid beneath the wool, thick and long.

  “Can you feel how much I want you?”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly. She’d experienced far more passion in the past ten minutes than she had the entire ten years of her marriage. She felt shaky and breathless, but ready. So, so ready for the pleasure she and Mark could share.

  “I want to be inside you,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she said on a near groan.

  He gently pried her hand from him. “But not yet.”

  “No?”

  “No. First I’m going to make you feel good, Caro. Better than you’ve ever felt before.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. What an arrogant promise. But she liked it, nonetheless. For some reason, it made her hotter.

  “Lie down,” he ordered her. “On your stomach.”

  She stared at him. He stared back, his eyes dark as night. The cabin was growing dimmer as heavier rain and thick clouds blotted the descending sun, and Mark’s body was half in shadow. Beneath them, the ship pitched steeply, pounded by a heavy wave. But Caro didn’t mind the raging squall outside. Her cabin was dry and cozy.

  She went to her knees on the bed, then lay flat on her stomach. Instantly, Mark’s hands were on her, touching her over the layers of her clothes, stroking down her back, over her buttocks, down the backs of her thighs and her calves. He removed her half boots, unlacing them carefully, then setting them beside the bed. Then he dragged his hand back up her calf again, this time pulling up her skirts to her thighs.

  “You have beautiful long legs,” he murmured.

  She didn’t answer. She could hardly breathe.

  He untied her ribbon garters, then carefully rolled down her stockings one by one, exposing the bare skin of her legs to the cool cabin air. She shivered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “No, not cold. Hot. I think.”

  He laughed, then slid his warm palms down the length of her exposed legs. She shivered again.

  He moved over her, and she turned her head and watched him remove his shoes, then his coat and cravat, leaving him dressed only in his white linen shirt and his trousers. Then he straddled her body, and sitting up over her, he began to work the laces of her dress. When he finished, he spread them open and loosened her petticoat, then her stays.

  He moved off her, saying, “Get up onto your knees.”

  She moved to her knees as he rose behind her. He slipped her clothes off her shoulders, kissing her skin as it was revealed to him. “I love the way you taste,” he told her. “I love the feel of your skin under my lips. I could kiss you all day.”

  She wouldn’t mind that. His lips felt so good on her. Soft, warm, and erotic. He laid her onto the bed again, on her back this time, and pulled her dress, petticoat, stays, and chemise off, one at a time. Her heart beat a little more rapidly with each piece of clothing he removed.

  When he finally slid off her chemise, her skin was burning, her breaths coming in short gasps. He laid her chemise by her feet, then crawled up her now-naked body slowly, exploring her with his hands and lips as he did so. It felt like he was everywhere—over her and through her and inside her. The sensation of anyone’s hands on her but her own was completely foreign—and completely delicious. She moaned with the pleasure of it as he kissed her hip, one hand sliding over her thigh while the other massaged her breast.

  He followed that hand up to her breast with his lips, crossing over her stomach, stopping briefly to press a soft kiss to her naval. He kissed higher, over her ribs, then under the slope of her breast. Finally, he reached the tip. He took his time there, kissing her thoroughly, licking and suckling her while bracing himself over her with one arm, the other hand massaging her other breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple again and again until she squirmed in pleasure-pain beneath him.

  He stopped, only to switch sides, laving and suckling her other breast, stroking her now-wet nipple with his thumb.

  She twisted her body beneath him, feeling like she was about to crawl out of her skin. Just when she thought she might beg him to stop, he gave her nipple a final sucking kiss, then moved back down. Over her ribs, her naval, her hip bone. Then he nudged her legs apart and settled himself between them, kissing her just above her pelvis.

  Caro froze. No one had ever kissed her as Mark just had—leaving no part of the front of her body untouched. Now he moved his lips to a place she could never imagine a man would want his mouth to be. But evidently Mark did. He carefully separated her folds, then pressed a kiss to the soaking-wet tissue between them. He sighed against her, and she twitched as air blew over her sensitive skin. “God, Caro, you taste even better than I imagined.”

  His words of appreciation made her relax a bit, and she relaxed more with every kiss as he explored her most private place with his mouth, soon adding his fingers, touching her, stroking her as he kissed and suckled her, spearing her opening with his tongue in a way that made her legs jerk in reflex.

  “Mm,” he murmured. “So sensitive. So sweet.” He continued to mumble against her, but he was too quiet for her to discern the words—and she was too worked up to hear them. Her body’s reactions were starting to surge out of her control, alternating between pulling back from the intense sensation he was wreaking on her body, to pushing him closer to her, and closer still, craving more of it.

  He put his hands on the insides of her thighs and pushed her wider open to his mouth. She groaned and clutched at her bedcovering, fisting it in both hands. Her muscles tensed under his hands, and the tension spread through her limbs and core until a bone-deep shake began within her. And then he suckled on her—hard, and she lost her mind. She had become a vessel of pure sensation, the sweet release of orgasm crashing through her in waves that undulated through her body, making her cry out with the force of it. It went on and on until she was spent and her body became soft and pliant, sinking deep into the mattress.

  Mark gentled his kisses, and his hands relaxed on her thighs. He gave her a last, soft kiss on the now-oversensitive area between her legs before rising and moving beside her. He pulled his shirt over his head, and she gaped at the flexing muscles in his arms and torso as he tossed it aside. Whytestone had been thirty years older than her and a hundred pounds heavier. Mark was probably also around a hundred pounds heavier than her, but his weight consisted of pure muscle while her husband had merely been fat.

  He rose and, holding the wall for balance, undid the button placket on his trousers, bracing himself against the pitching motion of the ship.

  She watched, stretching languidly as he kicked off the trousers and his drawers. His cock jutted out proudly. Staring down at her, he laughed.

  “What?” she asked drowsily.

  “You just licked your lips.”

  “Did I?”

  “Mm-hmm. Do you want a taste?”

  A thrill rushed through her. She’d never kissed a man down there before. While meeting his eyes, she licked her lips again, this time knowing she was doing it.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Get up on your knees.”

  She did as she was told, the languidness already leaving her muscles and being replaced with fresh excitement.

  “Open your mouth.”

  She opened her mouth, and he guided himself to her lips. He was so thick, she had to stretch her mouth as wide as she could to accommodate him.

  She had felt a man with her han
ds, and she’d felt one inside her before, but she’d never felt one in her mouth. The sensation was intensely erotic and intensely arousing. He was smooth and soft skin over a steely hardness, alive and pulsing in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around him, then slid her lips to his tip, then made him gasp as she suckled him deep once more.

  Closing her eyes, she focused on her task: driving him mad. By the small sounds he made and the shudders running through his body, he was reaching that point quickly. She kissed him, licked him, sucked him, learning this part of his anatomy intimately and savoring every second of it.

  Suddenly, he pulled her off him, his hands firm on her shoulders. She looked up at him, biting her lower lip, and he groaned. “Lie down,” he rasped. “Now.”

  She nodded, then lay on her back on the bed. He looked down at her for a moment, appreciation darkening his eyes. “I never thought I’d see you like this.”

  “Neither did I.” She smiled, stretching languidly, invitingly, and baring all to him. “Until about ten minutes ago, I was certain you never would.”

  “I…” He shook his head and blew out a breath. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Caro.”

  She’d wanted him, too. Though she’d never fully admitted it to herself, much less anyone else. She reached her arms out to him. “Come.”

  He moved on top of her, nudging her legs apart. He stared at her, and she saw his throat move as he swallowed. He dropped a tender kiss to her lips.

  She wrapped her arms around him, trying to draw him closer—into her. She was so aroused she could hardly think straight.

  He didn’t deny her for long. He guided himself to her opening, hesitated for a second, watching her carefully as if to make sure she was all right, then pushed inside slowly, his flesh grazing against hers, and she gasped in pleasure.

  Once he was inside her to the hilt, he held himself motionless, letting them both adjust to the sensation. Caro couldn’t stay still—she squirmed, her body fluttering around him.

  She gripped him tighter. “I need you, Mark.” Because, at that moment, she felt she’d never needed anything more. She needed him to be complete, to be fulfilled, to feel pleasure, to be happy and content. She needed him. “Please,” she added in a ragged whisper.

  “Caro, I…” His voice trailed off, and he blinked hard. Then he kissed her, hard, going down on his elbows over her, his upper body rubbing against hers as he pulled almost all the way out of her and thrust back in. Caro moaned into his mouth, and he kissed her harder, devouring her lips with his as he moved inside her. She tilted her hips beneath him, meeting him with every thrust, his body touching her at every single one of her most sensitive parts, from her lips to the tips of her breasts to that part deepest inside her that when he stroked it made her toes curl.

  Soon she couldn’t think of anything but his masculinity pressing her all over. She felt him everywhere, overwhelming her with his strength, with his size, with the scents of his skin, his sweat, their sex.

  Little noises began to flow out of her, with her barely realizing it. Little grunts, pants, whimpers. Her body tightened over him. He threaded his fingers in her hair, holding her head as he continued to kiss her and move with heavy, long, deep strokes inside her.

  And then she exploded around him. She would have been shocked if she had the sense, but she was too overwhelmed by pleasure. Her body arched with it, every limb sizzling with sensation.

  Mark growled something into her mouth—she couldn’t discern if it was merely an animalistic noise or words, but he didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop kissing her. Instead, both his movements and his kisses intensified. Then, as she came down from the orgasm, her eyes still squeezed shut as tremors of pleasure still shot randomly through her, he suddenly yanked out of her. He held himself tightly, his body jerking uncontrollably as he released onto her stomach.

  When he finished, he sank over her, then rolled them both to their sides, facing each other. Caro could feel the wetness of his seed between them and the wetness of her own arousal between her legs, but she didn’t care. She held him tight, burying her face into his chest.

  Awareness returned slowly, and she opened her eyes. The storm had intensified, and the room was darker now. But her cabin felt warmer than it ever had, a sanctuary, comfortable and dry.

  She didn’t know how long they lay there, quietly holding each other. Sometime later, a knock sounded at her door, and she groaned.

  “Ignore it,” Mark suggested. He sounded half-asleep.

  She thought about it, but the knock came again, insistent. Then the voice of the steward, Mr. Jones, came, muffled but still clear: “Lady Whytestone? My lady, we need to ensure you’re in your stateroom.”

  Caro sighed and sat up, still completely naked, at the edge of the bed. “Yes, I’m here. Thank you.”

  “Excellent. It’s a bit rough out, so we’re asking all passengers to remain in their cabins tonight.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Have you, by chance, seen Lord Mark?” the steward asked. “We haven’t been able to locate him.”

  She glanced at Mark, and he shrugged.

  “Lord Mark is with me, Mr. Jones.”

  There was a pause. Then, “Oh, I see. Would you like me to bring the two of you your dinner, my lady?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Very well. I’ll return shortly.”

  She and Mark dressed, slowed down by the ship’s incessant, unpredictable motion. It didn’t matter. There was no rush. When Mark had donned his trousers and shirt, and Caro had dressed simply in her chemise and a comfortable muslin wrap gown, there was another knock on the door. Caro felt her hair and realized it must look a terrible sight. She quickly removed the pins holding it up. When it fell down her back, she combed her fingers through it before opening the door to Mr. Jones. He carried a tray of cold meats, bread, and cheeses. “Sorry we don’t have a hot meal for you tonight, my lady, but what with the storm—”

  “It’s lovely, thank you.” She moved aside, and Mr. Jones set the tray on the tousled bed, his face carefully blank. Mark stood near the window, gripping the edge of her basin for balance and watching without comment.

  She refused to blush.

  Mr. Jones turned back to her and stood with a wide stance so he wouldn’t stumble. “We’re recommending to the passengers to leave your lanterns unlit this evening, due to the storm. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”

  “It is not a problem.” She could understand why lanterns might be dangerous in these high seas.

  “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Jones.”

  With a nod to Mark, Jones left them, closing the door gently behind him. Caro looked at Mark, pressing the back of her hand to her burning cheek. “Well. That was rather awkward.”

  “Jones is a decent fellow. He won’t talk.”

  “And what if he does?”

  Mark held her gaze evenly, and shrugged. “I don’t think I’d care. Would you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not as easy for women, and I have a feeling Owen Evans is on the verge of thinking me the worst kind…”

  “I’m not going to allow anyone to slander you, Caro. You know that, right?”

  “How would I know that?” she asked, smiling, as she sat on the bed beside the food tray and leaned casually against the wall.

  He remained serious, watching her from across the cabin. “I’ll protect you. I’d always protect you. Don’t you remember?”

  She gazed at him. She remembered. There was the time they’d gone for a swim in the river, but the current had proved too strong for her. He’d gone after her and grabbed her, and he’d swum her to the bank where Nate waited to pull them both out. And then there was the time a bully of a boy had come to visit Ironwood Park, Mark’s family home. The boy had smirked at Caro and called her a “simpering ninny.” The insult would barely have registered, and if it had, Caro would have laughed it away, but Mark had reacted instincti
vely, instantly punching the boy in the face.

  Mark frowned. “Didn’t Nate tell you what happened when we first arrived at Cambridge?”

  “We didn’t speak much about your time at university.” Shortly after Mark and Nate had left for Cambridge, it had become public knowledge that she was to marry Whytestone.

  Mark gave her a crooked smile. “Well, if he had, you’d know.”

  “Know what?”

  “How far I’d go to protect you.”

  He walked over to the bed and sat beside her, pushing the tray of food into the small space between them. He cut a slice of meat and tried to feed her a forkful, but she batted his hand away. She was dying of curiosity. “Tell me what you’re talking about. What do you mean, how far you’d go to protect me?”

  “Did you ever know a youth named Thomas Poole?” Mark questioned.

  “Oh,” Caro said, grimacing. “Yes, I did.”

  Mark laughed. “I see you think about as highly of him as I do.”

  “Well, when I was sixteen, my father invited him and his father to the house for a hunting party,” Caro said. “Thomas was—excuse my language—an ass.”

  Mark waved his hand in dismissal. “You’re excused. He was a complete ass.”

  “He liked to pretend superiority because he was from old money, and my family’s wealth—or what my father liked to pretend was wealth—was relatively new. Thomas thought I’d be impressed by his posturing, but I wanted nothing to do with it… or with him.”

  “Sounds like him,” Mark murmured. “He behaved similarly toward Nate. Not toward me though.”

  “Of course not.” Caro laughed without humor. “He wouldn’t dare. You’re the brother of the Duke of Trent.”

  Mark gave her a wry smile. “I did use that against him, eventually. But tell me what happened at the hunting party? I have a feeling this story isn’t over.”

  “Nothing, really. He was unpleasant. I disliked him. A few days before he and his father were to return to London, he yanked me into an alcove and kissed me.” Her lips twisted. “Well, I really shouldn’t call it a kiss. He smashed his disgusting sloppy wet lips against mine.”