by Jasmine Hill
His breath was coming in quick, short bursts as he struggled for control. Her mouth was so warm and wet that he wanted to bury himself there forever. Knowing that he was the only man who had ever taken that beautiful mouth had him reeling with such violent possessiveness, the feeling staggered him.
She sucked on him greedily as he gripped her hair even tighter and splayed his other hand behind her neck. When he felt his cock brush the back of her throat, he was done for. His climax was on him and the build-up of pressure clamored for release.
“I’m going to come, Lilly,” he said urgently but continued his rapid thrusts. He vaguely registered that he needed to warn her, to ready her to let go. “Do you know what that means?” he asked between gritted teeth.
He was on the edge and it was taking every element of his control not to blow her head off.
Potent lust curled talon-like down his spine. She looked up and slowly drew her lips back until she released his cock with a loud popping sound.
“I want to taste it,” she pronounced softly.
“Oh fuck,” he grunted and thrust back in between her waiting lips. It was too much— She wants to fucking taste me! Those erotic words, spoken out of her sweet, innocent mouth had him plummeting over the edge immediately.
He gripped her head and thrust hard one last time then threw his head back and roared as his pent-up release jetted out of him in long spurts and streamed into her.
He panted heavily and took a moment to gather himself before he gently extracted his still-erect cock from her mouth. He released his grip on her hair and massaged her scalp gently as he looked down upon her upturned face. She looked so breathtakingly lovely with her flushed cheeks and puffy, just-fucked lips that she took his breath away. He noticed a drop of his semen at the corner of her mouth and felt his cock twitch and surge to attention once more. Christ, I’ve never seen anything so sexual, so purely carnal as my cream on that succulent, sweet mouth. He reined in his raging erection and wiped her lip with his thumb.
“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She smiled shyly and shook her head. “I liked it. Did I do it properly?”
Fuck, she liked it! She’s going to kill me. He caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “I’m glad you liked it, my sweet. Many women don’t and yes, it was perfect.”
A small frown crossed her pretty features and he guessed it was due to his reference to other women. He didn’t want to go there. It was neither the time nor the place.
He tucked himself in and re-zipped his trousers. “I’ll give you some privacy so you can wash and dress.” He dropped a chaste kiss on her lips before leaving her alone.
Chapter Fourteen
Lillian washed and dressed quickly. She was anxious to be up and about and to see that the children didn’t interfere too much with Mrs. Thompson’s housekeeping activities.
When she descended the stairs, she heard the children in the kitchen and followed the sounds of laughing and chatter to find them standing on chairs at the large, oak kitchen bench where they were rolling dough and scattering flour throughout the large space. Mrs. Thompson, flushed from the heat of the stove, was stooping to check on her baking bread.
“Good morning,” Lillian greeted them brightly.
A chorus of cheerful hellos welcomed her and her heart warmed at the sight of the homey kitchen scene.
She collected an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it around herself before joining the children at the bench and assisting in the rolling and cutting of the scone dough.
She mused as she helped and wondered just where her relationship with William stood. She was also worried about the possibility that she could be pregnant. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t considered the prospect before William had brought it to her attention, but then she supposed that she hadn’t had much time to think about anything outside the events and revelations made the previous evening. Now she had one more thing to worry about. She could only pray that William was correct in his estimation that the timing of her courses would prevent a pregnancy.
She had to admit that being with William was beyond her wildest fantasies. She’d never have believed that her body was capable of such physical responses, but she supposed that her love for him had something to do with the way she reacted to him so readily. She flushed when she recalled what they’d done in her room that morning and that she’d enjoyed it. The odd sense of power she’d felt was extraordinary and she loved the fact that she could produce in him the sensations that he so easily elicited from her. She looked forward to an opportunity when they could once more be alone together. And they did need to be alone, if for nothing else than to talk. She desperately needed to hear from William where their relationship stood. She loved him—she always had—but she’d long ago given up any hope of their being together. Now, at any moment, she expected to wake up and find that the last twenty-four hours had been just a fanciful dream that she’d awake from, once more alone and heartbroken.
She could continue as if nothing had happened between them, but she knew she’d only be able to keep up the pretense for so long. No, she determined that she would seek William out and ask him frankly what he saw in their future.
* * * *
Lillian had half expected William to be out working on the property, so it was with some surprise, as she drifted down the hallway later that morning, that she heard the deep rumble of his voice from the drawing room. He was obviously in conversation with someone. Not wanting to intrude, she stopped just shy of the doorway and peered in to ascertain his visitor.
Standing in the drawing room with William was a woman. She was statuesque and handsome and looked to be his age or slightly older. It was immediately obvious to Lillian that the two knew each other well.
“It has been a long time since you visited me, William,” the woman admonished.
She walked toward him, a gentle sway to her generous hips, and placed a hand on his arm in a familiar gesture. “Perhaps you can find time for lunch next week?” Her voice was soft and seductive and promised an invitation for more than food.
Lillian wasn’t sure if it was her newfound sexuality or just an innate woman’s sixth sense, but she realized instantly that William and this woman had been intimate. The knowledge sent a wave of nausea through her and she had to grip the doorframe as she swayed unsteadily. The movement caught the attention of the two in the drawing room and William was by her side in an instant.
“Lillian, what is it? You look pale.” He grasped her around the waist and helped her into the room before lowering her into a chair.
“I’m fine,” she muttered apologetically. “Just a little faint. I’m sure it will pass.”
William knelt in front of her, his handsome face creased in concern, and took one of her hands in his. She looked past William to the woman standing behind him and almost flinched at the venomous daggers the woman was shooting in her direction.
“This must be the little governess,” the woman commented waspishly, as she stepped forward and placed a hand possessively on William’s shoulder. “Perhaps the outback air doesn’t agree with her. The poor thing looks a little peaked.”
William shrugged off the woman’s attention and stood to face her. “I won’t be able to make lunch next week. Thank you for the invitation, but I’m otherwise engaged.”
He stretched an arm out in the direction of the door, a signal that the visit was over. “Thank you for the deliveries, Mrs. Simpson. I’ll show you out.”
Lillian heard her speaking in a hushed tone to William as they made their way to the front door, but she was unable to make out anything that was said. A moment later, William was back, closing the door behind him, then he returned to a kneeling position in front of her.
“Who was that woman?” Lillian asked, her head cocked to one side.
William pushed a hand through his hair then stood to take a seat opposite her. “That was Mary Simpson. She runs the local store and post office. She stopped by
to deliver some mail.”
Lillian snorted derisively. “One hardly ‘stops by’ the property, William. Surely she made a special trip?”
“Yes, she did. She was concerned because she hadn’t seen me for some weeks and she wanted to extend an invitation to lunch the next time I was in town.”
“Is she married?”
William shifted uncomfortably. “She’s a widow. Her husband was killed in the war.”
“You two seemed to be quite close,” she commented, assessing him carefully.
He stood suddenly and paced to the window where he stopped with his back to her and stared for a moment through the glass. Then he turned and rested his hands behind him on the windowsill and fixed her with a long look. “Mary and I have, in the past, kept each other company,” he explained in a low voice.
“Did that ‘keeping each other company’ involve a bed?”
William’s countenance turned grim. “Yes, as it happens. We were both adults and both in need of physical company. It wasn’t anything more than that.”
“I think it definitely felt like more to her,” Lillian argued. “She was positively venomous toward me and very possessive of you.”
“Lillian,” he said sharply. “I didn’t give her any indication that it would be more than a casual, physical affair between us. She’s a widow, hardly an inexperienced maiden.”
“Unlike me,” she responded softly.
His eyes grew wide as he realized the significance of his last words. “Yes,” he muttered. “And there’s a difference. I told you this morning that I’m responsible for you. Mary Simpson is an experienced woman who has her own life and livelihood. She’s not in need of my protection—nor does she want it. I, however, have put you in a precarious position and I intend to make things right.”
She’d no idea what he meant by ‘making things right’ or how he intended to go about doing it, but it didn’t appear that he was going to enlighten her any time in the near future. Another aspect regarding his last words bothered her. “Is that what this is, William? A sense of obligation—of duty—toward me?”
He reclaimed the seat opposite. “No,” he bit out. “I told you that I’ve wanted you forever—that you should have been mine ten years ago—but for the disgraceful deeds of your father!”
“But do you really like Mary Simpson and will you continue to…see her?”
“Is this what caused your little swooning episode?” he asked with a slight smile. “That you recognized something between Mary and me?”
Suddenly uncomfortable, she clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at her entwined fingers. “It was a shock, that’s all. I could tell, by the way she moved and touched you, that you’d been intimate.”
She looked up to see him nodding thoughtfully. “I didn’t realize it was so obvious. In any case, I won’t be seeing her again in that way. I’d just finished telling her that when you overheard her invitation to lunch.” He grinned. “Mary is nothing if not tenacious. She’s not particularly happy that our weekly rendezvous will be coming to an end.”
Lillian was aghast. “Weekly?”
William sighed heavily. “Yes, Lilly. We met weekly. You must understand that I’m a man with needs. She had similar needs. It was an association that worked for both of us, and I reiterate that no promises were made on either side.”
“So what now?” she asked the question uppermost in her mind.
“I can control myself, Lillian. I don’t go running around the countryside finding skirts to lift! And control myself I must, because there will be nothing physical happening between you and I in the foreseeable future.”
Lillian gaped in dismay. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it definitely hadn’t been that.
He smirked. “I’m gratified by your apparent disappointment. But you’ll be tender for some time and, of course, I will not risk you becoming pregnant.”
“Is there not something we can do to…?” She waved a hand in the air.
William spoke before she could continue. “To prevent pregnancy?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
She nodded.
“My, my,” he chuckled. “You are becoming quite the temptress and a demanding little thing with it.” He leaned toward her and dragged his thumb over her bottom lip. “My sweet, demanding little thing.”
Her pulse leaped and a dozen butterflies fluttered to life in her belly at his sensuous touch.
He sat back in his chair once more and stared at her thoughtfully. “There are things that we can do,” he said slowly. “But not until you’re fully recovered.”
She sighed in consternation. She really did feel fine. She wasn’t sure how much recovery time William thought was needed.
“By the way, the annual Coolabah picnic horse races are this Saturday. Would you like to attend?”
Another outing with William! She very much wanted to step out with him again and the races sounded like glorious fun.
She smiled. “I’d very much like to go.”
“Good. After the races, in the evening, we have the Picnic Race Day Ball. It’s a big day and probably one of the biggest events of the year. People come from miles around to attend.”
Her pulse pumped in excitement when she thought about the anticipated race day frivolities and the prospect of spending an entire day and evening in William’s company.
Chapter Fifteen
Lillian looked at her wardrobe with despair. She had four days until the picnic races and absolutely nothing to wear. Before she’d left England, she’d sold her more glamorous party and luncheon dresses and, apart from the one evening gown, had only kept a handful of her sturdier, conservative outfits. Dresses, blouses and skirts that were neat and practical for a governess serving duties on an outback sheep station, but were not nearly impressive enough for a day like the annual picnic races. She understood that a country race day would bear no resemblance to a similar event in the city—however, it was still one of the largest local social events and she knew that the ladies would take great delight in dressing up for the occasion.
Lillian needed to seek Mrs. Thompson’s assistance. Perhaps she’d know where ladies’ attire could be purchased in one of the bigger towns. William was away, sheep mustering, and wasn’t due to return until late on the Friday before race day, so she had time to arrange transportation to and from wherever she would need to go.
She found Mrs. Thompson dusting in the drawing room and immediately explained her clothing predicament.
The housekeeper stopped what she was doing and looked thoughtfully at Lillian, eyeing her up and down.
“I have an idea,” the older woman announced. “Come with me.”
Lillian followed her to a bedroom on the second level. A large bed stood in the middle, covered with a colorful patchwork counterpane. Side tables with decorative porcelain kerosene lamps stood either side of the bed. In the corner of the room sat a table with a pitcher and basin, and the opposite corner held a black Singer treadle sewing machine.
“What a lovely room,” Lillian exclaimed. “So vibrant.”
“Yes, it is pretty. This was Ruth Cartwright’s bedroom,” Mrs. Thompson explained. “Toward the end, when she was so sick that it was better that she slept alone. She needed almost constant care. We had a live-in nurse for a while and the doctor was a weekly visitor.” She glanced around the room. “William had it wallpapered especially for her. He’d hoped that the bright flowers would provide comfort and cheer.”
Tears pricked the backs of Lillian’s eyes, as she thought of the young mother lying so sick in bed but drawing consolation from the cheery décor provided by her husband.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Thompson muttered and opened a large trunk at the foot of the bed.
Lillian crouched next to her and watched the older woman pull various items of folded clothing from the trunk.
“Ruth had some lovely dresses. They’ll be too big for you and a little outdated, but between the two of us, we should be
able to fashion something appropriate for the picnic race day and something for the ball afterwards,” the housekeeper said, laying items of clothing out on the bed.
Lillian admired the luxurious chiffon, silk and lace garments spread out before her. She ran a hand reverently across a stunning dress of pale green silk with a delicate lace overlay in darker green and a draped sash to be tied at the side of the waist.
“These are very lovely,” she murmured. “However, I do have money and I just need to get to the nearest city where I can purchase something. Besides, I’m not sure that it would be appropriate for us to destroy Ruth’s beautiful dresses.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Thompson declared. “For one, getting you to the city is easier said than done and we wouldn’t be ‘destroying’ Ruth’s dresses—we would be reusing them—and in turn, they will be re-loved. Ruth sewed most of these dresses—she was an excellent seamstress. She would send away to Sydney for the fabric and patterns. She also sewed most of the children’s clothes, reusing anything that she had at hand. It was the only thing to be done during the war years when getting hold of fabric was often difficult and expensive. Ruth disliked waste. She would re-fashion many of her clothes by just a change of ribbons or lace. She would give a hat a new look by adding some feathers or some beading.” Mrs. Thompson smiled wistfully. “I remember when she fashioned a new hat for a church picnic out of lace doilies and chicken feathers, which she’d painted blue. It was a real hit and in war times, who needs doilies when a new accessory can make you feel a little bit special and soften your worries for a day?” The older woman looked Lillian in the eye. “Now, if there’s one thing that I’m absolutely certain of, she would abhor the fact that her beautiful creations are gathering dust, unused and unloved, sitting in a trunk!”
Lillian smiled at the image that Mrs. Thompson was creating in her mind of Ruth Cartwright.
“She must have been a very talented and resourceful woman,” Lillian said in admiration.