by Lynne Barron
“When he puts his member inside you it will hurt. Try not to scream, but do not remain silent lest he think you were not a virgin.” Olivia had expected a bit more pain so she certainly had not screamed, she did however cry out. She might have said “Oh”, or perhaps “Ow”.
“As it is your first time and he is a gentleman, he will be quick about it.” Olivia had barely had time to get used to the feel of him moving inside her before he had let out a small grunt and bucked his body against hers. Then he’d rolled off her and lay on his back beside her, his breath wheezing in his lungs.
That had been the pattern of Olivia’s nights throughout her marriage. Until her husband had stopped coming to her bed altogether.
Olivia very much doubted Jack would be content with hurried fumbling in the dark.
Jack would make love to her. Beatrice had used the term once and Olivia liked the sound of it, the poetry, the image it evoked of two people caught up in their passion for one another.
She had only to march across the hall and make it so. For goodness sake, she’d witnessed men and women traversing hallways in the darkest hours at various country parties over the years. How difficult could it be?
Olivia squared her shoulders and drew in a deep breath. Allowing herself no time to question her decision, she strode across the room, barely hesitating as she pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway.
She had time only to register the chill in the drafty hall, the cold of the wood floors beneath her feet, before the door to Jack’s chamber was wrenched open and he came storming out.
They collided in the dark, her head smacking against his chin and her legs tangling with his. Only his quick reflexes kept her from falling on her backside.
Hard hands gripped her upper arms, his fingers shockingly hot on her bare skin.
“Whoa, Livy,” he murmured around a huff of laughter. “Where are you running off to?”
Olivia tilted her head, her spine curving with the motion, her belly brushing against the tops of his thighs where the unmistakable evidence of his arousal was hidden beneath a long, black silk robe.
“I thought,” she began only to pause and draw a shuddering breath into her chest, causing her too sensitive nipples to strain against the fabric of her nightgown. “That is…I hoped…”
“You hoped…” he prompted when her voice trailed away.
“Do you… Might you want to…”
She waved one hand, gesturing behind her to the door and her chamber beyond, wishing she could see his expression.
“Are you inviting me to your bed?” Jack’s voice was little more than a raspy whisper. His fingers clenched on her arms, tugging her closer until her breasts brushed his chest.
“If you don’t mind,” she answered, heat rushing over her. “That is…if you want…”
“I want,” he growled just before his lips found hers.
His kiss was both tender and rough, reverent and wild. He wasted no time on gentle persuasion but simply plundered, his lips molding to hers, his tongue delving deep to find hers, to stroke over and around, to circle and dive, invading her mouth.
Olivia moaned, shocked and not a little bit embarrassed by the desperate sound. But if Jack found it surprising or vulgar, he gave no indication. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. He tugged her against him and wrapped his arms around her, his hands landing on her back, skimming down to grip her bottom and pull her flush against him.
Olivia found herself surrounded by him, pressed against him from their joined lips to their bare toes. His scent, exotic and earthy, enveloped her. The heat of his big body enfolded her. His member pulsed low on her belly and she rose to her toes, aligning her hips with his, reveling in the knowledge that he wanted her.
Jack growled low in his throat, his hands squeezing her bottom, lifting her higher still and Olivia wrapped her arms around him, her fingers digging into his muscled back beneath the silk of his robe. Pleasure took hold of her, drawing another dark moan from her.
Then Jack was moving, walking her backward until she came up against the door, their combined weight pushing it open to bang against the wall, the sound ricocheting down the hallway.
They broke apart, stared at one another in the flickering firelight.
“Shh,” she whispered, immediately feeling ten kinds of fool for admonishing him.
“Ah, Livy,” he huffed out around a raspy chuckle, “if that’s the only noise coming from this room tonight, I’ll not have done right by you.”
Olivia blinked in confusion. “Noise?”
“Oh, yes, noise and plenty of it,” he promised, ushering her into the room ahead of him and closing the door.
Before she could ponder the meaning of his words, Jack hauled her against him once more, his head dipping, his lips fastening on hers. She wound her arms around his neck, dove her fingers into the curls at this nape and held on as passion reignited between them.
He drove his tongue into her mouth, searching for hers. She met it with wild abandon, all thoughts of noise and decorum leaving her. She was lightheaded, weak with desire as she met his demanding mouth, arched into the heat that radiated down his torso.
Jack widened his legs, bent them, created a space between and lifted her higher, his hands firm upon her buttocks as he pressed his arousal against her. With a soft moan, she tilted her hips, fit her mound to his hard flesh, rubbed shamelessly against him. Light seemed to flare upon her closed eyelids, heat raced through her veins and down her spine.
He pulled his lips from hers and she moaned at the loss and moaned again as they roamed across her jaw, down her neck, to latch on to the soft skin at the juncture of her shoulder. He suckled and gently bit her flesh, sending arrows of pleasure through her arms, her breasts, her belly, to lodge between her legs.
“Jack,” she whispered as she threw her head back. “Please…” She didn’t know what she begged for.
“Shhh,” he soothed. “I know, Livy.”
He straightened and she expected him to pull her nightgown up and over her head. Instead he began working at the buttons that ran down the front of the unadorned cotton shift. His fingers shook, his panting breath caressed her cheek, her throat as he bent to the task. He kissed each new patch of skin he exposed, kissed her chest, down between her heaving breasts, knelt before her and kissed her stomach, limned her navel with his tongue. Olivia swayed, would have fallen had he not grasped her hips firmly and pulled her forward, pressing his open mouth against her belly just above the ribbon of her drawers.
He stilled there, on his knees before her, his warm breath rushing over her flesh, his mouth hot and wet against her. Olivia moved her hands across his wide shoulders, her fingers massaging the bunching muscles she found there. Jack groaned, the sound vibrating from his lips across her stomach and down her legs.
“Jack?”
He rose to stand before her, to meet her eyes. She saw a new fierceness on his face, in his dark gaze. Desire. His desire shimmered between them, buffeted her like a warm wind. Olivia welcomed it, rejoiced in it.
Then his hands were moving again, stripping her gown and her drawers from her body until she stood before him naked. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laid her gently in the center and stepped back.
Olivia watched in fascination as he tugged at the belt of his robe, shrugged out of the garment to allow it to fall at his feet. In the flickering firelight, he was all shadows and muted golden light. His chest was wide and covered by a dusting of dark swirling hairs around his nipples and trailing in a line down his taut abdomen. His member jutted out before him from a nest of dark curls. Surely it was a trick of the light that made him look so thick, so long.
He crawled on the bed with her, over her, his knees wedged between hers, spreading her wide. Olivia braced herself for the coming invasion as disappointment speared her. She had thought… Well never mind. It had been wonderful before, with his lips and his hands… But of course he must see to his pleasure now. She rested her ha
nds on the smooth cotton coverlet, closed her eyes and waited.
But instead of the inevitable fumbling at her most private place, she felt his warm breath feathering over her cheeks. She opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her, his arms braced on either side of her head. Then his lips were on hers once more and she was again caught up in the pleasure. He kissed her long and hard, his tongue swirling around hers, along her lower lip, over the roof of her mouth, delving deep, dragging a low moan from her. Her hips rose and fell, her legs trembled. She wound her arms around his broad back and dug her fingers into him.
With a groan he lowered his chest until it rested on hers. She bowed up into his weight, rubbed her breasts against him, pulled him closer, harder against her. His hips settled between her legs, his erection hot and pulsing against her. She squirmed beneath him, bent her legs and dug her feet into the mattress in an attempt to bring him closer.
Jack broke their wild kiss, laughed deep in his throat at her murmured protest. In the next instant his lips were on her breast. He twirled his tongue around her nipple, pulled the peak into his hot wet mouth and Olivia arched off the bed as desire engulfed her. Her hips jerked against him, her fingers dug into his hair, holding him against her as wave after wave of heat rushed over her. He moved his attentions to her other breast, his mouth hotter, more demanding as he rolled her nipple around on his tongue before dragging his teeth across her flesh.
“Jack,” she panted, her head thrashing on the pillow. “Please.”
“Ah God, Livy,” he groaned as he rose over her.
“Jack…I need…please,” she moaned. She dragged her hands down his back, over his firm buttocks. She grasped him, her fingers digging into the taut muscles, pulling him down as she tilted her hips to receive him. “Please.”
Jack leaned forward, rested his weight on his forearms, captured her mouth, drank her moans of need and brought the tip of his engorged flesh to her opening. He prodded carefully. Olivia moaned at the gentle invasion, moaned again when he retreated. But he was back again, surer, firmer. He flexed his hips, nudged until the head of his member was inside her, stretching her, filling her. He broke the kiss and Olivia opened her eyes to find him watching her, a look of fierce concentration on his face.
He lunged forward, withdrew, and lunged again, planting himself deeper inside her body. It was amazing. It was astonishing.
“You’re so big,” she whispered in wonder as she felt him thrust deeper yet. “So hard.”
Jack growled, his eyes slamming shut. “Jesus, Livy.”
“It feels so good,” she moaned. “I never knew…I never knew.”
Jack opened his eyes, stared intently into hers, drew back and thrust hard and deep until he was buried inside her to the hilt. And Olivia came apart. She simply flew apart, into a million tiny pieces. She bucked shamelessly against him, ground her aching flesh against his hard pelvis, pulling him hard into her as she lost herself to the blessed relief that washed over her, stealing her breath, stopping her heart, sending her spiraling into nothingness.
“Oh my God,” she cried. “Oh, oh, oh!” Jack captured her lips, muffling her cries, absorbing her passion. He rocked against her, riding her pleasure. And then he joined her. Olivia felt him jerk against her as his weight came fully onto her and his hands dug beneath her to grip her bottom. He held her hard beneath him and thrust furiously into her waiting softness.
“Christ, Livy,” he groaned, his entire body trembling on hers.
Minutes later, Jack withdrew from her warmth and rolled onto his back taking her with him, tucking her against his side with her head on his chest. Olivia listened to his heartbeat, a rapid thumping at first, then gradually slowing to a steady drum, its measured beats soothing her into a deep sleep.
Chapter Four
Jack awoke just as the first rays of the sun crested the horizon. Those first golden beams trickled through the lace curtains at the window, drifted across the room to alight upon Olivia’s sleeping form. She was cocooned in blankets, curled onto her side facing him, her head snuggled into the pillow so that all he could see was her profile. It was a lovely profile, perfect. Her thick dark lashes cast shadows upon her cheekbones, her nose was straight and elegant, with the smallest tilt at the end. Her full lips, those same lips he had worshiped during the night, were parted slightly. She made not a sound as she slept.
She’d surprised him, Olivia had. Who would have thought she had so much passion buried inside? And buried it was. He knew without being told that he’d given her the first orgasm of her life. She hadn’t even known what she was reaching for, what she needed as she strained against him in helpless yearning. He’d known. But he hadn’t known, hadn’t been prepared for the uninhibited joy she’d found with her release. He hadn’t expected it to trigger his own. So quickly. So completely.
You’re so big. So hard.
Jesus. Those words, whispered in awe, had nearly undone him then and there.
It feels so good. I never knew.
No surprise there. The Earl of Palmerton had been an idiot. Even back during their Cambridge days, Jack had known that Palmerton was a shallow, empty-headed man, puffed up on his own importance, interested only in the pursuit of his own pleasure, his own gratification. He’d gambled away his allowance within the first weeks of each quarter. What he hadn’t lost at cards, he’d blown at the brothels.
Had the earl taken the time to introduce his wife to the pleasures of the marriage bed, had he awakened that secret passion in Olivia, he would never have needed the mistresses and whores. He would not have shamed and humiliated his wife. He would not have nearly ruined her by dying in a dingy room in Cheapside atop an old whore so debauched and disease-riddled she’d taken to plying her trade in dark alleys.
Jack hadn’t expected to find Olivia at Idyllwild. But as he watched her sleep, watched the sunlight drift over the riotous, sable curls framing her face, he thanked providence for affording him the opportunity to begin his campaign away from the prying eyes of Society.
In one night he’d accomplished what would have taken him weeks, months, hell the entire Season, in London.
Jack intended to marry the Countess of Palmerton. He’d thought of little else since he’d read Simon’s letter more than a year ago and learned that Olivia was a widow.
She had stolen his future from him. In one careless, jealous moment, sixteen-year-old Lady Olivia had set in motion events that had destroyed his dreams.
Why?
The question had plagued him for more than a decade. He had spent five of those years married to a selfish, greedy, reckless wife who had cared nothing for him or her daughter. To be followed by seven more years of trying to make a life for that motherless daughter. And all the while he’d been learning all he could of the mining business his father had begun that would one day be his. Years of investing every extra sovereign at his disposal so that he finally had a small fortune of his own, a small manor house in Sedgefield where Justine could ride and roam and be happy. Now, a dozen years after his life had been obstructed, he was ready to marry again and go about the business of filling his nursery. With children of his own.
Elizabeth had come to him almost three months gone with child upon their marriage. Regardless of what Society had believed, Jack had gotten no further with the wanton Elizabeth Portman than a few kisses and a quick peek at her small, pert breasts. He shouldn’t have been forced to marry the girl. It was common enough knowledge that she’d lain with any number of young gentlemen.
But because Jack Bentley wasn’t a true gentleman, an education at Eton and Cambridge could not turn the son of a miner and a shepherdess into a gentleman, he had always felt the need to prove himself better, nobler, more honorable than any son of a peer. So he’d married the scheming harlot and lived to regret it.
Not that he did not love Justine. He did. Justine was the only good thing to come of his hellish marriage. Since the moment the squalling infant had been placed into his arms, he had loved her, vow
ing to treat her as if she were the child of his own loins. He’d vowed to love her so well that she would never feel the lack of her mother’s love.
Elizabeth had been incapable of love, had not even loved herself, instead searching out new men to conquer in an unending need to be desired. When she had died in a carriage accident on the way to meet one of her lovers, Jack had not mourned her. He had felt only a deep well of relief that finally, finally he would have a quiet life uninterrupted by her wild bouts of fury and his worry that tales of her exploits would somehow reach his daughter’s ears.
And during all that time Jack had nursed a smoldering anger, a banked resentment against the woman now lying so quiet and still beside him. He recognized that Olivia was only partly to blame for the nightmare he had endured with Elizabeth. She had been at that most dangerous of ages, no longer a child but not yet an adult, too young to understand what she saw but old enough to allow jealousy to rule her. Jack had known that she fancied herself in love with him, he’d felt her worshipful eyes upon him as she followed him about. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Jack accepted his fair share of blame for the events of that fateful day. He’d had no business kissing a gently bred lady, as Elizabeth had screamed at him within the first week of their marriage. Who was he to reach so high? It hadn’t been Jack she had been hoping to find that long-ago day. Bad timing and even worse luck had Jack walking into the stables to find her standing in a beam of sunlight, her blonde ringlets disheveled becomingly, her bare hands beckoning him. She’d thought only to play with him, to demonstrate her desirability, until she could sink her claws into a more worthy gentleman.
They had both gotten a bad bargain, but while Jack had been determined to make the best of a barely tolerable situation, Elizabeth had spent the next five years railing at the fate that had befallen her. Marriage to a miner’s son who had dragged her kicking and screaming to the north of England to live on his grandparents’ sprawling sheep farm with his father, a man whose mines were only just beginning to pay off, the nearest town a rural backwater with almost no society to speak of.