by Gayle Eden
Elisha lifted his head and moved so that his hand could caress her, while his lips, swept supplely over her jaw and arched neck. Aware of the goal, he was using his warm breath, and tasting of her skin with the tip of his tongue. Cupping her breasts, he dipped lower, and fed her nipples to his wanting lips. He bathed the areola with his tongue, and then suckled with her sigh of pleasure in his ears and the arch of her shapely body against him was begging for more loving.
Smoothing his palm over her hip then her side, he kissed down her ribs. Gliding next over her buttock and then kneading, Elisha always knew, somewhere in his soul, that she would be as free and beautiful, as exquisite a lover as she was now. He knew—she would unfold more and more, like a flower coming into full bloom.
Lisette let herself fall into her senses. Every kiss upon her skin, every touch of his tongue to it spread sexual chills over her flesh. His warm breath caressed her. His strong masculine palm kneaded and wrung sighs from her parted lips. He was a sensual lover. His touch was incredible. He made her feel his pleasure in feeling of his hand and lips on her body.
Elisha moved down to her lower stomach. He traced her legs from arch to thigh with his hand, before he parted them. She half rose to watch him plant kisses over her curls, before his tongue was seeking the folds.
“Yes…” A hiss of pleasure came from her when he pressed harder and moved his head in the manner he kissed her mouth.
Elisha lifted his head a moment; his silvery eyes meeting hers before he bent her knees, then used his palms inside her thighs to spread them wider. Lowering again, he opened those petals to expose her most sensitive flesh. He flattened his tongue and curled it by turns over her clitoris, before easing it inside her sex.
Lisette was panting, moaning louder, completely submerged in the erotic stroke of his tongue.
He kissed here there, repeatedly, going from between the lips to easing his tongue inside. At length, when she was trembling, feverish, he sat up, peeling off his trousers.
Thighs quivering, her breath tight, Lisette admired his masculine body, welcoming his velvet hard strength against her as he put himself between her legs.
Her inner thighs were shivering against his skin.
At his kiss, she took his tongue deep in her mouth—tasting herself in his sexual kiss, feeling the tension and hunger raging inside of him too. Seeing it as he lifted his torso held found gaze.
His forearms beside her shoulders, muscles taut and sinew on his throat tight, Elisha’s visage was dark and intense. “Am I crushing you? You’re so very small.”
She smiled unsteady and smoothed her hands down his strong back. “No. You feel glorious. Your thighs, your hips, your warm belly touching me.” She whispered, “I ache for you.”
He closed his eyes a moment, nostrils quivering, and then opened them while he brought his hips closer and the crown of his sex found hers.
She bit her lip on a moan.
Watching her face closely, Elisha realized his body was quaking too. His breaths were terse, almost painful. His forehead lowered as he moved inches into her.
She dug her nails into his back and made an “Ahhh.” sound.
His breathing took on a brusque cadence now.
Her neck arched, her thighs were wide and high. The more he filled her, the louder her sounds became.
Eyes closed, feeling his terse breath wafting on her hair, she moaned, “Ohh—God. Elisha!”
He was shaking hard, his skin so hot it dewed. Against her ear Elisha rasped, “Lisette…Lisette…” Then eased back and came further in, stretching, and filing her.
Her nerves inside felt as if they were raw—feeling the form of his cock from the rounded crown and ample shaft. The more he gave her, the more she cried out, turning her head to bite his nipple, to tease him and lave it, and hold onto his large musculature for dear life.
Those muscles seemed to coil and flex as he began to pull back and thrust in slowly. By the fifth one, Lisette was arching her neck again, sucking in air and moaning loudly, “Oh—sweet God. Oh—ohhh.”
“Am I hurting you?” He sounded terse and raw throated. “Lisette! Does it hurt?”
She rolled her head to meet his eyes, hers burning with inner fires. “I’m…not a virgin.”
“You’ve—”
“Once. But—never—like this.” She panted and searched his gaze. Her sex was rippling against his inside of her, contracting. She managed, “It was two years ago, brief, and he was….nowhere near…your size.” Her following smile was unsteady.
Elisha seemed to tremble harder. He raised enough, and then slid out only a bit, so he could lean on his arm and cup her cheek. Looking into her eyes, he asked hoarsely, “Does it pleasure you?”
“Any more so—and I am going to be screaming. You will not mind, will you? I cannot seem to contain it.”
His eyes looked molten hot. “No. I will not mind.” After kissing her, he positioned again between her legs, and started thrusting in and pulling back, in a deliberately sensual cadence.
Lisette absorbed him—and there was much of him so thick inside of her, that she was indeed soon crying out, “Ohhhh yes…yes.”
He slanted. It grazed that magic spot going in. A climax went like wildfire through her muscle and bones. She could only gasp and dig her nails harder into his flesh.
Hearing his, “Mmm, love, mmmm. Yes.” The moisture from it bathed his cock, and he said so, explicitly—and she was soon caught up in the full, hard, slam of his hips keeping his cock stroking her inside.
He was a big, powerful man, so the thrusts jolted her and shuddered the bed. She could only take it, enjoy it, absorb it—until he halted, catching his breath as he raised his torso—elevating her hips up.
He was still inside of her when he got to his knees. Their eyes met. The room was now permeated with the scent of their hot skin and harsh breathing—saturated with the ambrosia of sex. Lips parted, breathing harsh, he came forward bending her knees at his upper arms and arching over, so it curled body.
He thrust shallower, but lightning fast.
Lisette did scream—when the head of him rubbed that inner spot. She whimpered and muttered explicitly, because it was that amazing.
When he had her close to climax, Elisha let her legs lower and then surged deep.
Lisette groaned longer and deeper. She shuddered, riding it out with her hips, while he husked, “It feels—like melted honey on my cock”, seconds before he shuddered and then growled something equally explicit.
For Elisha, the climax went through his muscle like a storm.
For Lisette, it flowed over her inner walls, making her sigh.
Afterwards, Elisha moved to the side of her and onto his back. For a while, his hand rested on her hipbone, while they caught their breath.
Lisette arose first, feeling him as if still between her legs. So real that she thought, this is what making love to a masculine, fully-grown, male, feels like? Amazing—Delicious. Roughly erotic in his potency... Breathtaking.
She was still in the small bathing closet when Elisha entered after she had relieved herself. His side to her, he washed himself, but with his head, turned and he openly watched her use the douche to flush his seed from her.
Lisette pat herself dry afterwards, silently thanking her mother for speaking frankly about such things. Still, she tried not to blush when he had wrapped a towel around his hips and sat on a small stool, apparently fascinated—watching while she made use of the fresh water and soap to run a cloth over her body and between her legs.
When she had rinsed and wrung the cloth, he reached a hand out for it.
Handing it to him after soaping it, Lisette watched him wipe his face, then the back of his neck. He ran it over the round muscles of his shoulders. As he reached it back, she wet it and rung again. He washed down his arms and from each thigh to feet.
Lord but he was beautiful. His skin was deep almond, his body sculpted.
When he was done and stood, she traced that bo
dy visually from his feet upwards, with her heart pounding a little louder while regarding that hard face in repose. His eyes were lighter, softer silver, but having observed her looking at him—she would swear his smile was a bit shy.
Impossible, she told herself later, when they lay on the bed and enjoyed wine that had been provided. He had the towel casually over his groin, in a half draped over one thigh. She was nude and on her stomach, elbows keeping her propped up, and the glass between her hands. She had pulled her hair over one shoulder to cool her nape.
Elisha was higher up in the bed. His hips were close to her. His eyes were traveling slowly from her legs to her ass, and up her back.
Finished with his wine, Elisha set it aside and reached for her glass; crunching those muscles on his abdomen when he took it and put it with his. She came up in the bed. He scooted down, and while she kissed him, Lisette reached down and moved that toweling—finding his sex stone hard and hot to touch.
Lifting her head a bit to have a look, his hold on her nape prevented her from it. She wanted to—after feeling it inside of her. However, he had such an expression on his face, that she was captivated by it instead. She did notice that he moved her hand so it rested on his stomach instead.
“I am glad you climaxed—many times.”
She laughed quietly at the way he put it. “Me too.”
He asked roughly, “This other time…”
She looked straight in his eyes. “I was at the salon. I had too much wine and had been observing lovers most of the evening. I had just the year before discovered...my um…ah...”
He filled in, “That your body held pleasures?”
“Yes. There was a young man there, not older than myself. The kissing was nice, but I was dismayed at how it progressed from that to him sticking himself in me. No lingering looks, no touching there. Thankfully, it was brief, and only mildly painful. As soon as it was over, I told him what I thought of his idea of lovemaking. He was game for another go, did not get the message apparently. I told him—to go bugger himself.” She winced.
Elisha grunted, obviously amused. Then he uttered very softly, “I’m a virgin.”
She did not jest or laugh—or do anything, while that went through her mind. It surprised her. Yet, when she could speak, Lisette whispered, “Not anymore.”
He did not jest either. He skimmed his splayed hand down her back, and then up again. “I am twenty and nine.”
“I’m twenty.” She shrugged.
His fingers found her hair and combed through it as his gaze was going over her face. “I have the coach ordered for a certain time. I must leave today.”
“I know.” She wanted to ask him a million questions. She wanted answers to everything about him. Nevertheless, she realized it was not going to happen.
“Why?” He cut through her thoughts. “Why now. Why today?”
She sat back a bit, seeing he had moved that cloth right back over his groin, and his hand lay casually over it. On her knees, she met his gaze and since his other hand had landed palm up, she put her own in it.
His fingers closed over it.
“Because I’m attracted to you. In our encounters, you stir me to the point it was in my mind. Every sort of pleasure is enjoyable, but I needed to feel closer to you. So close you were inside of me.” She shrugged. “I felt—you wanted it too.”
“I did,” he admitted.
“It felt more than right to me. Even now, I remember how you felt inside of me. I needed to moan and cry out, or I’d go mad.” She arched her brow. “I thought too, that you needed to know that I trusted and wanted you, this much.”
He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it, and then moved to sit at the side of the bed. Elisha pulled his trousers up over an arse that was so muscled and tight, she wanted to touch it again. He was putting on his boots when she sighed and went to the other side and also dressed.
Lisette used a vanity mirror to coil her hair back in the net. Eventually they were completely clothed and regarding each other again.
Her heart and stomach sank at the image he made—that tall, dark and aloof, Viscount Marston. He was bloody good at going back into his shell. She did not know what she was doing, other than trying, and she did not know what he was thinking.
He murmured, “Thank you.”
“You regret it?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It meant more to me than you know.”
She moistened her lips. “I don’t know what you’re thinking when you pull into yourself, Elisha. You said some things… but you never really say them.”
He looked away a moment before saying quietly, “It’s better I don’t, Lisette. You define everything between us, and that’s best for us both right now.” He glanced back at her and suggested, “We’d best go. I’ll fetch the mount.”
She discerned he wanted to escape, so she let him go. She went through the cottage, putting screens before the fire—wishing she and Marston could stay until he told her everything he felt he could not.
Lisette was soon outside and from the saddle; he reached down and lifted her to sit across his thighs.
On the ride back, his arms around her, she knew his mind was already a million miles away.
Elisha stopped within sight of the manor house and climbed off, handing her the reins when she took the saddle.
She would not weep, Lisette told herself. She would not push him. She had discovered her feelings too long after calling it all a game, and setting boundaries. Now, he wanted them. She could not go back to the months he pursued her. Yet she almost wished that man would merge with this one.
She was not so dense as to not see he was using his aloofness to hide something and protect himself. He felt something for her, but he was using it the same way. Something had changed, and instead of being closer, getting what he previously wanted, he was now building walls.
“Don’t say it.”
She blinked slowly, snapping out of her muse. “Say what?”
“Anything.” He shook his head. “I have to go.” He stepped up and reached to touch her face, looking at it as if memorizing everything. “You took me to heaven, Lisette.”
She felt his touch leave her. Too soon, he was walking away, toward the manor. She refused to linger until he was out of sight. Lisette rode homeward feeling heavy and emotionally anxious. The scenery was nothing, because all the images of that time with him in that tiny bedchamber were in her mind.
Chapter Five
London…
February in London was dreary gray and cold. A layer of suet blanketed each night’s pristine snowfall. When it was not snowing, there was chilly rain and icy slush. Winter seemed determined to remind everyone it was there.
Marston walked the streets by day, observing everything and everyone as an unfocused blur. He roamed the house at night too. The wind and cold kept at bay by fires that were not bright enough to banish ghosts. The voices came with the memories, mostly in winter. He would drink deep of whiskey—until the whiskey was not enough.
Hands to his head, he tried to shut them out. He sat on the staircase, in the dark, and screamed at them to go the hell away. The only thing that worked—was crawling back into the memories of his hours with Lisette. When he could sleep, he dreamed of her. When he breathed, he smelled her perfumed skin. When he swallowed, it was the taste of her kisses. He would wake himself whispering her name.
He told Smith one night, after he had returned from his rambles, “I desired everything she was and is. I just wanted to feel the life in her. It has a taste, a scent, her passion. And when she touches me, I want it to kill me with pleasure.”
“You became lovers?”
Sitting in one of the winged chairs by the fire in shirtsleeves, Marston admitted, “After a fashion.”
There was a soft grunt of amusement, and Smith murmured, “That is a step away from wife.”
“Wife. Wife?” Elisha got to his feet. “How can I bring her to this…?” He spread his arms wide, his fa
ce ravaged with emotion. “How can I drag someone like that, into this tomb—into the misery that is my life?”
Smith stood and put a hand on Elisha’s shoulders, his warm brown eyes capturing those silver ones. “That darkness and misery is not you, Elisha. You walked out of it. You by-God crawled out of hell to get where you are. This…” He looked around. “This is just a building. The ghosts in your head are not real, not alive. You are alive, Elisha.”
He put his palm on Marston’s heart. “This is yours. This is you alive, and in love with an incredible woman. You deserve this feeling. You deserve love.”
Elisha’s eyes were pools of pain. He rasped, clutching Smith’s shirt, “She hasn’t said she loves me. But if she did, what then? She will know everything and loathe me instead.”
“No. Elisha.”
“To bring a woman like her, someone with joy and life and passion into my existence, is wrong!” He released Smith’s shirt. “Don’t you think I want to be selfish? Don’t you think I fool myself that I can just have my life with her and nothing else?” He sat back down in the chair and closed his eyes.”
“You’re only a fool if let that evil sonofabitch rob you of anything else.” Smith’s voice throbbed, “I’m not going to let you do this, Elisha. I didn’t stay with you, to watch you bury yourself.”
“I can’t have her.”
On his way out of the room Smith growled, “You can have whatever you fight for, damn you! He is dead. He’s not here to rob you of life anymore.”
A glass that had been sitting at Elisha’s hip was flung and crashed into the side of the mantle.
It was one of Marston’s darkest hours.
* * * *
The wedding of Demetrious Willingham 4th Viscount of Fielding and Haven Mulhern Fitzpatrick was a quiet but joyous affair. Following a family celebration, they headed north, to the Rose Hill estate with plans to return in April for a grander gathering hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Wimberly.
Lisette spent those days and weeks after Marston left writing in a journal and enjoying her sisters when they were not at their studies.