“Do I what?”
“He knows not that you are here. He might never discover that you came here.”
“Are you suggesting I deceive him?”
“Do you intend to inform him?”
“I could not live with such a deception! To look him in the eye, day after day, knowing what I have done—I could not!”
“Then you are a better person than most,” he said wryly.
The acts of depravity had stayed her mind from having to think on the consequences of her actions, but now that the subject had come up, she felt ill at ease
“I WOULD FINISH WHAT I had started,” he said after they had finished the tea. He pointed to the ground before him. She knelt in front of him.
“Good little wanton,” he whispered into her ear.
He cradled a breast and appeared to admire how it spilled over his fingers. He stroked the side of the orb with his thumb before reaching over to tug at her nipple. He rolled the nub and pinched it. She grunted and felt her body begin to melt into the heat of desire.
“Touch yourself,” he instructed.
Without protest, she complied, thrusting her hand between her thighs. He continued to play with her nipple as she stroked. What a wanton indeed she had become!
“You are a lovely sight when you pleasure yourself.”
He alternated between breasts while she slid her fingers against herself. She wanted to press both breasts into his hands. He knelt before her, close enough for her nipples to touch his chest. He pushed and groped both orbs, pulled and pinched her nipples till she whimpered. Then he cupped her face with both hands and brought his lips down upon hers. How she wished Leopold would kiss her so!
“Remember not to spend till I have permitted it,” he murmured against her mouth.
Her reply was muffled by the kiss. She marveled at how much she enjoyed the locking of their lips, as much as she delighted in his other caresses. It felt as if, through her mouth, he intended to possess all of her. When he parted from her and his hands slid from her face, she groaned a little.
He stood and watched her fondle herself. She circled the nub between her folds, wondering what her reward would be. As the tension between her legs grew, she closed her eyes.
"Enough," he commanded.
She was reluctant and relieved to cease her ministrations. "Come."
He lifted her, turned her around and positioned her above his lap. Her debaucher sank Trudie onto his shaft, filling her aching cunnie. She shut her eyes because the sensation was too marvelous. Her body had longed for this.
Trudie trembled and yelped as her arousal drilled deep into her belly with every stroke, every throb inside of her. The wave was cresting. She cried out.
The spasms nearly knocked her from his lap, but he embraced her with his other arm, holding onto her tight. She shook against him and sobbed for air as she drowned in bliss.
He bucked his hips at her, and soon she felt the heat of his seed inside her as he roared and his body shook. If she were not wallowing in rapture still, she might have begun to panic. She collapsed against his chest, calmed by his deep breathing. He kissed her temple with a rare tenderness.
Chapter Fifteen
WHEN TRUDIE EMERGED FROM her daze, she tried to slip from him, but Leopold enjoyed having her upon his lap.
“Stay,” he directed, holding onto her.
She resisted.
“Stay yourself, madam.”
His stern tone jolted her to obey.. He reached around her and cupped a breast. She stiffened and shivered. He squeezed and kneaded the ample flesh in his hand. Lust stirred in his groin. Good God, could he possibly spend again? Till now, the most he had spent in the span of four and twenty hours was thrice. He had lost count of how many times he had made Trudie spend.
“Did you know your body was so favorably given to spending?” he asked her, dropping his hand from her breast to her crotch. His fingers toyed with the patch of hair there.
Her voice quivered. “No.”
“It is a shame your husband was unaware of this most lovely attribute.”
“I—I do not think that would matter.”
“You underestimate your appeal. What husband would not desire a wife who spends as lovely as you do?” He reached for the flesh beneath her curls.
“You need not be so complimentary.”
With her countenance turned away, he could not see her expression, but he thought he heard a hitch when she spoke.
“I assure you your husband would be much impressed.”
“You can assure this? Do you know him?”
She seemed to accuse him.
“I know he must be an incompetent lover for you to have risked coming here.”
“Alas, I was not the most encouraging when it came to...the marital bed.”
“He should not have given up so easily.”
“I knew not my body was capable of...”
“Perhaps you would have made this discovery sooner if your husband possessed my skills.”
She stiffened.
“Do you wish your husband had my skills? Would it please you to have him bind you to the bed and wrest the rapture from your body as I have?”
She was quiet before answering, “Better my husband than any other man.”
“You must not rue your time with me. I send you back to your husband a better woman.”
She made a strange sound. He dipped his fingers between her folds. Upon connecting with the wetness there, he felt the blood course more strongly through him. She clamped her thighs together and squirmed from his touch.
“Do you not wish for your reward?” he asked.
“I think not.”
“Resistance is futile now that you have come this far.” He forced his hand to her quim. “Note how copiously wet you are.”
“That is—that is not all my—but your—you spent inside me.”
And it was glorious, but he understood her concerns. “Do you fear you will conceive?”
She tried to wriggle from his probing fingers. “Have you no care for what you might have done? Of how you might have ruined me?”
The anguish in her voice gave him pause. In his time at Château Follet, he had always had French letters at the ready for when he wished to spill his seed inside a woman, but as Trudie was his wife, it was not necessary. But she knew not this.
“What would you do if you were with child—my child?”
She moaned. “Do not ask such a thing!”
“Would you pass the child off as his?”
At that, she tried to slide off his lap, but he fisted his other hand in her hair and held her in place. She cried out but remained where she was. He resumed fondling her between the legs, encouraging the rosebud there to protrude.
“Would you?” he pressed.
“How dare you ask such an odious question!”
He admitted it was in poor form, but he was curious. He pinched her rosebud. “Answer me.”
“How could I? It were not possible!”
Her lack of easy pretense gratified him. He had previously found her naivete rather dull, but her artlessness was now refreshing. He decided to provide her a solution.
“It is quite easy, madam. Simply spread your legs beneath your husband as you have done for me. Do this upon your return home and he will be none the wiser.”
She renewed her struggles. The shifting of her body atop him made him harden with lust. He sank two curled fingers into her and found a spot within that made her gasp and tremble.
“And if he hesitates to take you, you have but to make the pretty noises you make now, and he will want nothing else but to fuck you.”
“Oh...God...” she panted as her legs shook. “...Stop...”
When she tried to slide once more off him, he pulled her down to him. Her head fell against his chest. A range of emotions swarmed within him: arousal, anger, gratitude, guilt. He was undecided if he welcomed her coming to Château Follet. At first, he had considered it nothing
but awful. But then he had seen a part of her he would never have known existed. Though her intended infidelity enraged him, he was also glad not to be the only guilty party.
He stroked her and watched as her eyes rolled toward the back of her head before she shut her eyes.
“Please,” she whined. “No more. I am done.”
“Your body contradicts you. I think it would readily spend again.”
Her eyes flew open. “No!”
“There is no virtue in resisting. You have taken my member into your mouth and allowed me to spend within you—”
She grabbed the hand between her legs. “I did not! I did not know you would take such a liberty!”
Trudie was not practiced in such circumstances. The advantage had always been his, and he had not hesitated to press it.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
“I won’t!”
He stopped. The force of her words surprised him. “Won’t what?”
“I won’t pardon you!”
“As I’ve said, your husband need not be the wiser.”
“But I am the wiser. I could not perpetrate a deceit such as you have described.”
“You would confess the truth to him?”
He saw the agony in her eyes and cursed himself for a blackguard.
“I would,” she whispered.
He believed her, and for a moment, he felt unworthy of her honesty.
“Is your husband deserving of your honesty?” he challenged, now vexed that she seemed to hold the superior moral standing though it was she who had come to the Château seeking to commit adultery.
“It matters not. I could not bring myself—I have not the wherewithal to carry on a deception that would require me to live a lie every day of my life!”
“But you have already deceived him in coming here.”
“Yes, but...I had not thought—I would not have sinned had I not crossed paths with you!”
He recalled her resistance earlier in the night, which now felt like days ago. It was true he had forced himself upon her, but surely she was not all reluctance for she had spent at his hand?
“You bear no fault?” he returned.
“I did not say that. I have been complicit enough in my sin and shall rue it till the day I die.”
He scoffed, “That is a theatrical approach you need not take. You have merely equaled his infidelity, and if he is none the wiser—provided your friend, Diana, is discreet—”
“I could not bear it if he were to learn from another! I must tell him myself...”
For a moment, he sat stunned before asking, “You mean to confess to your husband?”
“I must,” she answered slowly. “I could not harbor such a secret such as this. It would eat at my soul.”
Hearing the misery in her voice, he put a hand to his head and tried to fight back the guilt. He had felt only a small amount of remorse for hiding his mistress from Trudie because his motivations had been kind. He had thought to shelter Trudie from the pain of his faithlessness.
“And how do you think your husband will receive your confession?”
“He will be livid. Furious.”
“Then why confess? Is it to satisfy to your own conscience?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Or perhaps he will be relieved,” he offered.
“No. No husband would be anything but affronted and vexed to be made a cuckold. Only...you knew Diana from before. Did you also know my husband?”
He had eschewed her earlier question of the same. “Not everyone reveals his identity at Château Follet. I may have crossed his path and not know it. But why do you think I would know your husband?”
“Diana...”
His jaw tightened. “Your friend told you?”
“Not in words, but you had said her cousin was a patron here. My husband is the only cousin of hers I know of ...Pray tell me, was my husband—has my husband been here before?”
He drew in several silent breaths as he debated the response he wanted to give.
“Yes,” he answered.
Chapter Sixteen
LEOPOLD COULD SEE THAT Trudie was stunned. He allowed the newfound knowledge time to sink in for her. In his revelation, he had hoped to ameliorate some of her self-reproach.
She broke the silence by asking, “Did he come with his mistress?”
“He was a guest many years ago,” he replied. “I do not think he has returned since.”
“But how would you know?”
“He strikes me as the sort of man who does not take matrimony lightly. He would have made an attempt to be the honorable husband, but you would know better.”
She shook her head. “I think I hardly know him at all.”
He swallowed the guilt that threatened to rise in his bile. He moved the hand that remained between her thighs, startling her. “Did I not say I would return you to your husband a better wife?”
He stroked her gently, but she resumed her earlier resistance. The wriggling of her arse upon his lap woke the lust that had cooled during their dialogue.
“Please—” she demurred.
“I seek only to pleasure you. You need not worry that you will have to attend me.”
“I am overcome. I can hardly think—”
He brushed his fingers against her folds. “Spending can clear the mind.”
Her hesitation was all he needed to continue. He stroked her clitoris and breathed in the arousal emanating from between her legs. He murmured in her hair, “Come, you have earned this.”
“I have not.”
"I command you to spend for me."
She groaned, "Have I not done all that you have asked?"
"What purpose does denying yourself serve?"
"Perhaps I could take your—take you into my mouth one last time?"
"I much prefer to see you spend. It is a thing of beauty."
"Have mercy on a wretched soul, sir."
"One last time and I shall set you free."
"Only once more?"
"Once more."
Taking her silence as acquiescence, he sank his digits into her hot, wet cunnie. She gasped when he curled his fingers and stroked her, making her shiver from head to toe. When he felt certain she would not try to escape, he dropped his other hand to her breast, rolled the orb and gently tugged at the nipple. With a moan, she closed her eyes and surrendered. No longer angry at the fact that his wife writhed beneath the hands of a man she thought a stranger, he sought only her pleasure. With his hands, he coaxed her to that ultimate carnal bliss, relishing her every sigh and purr, the flow of wetness between her thighs, and the rise and fall of her bosom.
But his forbearance could only withstand so much. Her squirming and panting, the flutter of her lashes, her naked form all conspired to lend his lust the upper hand. He ground his groin against her bottom. His strength of will crumbled.
In one motion, he stood and bent her over the chair. She yelped in surprise. "What do you—" she began.
He positioned himself behind her, taking in the fullness of her arse rounding the edge of the seat. Reaching around her hip, he returned his hand between her thighs, fondling her till her breath grew shaky. He rubbed his shaft between the cheeks of her derrière. Angling his shaft lower, he thrust into her.
"No! Wait—"
Her objection turned into a long low moan as his fingers strummed her wet flesh. Over and over, she groaned while he bucked his hips, slapping his pelvis into her rump.
"Such a good wench," he muttered, his thrusting causing the chair to scrape against the ground.
"Please don't spend—oh—my—God," she babbled.
He dared to thrust harder. Her tightness was exquisite. The way the flesh of her arse quivered, the heat and wetness encasing his shaft, the sound of flesh against flesh—he was near to spending himself. A cry burst from her lips, and her body began convulsing atop the chair. Her cunnie clenched, and he lost control. The tension in his groin unraveled and spilled into her.
With a groan, he speared himself deeper into her as spasms wracking his body. He pumped himself into her, claiming her through his release.
Collapsing onto her back, he remained inside of her until his cock became flaccid and slid from her of its own accord. He kissed her between the shoulder blades. "My dear, you are marvelous.”
She made no sound, but when he drew her up from the chair, she turned around and began to pommel him.
"You brute!" she cried.
He grabbed her wrists. What the devil was wrong with her?
She continued her efforts to assault him, though he easily restrained her.
“You spent!” she accused. “Inside me! Again.”
Her reaction baffled him for she had not erupted in such a manner in the Orange Room.
“Calm yourself,” he said. “I assure you, you have nothing to worry of.”
Capitulating to his superior strength, she sank to her knees. He replaced his fall and looked upon her as she hung her head. He dropped to a knee before her.
“My dear, you fret needlessly.”
She lifted her head and glared at him through what appeared to be tears. “You selfish bastard!”
“Nothing will come of it.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Why torment yourself with what may not come to pass?”
“Torment? Yes, it will be a daily torment until—what if—what if the worst—but you do not have to suffer the consequences! You may indulge in being a selfish rogue without penalty.”
The pain in her countenance cut at him, and her words were salt upon the wounds. He reached to put a comforting hand upon her, but she swiped him away.
“Touch me not,” she seethed.
The vehemence in her voice surprised him. Until now, she had been the nervous and timid Trudie he had always known.
“Did I not provide a solution—” he began.
“You wish me to mislead my husband? I told you I could not! I would not deceive him into raising another man’s child.”
“Does your husband not need an heir?”
His response seemed to stun her. She gave a cry and lunged at him. He caught her wrists.
“Trudie!”
The sound of her name stayed her. Eyes wide, she retreated from him.
Surrendering to the Baron (A Steamy Regency Romance Book 7) Page 11