Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He wished he could make it last longer still; he didn’t want to lose control, make himself ridiculous, but there was no stopping it. His climax was coming, the moment he had longed dreamed of, long hoped for—but good God, he wished it could last for more time. ‘Catherine, I’m—’

  His apology was silenced as Catherine kissed him, her cry audible through the kiss as she began to tighten around him, her muscles shivering around his cock with near-painful intensity as her climax washed over her. She was there, she had reached her peak, her bliss evident in her face—all he could do, as any faithful servant should, was join her there.

  ‘Ah!’ He moaned through the kiss, crushing her to him, his vision exploding with stars. I love you. Oh, God, I love you.

  The soft, faintly scandalised tweeting of the Chiltern Manor blackbirds woke Lady Chiltern up, along with the first rays of early morning light meeting fallen snow. She lay swathed in blankets, eyes still closed, idly wondering how her bedroom had become so cold—and why she had left her gown carelessly crumpled on the floor. Not to mention why her gown was jewel-bright; a feast for the eyes, rather than her usual subdued choices.

  She also wondered why she felt so happy. Then Carstairs stirred behind her, one arm moving around her waist to protectively pull her to him, and she remembered.

  ‘Good morning. And Merry Christmas.’ She couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice; the sheer joy of him being there, warm, strong, finally as close to her as she had always wished. ‘You let the fire go out. How terribly remiss of you.’

  ‘Merry Christmas. And I think you’ll find I’m not yet on duty.’ The answering humour in Carstairs’ voice, shy but present, filled Lady Chiltern with satisfaction. ‘Although, if you really want me to move away and stoke the fire…’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Lady Chiltern snuggled closer, her back warm as toast against the hard, unyielding heat of Carstairs’ body. ‘How dare you even suggest it.’

  ‘My lady is high-handed this morning.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lady Chiltern moved her hand downward, running her fingers along Carstairs’ brawny forearm. ‘She is waiting to be laughed at, because she loves to hear her bedfellow laugh.’

  Carstairs’ surprised laughter flowed through her like wine. ‘Then he has his orders.’

  A moment of delicious silence passed. Lady Chiltern was almost afraid to open her eyes again; perhaps it was simply a dream, a figment of a mind turned far too idle. But as seconds slipped by with Carstairs’ arm still tight around her, his mouth resting at the nape of her neck, the idea that this was reality became more and more believable. No less astonishing, but at least believable.

  ‘I dreamed of this.’ Carstairs bent his head lower, breathing in the scent of her; Lady Chiltern closed her eyes at the gentle brush of his lips against her shoulder. ‘Of you. Here.’

  And I, you. It was a thought too indelicate to say; too bold, despite the boldness of what they had just done. Besides, it was inaccurate—Lady Chiltern had never been able to dream of this, specifically; their nakedness, their lying entwined, the feel of him against her. She had never known that such intimacy, such happiness, could exist.

  Lady Chiltern smiled. She could, perhaps, say that. Say it in a way that would make the pleasures of the previous night—rich, astonishing pleasures—return in the morning sun.

  ‘I wish my imagination had been up to the task.’ She rested her head against the blanket, feeling a wave of heat flood her cheeks. ‘I lacked knowledge of some particulars.’

  ‘But you imagined.’

  ‘All that I could. All that I dared to.’ Lady Chiltern stroked her fingers along Carstairs’ forearm once again, suddenly afraid of the next thing she wanted so desperately to say. ‘For… for ever such a long time.’

  She felt Carstairs tense behind her. ‘… How long?’

  She couldn’t lie to him; not now, after everything else had been revealed. ‘Ever since the day that Daisy fell off her pony. She could not have been more than seven.’

  ‘Seven and a half, as she would so gravely tell me.’ She heard the smile in Carstairs’ voice. ‘My goodness, how she wept that day.’

  ‘Yes. I remember running out to the stables, quite convinced that a tragic scene would await me… and you were there, already holding her, telling her that everything would be quite alright. And she was watching you—believing you, completely, even as her knee swelled up quite dreadfully.’ Lady Chiltern paused, unsure if she could express the power of what she had thought. ‘And… and in that moment…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘... I wished she was yours. More than anything.’ Lady Chiltern blinked away a tear; she paused again, her heart alive with remembered pain. ‘She, and Iris too. And—and myself. All yours.’

  ‘Do not speak of it if it makes you weep. I never want to make you weep.’ But as Carstairs kissed her hair, Lady Chiltern heard the depth of feeling trembling in his voice. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘But I needed to say it. I was obliged to say it, and now it is said.’ Lady Chiltern sniffed. ‘And I felt so terrible about it, for so very long, so very guilty, but—but who was more father to them, throughout their girlhoods? You, or—or—’

  ‘You do not need to speak his name.’

  ‘And I will not.’ Lady Chiltern swallowed. ‘I… oh, I just needed to say it, John. I know it was nothing more than a foolish impulse, the work of a moment, but—’

  ‘I thought it too.’ Carstairs’ arms tightened around her. ‘More than once.’

  ‘For how long?’

  This time, there was a smile in his voice. ‘Long before Daisy was seven and a half.’

  Lady Chiltern found herself speechless. She turned, wrapping her arms around him with tight, breathless gratitude, burying her head where his shoulder met his neck.

  ‘So strange, to speak of time. How much time do we have?’ She hadn’t meant to make the question sound so melancholy, but her words were tinged with sadness. ‘Until… well…’

  ‘I believe we must have at least a little time.’ Carstairs shifted away from her to look out of the window, his brow furrowed, even as his tone gave nothing away. ‘The snow is very thick on the ground—the road between the Benson residence and here will be all-but-impassable until late afternoon, and the Bath road too. If the masses are to descend upon us, it will be a little after lunch.’ He smiled. ‘There is time to eat the last of the egg custard tarts, at least.’

  ‘Of all the cakes in the world I would expect a man so solid to enjoy, you have chosen something so very delicate.’ Lady Chiltern smiled. ‘It is surprising.’

  ‘Oh, not that surprising.’ Carstairs’ voice gained an edge of mischief as he pulled her closer, his warm body taut against her. ‘I’m a simple man, who has very luxurious tastes.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Lady Chiltern couldn’t help feeling slightly worried. As adventurous as spirit as she knew she was, perhaps Carstairs had lived a more intriguing life when it came to matters of intimacy.

  ‘Yes. You are my luxury, and my taste. You, you, you.’ Carstairs leaned downward, leaving a soft, lingering kiss at the line of her neck. ‘You, in all manner of ways… oh, how I have imagined them.’

  ‘I feel I have a right to know at least one of the ways. I am rather curious.’ Lady Chiltern moved a little, delighting in the feel of him hardening against her. ‘If you are willing to teach, I am certainly willing to learn.’

  She laughed, surprised, as Carstairs rolled abruptly onto his back. She lay atop him now, pressed against him tightly as the blankets settled over them once again, the scent of clean, lavender-perfumed wool filling the room. She had never been on top of a man before; it was new, and strange. Exciting.

  She leaned down, brushing her lips against his. ‘Like this?’

  ‘Not quite. Although I am certainly not complaining.’ Carstairs moved his hands downwards, placing them gently on her lips. ‘I… I have often thought about you sitting astride me.’

  ‘You have?’
A most indelicate thrill rippled through Lady Chiltern’s body. ‘I suppose that’s why you’ve always been oddly interested in the workings of the stable. You have been watching me ride horses.’

  ‘I wish I could have only thought about it while watching you ride horses.’ Carstairs tensed his thighs; Lady Chiltern gasped as she felt his cock stiffening at the base of her stomach. ‘Watching you write letters, watching you drink tea, watching you pick flowers… it has come to mind far more often than is warranted.’

  ‘Well.’ Lady Chiltern pressed shyly against him. ‘Perhaps now is the time to instruct me.’

  She watched as the brief flash of disbelief in Carstairs’ eyes faded away, replaced with faintly surprised lust. He still didn’t quite believe this was happening; she could sense it in the way he looked at her, wonderingly, as if a dream had come to life. She had to fight it too, the pervading sense of unreality… but whenever she felt the warmth of his skin, or noted the precise shade of his warm brown eyes, she knew that what she felt was no fantasy.

  ‘Like this. Sitting up.’ Carstairs gently moved her into position; straddling him, legs akimbo, the blankets falling away from her body as she sat upright. ‘Will you be cold?’

  ‘No.’ Lady Chiltern was fairly sure that her blushes would keep her warm; she had certainly never sat like this before. ‘I… I rather fear the image in your mind will be somewhat more elegant than reality.’

  The look of reverence in Carstairs’ eyes comforted her slightly. His eyes travelled slowly over her body; Lady Chiltern felt as if he were drinking in the sight of her naked body, kissing her flesh with his very gaze.

  ‘Believe me.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘It is the difference between saying a prayer, and seeing God.’

  Lady Chiltern couldn’t help but smile at that. What a compliment. What a man.

  She leaned down, impulsively kissing him as deeply as she could. Her body demanded it, including the growing heat at the meeting of her thighs. He had appeased her hunger so perfectly the previous night that she was almost surprised to feel it again; the need to be filled by him, pleasured to the point of coming apart… but yes, it was coursing through her again, the want. The urge. Carstairs evidently felt it too; his kisses matched hers, his hands tightening on her hips, his cock hard against her as she slowly sat back upright.

  She reached downward, boldly grasping the length of him before she could feel timid. The feel of him was exactly as wondrous as it had been the previous night; silk and steel, wood and velvet, burning with delicious heat. Looking at it was more surprising in the morning light; how strong it seemed, how proud. As if she were holding a panther on a lead.

  ‘How strange.’ She spoke slowly, running a finger along his length. ‘It seemed different in the firelight.’

  Carstairs’ slightly concerned tone brought a smile to her face. ‘Better?’

  ‘No. Different.’ Lady Chiltern slowly, wonderingly caressed the length of his shaft, holding it against her. ‘Although I cannot specify exactly how, or why. Do I feel different?’

  ‘No.’ Carstairs spoke through gritted teeth, his gaze faintly pleading. ‘Just as maddening as last night, if you must know.’

  With a rueful smile, Lady Chiltern gripped him a little tighter. ‘Good. I would so hate to be dull.’

  Slightly worried about appearing ungainly, but allowing curiosity to overcome her shame, she moved upwards just enough to rest his cock at her entrance. She almost wanted to speak again, to ask reassurance—to say something—but as she felt him waiting there, ready, she realised that she wanted to feel him inside her again more than anything else in the world.

  Holding him steady, her thighs tense and quivering, she began to sink downward. Her lips parted; the first inch, the second, opening her to him…

  ‘Yes.’ Carstairs’ harsh, low muttering through gritted teeth filled Lady Chiltern with a sense of scandalous triumph. ‘Good God. Yes.’

  ‘I—oh.’ Lady Chiltern bit her lip, closing her eyes at the sheer pleasure of it. It felt wicked, almost wrong, to be moving like this; to be guiding him inside her, naked and brazen in the morning light. But the deeper he went, the more she felt him hot and hard inside her, the more it felt like the only possible thing she wanted to do.

  With a slow, fluttering sigh of pure fulfilment, she finally settled against his thighs. They were joined, as joined as they had been the previous night—but from this position, she could feel him even more deeply than before.

  She was exposed; utterly exposed. For a moment she felt shyness course through her—but then Carstairs’ hands were in hers, his fingers entwining easily with her own, and Lady Chiltern knew that she had never been safer.

  ‘Rise, and fall. I shall, and so shall you.’ He squeezed her hands; Lady Chiltern squeezed back, thrilled at the lust in his gaze. ‘Rise, and fall.’

  ‘Yes.’ An irresistible thought sprang to Lady Chiltern’s mind. ‘I feel I would have been a much better horsewoman, if you had taught me.’ She tightened around him reflexively; Carstairs gasped beneath her. ‘Do you not think so?’

  ‘No. I do not think so.’ Carstairs tensed his thighs, lifting her slightly; Lady Chiltern gasped as a wave of pleasure flooded her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I would not have allowed you to ride any other horses.’ His hands clenched hers tighter. ‘Not a single other steed. That would have—ah!—somewhat impeded your skills as a horsewoman.’

  ‘That suggests variety builds skill, and I really must protest such a theory.’ Lady Chiltern shifted again, smiling as Carstairs’ brow tightened. ‘I think a sustained period of riding only one horse can lead to a tremendous improvement in skill.’

  ‘That’s as may be, but—but you are hardly going about it the right way.’

  ‘Oh?’ Lady Chiltern leaned forward, suddenly concerned. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No.’ Carstairs smiled; his face, his expression full of softness and power in equal measure, seemed to come alive under her eyes. ‘But I do not see how any horsewoman improves in skill, if she does not ride.’

  He was right. Lady Chiltern knew that she was avoiding the moment; avoiding any chance of disappointing him. Finding her courage, taking comfort from the look in Carstairs’ eyes, she began to move.

  Biting her lip, intimately aware of the way her breath caught in her throat, she tentatively rose and fell as Carstairs’ fingers tensed against her own. The movement was so small, so subtle, that she almost expected to feel nothing—but no, she felt everything, every delicious spark of pleasure as they radiated through her hips and thighs, her core stretched and filled to a previously unknown extent. As she sank back down again she gasped; he was so deep, so utterly connected to her most intimate place, that last night’s explorations now seemed the beginning of a much greater journey.

  ‘Are you well?’ Carstairs’ tone was a mixture of lust and concern.

  ‘Yes.’ Lady Chiltern laughed shakily, breathless as she shifted atop him. With every passing moment she felt as if she could accommodate more, her body was welcoming him, her muscles thrilling at the pleasure he had previously brought her. It was different, yes, and new—but she had always been a quick learner, she told herself with a burst of inner laughter. As she rose and fell again, then again, she felt her body beginning to learn the movement.

  Time gained the same fluid quality as it had the previous night; it slowed to a crawl, allowing her to perceive every fleeting feeling, even as the outside world seemed to fly into an irrelevant blur. It did not matter if cities rose, if empires fell; not while he was inside her, making her his as thoroughly as she was making him hers. Minutes passed, or hours, or eons—all that mattered was John Carstairs below her, inside her, his face a map of every repressed desire he had ever felt for her. The man who had always served her was serving her now; Lady Chiltern smiled as she realised, with a jolt of pure satisfaction, that she was also serving him.

  How beautiful it was to serve him too, with an act that rewarded b
oth him and herself. Her body hungered for his pleasure as deeply as it called for her own; watching him moan and bite his lip was as delicious as the bliss currently shuddering through her own core. Her thrusts grew slightly deeper, her hips more deliberate in their movements, as she began to sink into the rhythm that her need commanded.

  Carstairs’ hips moved more strongly; he began to thrust harder, reaching points that made Lady Chiltern cry out with a mixture of shock and pleasure. He knew her so well, so completely, that he knew how much she could take—how much she wanted, even if it made her feel shameless. He knew her hunger, felt it as deeply as she did, and let her know it with every deep, slow thrust.

  ‘Ah—oh, Lord.’ She knew she had to look wanton, rolling her hips, her body an instrument of pleasure, but she couldn’t care anymore. The lightning was back, crackling through her in fierce, white-hot jolts of pure bliss that only increased in intensity whenever she moved her hips, inviting him deeper, tightening around him as she slowly rose and fell. She threw her head back, feeling her hair fall loose from its pins and cascade behind her; yes, she thought dimly, yes, and joyously shook the last pin free.

  ‘Catherine.’ Carstairs’ low, urgent moan sent a deeper thrill through her; she gasped, biting her lip, as she felt his warm hands cover her breasts. He held her so gently, his fingers stroking over her flesh as he teased his way to her nipples, before pausing to lick the pad of his thumb as his dark eyes fixed on hers. ‘My God, look at you.’

  Lady Chiltern had no words to reply; she gasped again, moaning with surprised pleasure, as his damp thumb moved to her nipple. He expertly rubbed her peak to a point of near painful stiffness, never once breaking the rhythm of his thrusts as he passed from one nipple to the other, again and again, moaning softly as Lady Chiltern rolled her hips deeper and deeper still. His brow, furrowed with concentration, his dark eyes staring into hers, the tight, animal power of his naked body beneath her—all of it, every part, brought her closer and closer to the same frenzy she had felt the previous night.