Rockwell frowned for the hundredth time at Lord Devon before unbuttoning his own pants. Deana had seen the Baron’s member before but not at such an intimate distance. Like Isabella, she stared at the appendage with its bulbous head and rigid veins. She had never taken that part of a man into her mouth before. She looked into his eyes. His pupils seemed to have melted.
She parted her lips. He took the invitation and inserted the top of his rod. She tasted a drop of saltiness upon her tongue. He eased more of himself into her mouth. She wondered how this member had become so hard. She wrapped her lips closely about him and thought she heard him groan. He closed his eyes. Reveling in her ability to have such an effect upon him, she attempted to take more of him. But when it reached her throat, she, too, could not refrain from gagging. He retracted himself. Wanting to try again, she grabbed his shaft and guided it into her mouth once more. Surprised, he allowed her. She was unsure if taking a member into her mouth was demeaning or empowering, but it was clearly something that the men enjoyed.
“Yes, yes!” Devon cried as he bucked his hips at Lady Isabella. “Eat it as if it were your last meal!”
Deana attempted to glide her mouth in a similar manner up and down Lord Rockwell’s erection. Eventually she found a rhythm, cradling him upon her tongue. She liked the sound of him groaning as he eased himself further into her.
“You’ve a natural ability, Miss Sherwood,” he grunted, fisting his hand into her hair.
On the other side of the room, Devon growled as he began to spend. Isabella appeared to retch. Halfway through, he pulled out his rod and sprayed the remainder of his seed about her face. A bit found its way into her hair. Devon stumbled backwards, shaking his head.
Deana looked at Rockwell, wondering if the same end would come to her. But Rockwell pulled himself out completely. She could not help her disappointment. She wanted to bring him to spend.
“That was delightful, my dear,” Devon said to her ladyship. After collecting himself, he looked over at Rockwell. “Problem?”
“I can wait,” Rockwell responded evenly.
“Why wait? Or is it you cannot run more than one race?”
Rockwell made no reply.
“See there? Mine is hardening again already,” Devon said as he fondled himself.
“You have a need to impress me?” Rockwell inquired.
Devon rolled his eyes, then turned his attention to the bed. He patted the mattress. “Up here, my dear.”
Wiping at her face, Lady Isabella made her way to the bed. Devon had her face the footboard and applied a pair of short shackles to her wrists. They pulled her down and made her look as if she were embracing the mattress. He lifted her hips so that she was on her knees, her derriere high in the air. Devon began to shed his clothes.
While Halsten unlaced his cravat, Deana went to assume the same position on the bed. Earlier she had avoided gazing at the other couple, but now she felt a little transfixed at seeing them. There was undoubtedly a wanton quality at witnessing others, a quality that was both uncomfortable and titillating. Rockwell certainly looked over frequently, but was it because he found stimulation from being a spectator or was it Lady Isabella that drew his gaze? Sans her beautiful attire, her ladyship was no less attractive.
Deana was able to glimpse and admire the naked form of Lord Rockwell before he applied similar shackles to her wrists. Pinned to the bed, she could do little more than shift her head from side to side. He lifted her hips, and she tingled in anticipation.
Isabella began to whimper.
Deana twisted her head and could barely make out Lord Devon and Lady Isabella from the corners of her eyes. She felt the bed sink with Rockwell’s weight. He was kneeling behind her. Once more she felt his hand between her legs. With a delighted moan, she parted her legs further to allow him full access. He fondled the nub of flesh at the gates of her womanhood, coaxing from her that clear honey of desire. With his other hand, he caressed the curve of her rump. He strummed her clitoris while pressing his thumb upon a raised and sensitive area inside of her. Wonderful, agonizing tension flared deep and hot inside of her.
Whap!
Devon was spanking Lady Isabella with no care to how hard . Both Rockwell and Deana stilled at hearing her ladyship scream.
Whap!
Another scream.
Rockwell resumed his fondling, melting her concerns. Would he let her spend? Could she spend before witnesses?
Yes, oh yes, she answered herself when his ministrations intensified.
“Stop! Please stop!” Isabella cried. “Ah!”
Deana hoped her ladyship screamed for effect. She hoped Lady Isabella remembered the safety word.
Rockwell attended to her between the thighs once more. Moaning, she reveled in his skills as he took her body through that blissful craving. The sounds from the other side of the room blurred with her increased desire, her increased need for release. He rubbed her more intensely, making her toes curl. She prayed he would not stop. Her cries became ones of urgency and anticipation.
[]But just as she approached the precipice, he withdrew his hand and swatted her arse, she supposed to still honor their agreement with Lord Devon. It smarted a little, but she was more intent on her release. She pushed herself at him, wanting him to finish the job. He spanked her once more. She groaned.
On the other side of the room, Lord Devon stopped and lay upon his back, his head between Lady Isabella’s thighs. He pulled her down to his face.
Lady Isabella looked as if her eyes might pop from their sockets, but then her eyelids lowered as she realized the pleasure from Lord Devon’s efforts. Deana and Rockwell both paused to observe her.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Isabella cried, then shuddered as paroxysms of ecstasy overcame her.
Filled with envy, Deana implored Rockwell to continue, arching her back and pushing her backside toward him.
“Please finish the deed,” she murmured.
He caressed her sodden flesh, then buried himself inside of her.
Glory! Her body took him in hungrily. He sank the full length of his shaft into her. She closed her eyes and marveled at the fullness between her legs. Circling an arm around her hip, he played with her clitoris. It did not take long for her to become undone. His thick, hard rod filling her combined with the stimulation of her clitoris shot her over the precipice. She shattered into spasms, losing all control of her limbs.
She had yet to recover when he began his next assault. He bucked against her, holding her up by the waist. At first there was some discomfort as her first wave receded, blocked in part by another coming wave. As the second grew in size, she felt herself awash once more. He delved deeper and deeper into her.
“My God! My God!” she screamed.
Her body crashed into the heavens. All else became nothing.
* * * * *
When Deana settled back down, she became vaguely aware that Rockwell had pulled out of her. Her legs had buckled beneath her and she lay prone upon the bed. She heard panting and grunting from the other side of the room. Prying open her eyes, she saw Devon buried inside Isabella, pounding her into the mattress. With a howl, Devon found his release and collapsed onto the bed.
Rockwell got off the bed, and Deana saw his arousal was still stiff. Why had he not pushed himself to spend? Did he find her unsatisfactory somehow? Did he not wish to impose upon her now that she had finished? Or was he somehow saving himself for Lady Isabella? She watched Rockwell approach Lady Isabella and release the shackles from her wrists. She turned onto her side and lay beside Lord Devon.
Returning, Rockwell then removed the shackles from Deana. She sat up and rubbed her wrists as Rockwell gathered his clothes. He stepped into his trousers and pulled on his shirt. Assisting her off the bed, he assumed the role of chambermaid and helped her into her shift, stays, and gown. The rest he slung over an arm. He looked over at Lady Isabella and Lord Devon, who had begun to snore in his sleep.
“Come, we have fulfilled our loss
at whist,” Rockwell told her.
They left the room and headed back to the West Wing. Cognizant that they were scantily clad, she hoped they would not come across anyone.
“The guests in the East Wing are often in a state of lesser dress,” Rockwell said as if reading her mind.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Rockwell appeared grim. He must not have enjoyed himself, she concluded. Surely it was unpleasant to watch another man with the woman he wanted for himself.
“Perhaps we ought not have played whist,” she said as they approached her room.
He looked at her sharply. “I’m sorry you had to endure the consequences.”
“No, I have no regrets. A part of me was curious about the East Wing. It was…you made it pleasurable.”
He seemed relieved.
“I only meant that you seemed the least agreeable to it.”
“If it pleased you, Miss Herwood, then I am satisfied. How fares your backside?”
“You were gentle enough, thank you. Unlike Lord Devon, I think..”
He grimaced. “Perhaps you will think twice before ever accepting a proposition from Lord Devon.”
“Alas, I am prone to accepting improper propositions.”
His gaze bored into her, and without warning, he pinned her against the door with his body. His mouth descended on hers, engulfing her yelp of surprise. He raised both her arms above her, locking her head in position as he devoured her. She could barely catch a breath, and for the moment, she cared not that he wanted the Lady Isabella. He was with her, and she would satisfy him.
She attempted to return his kiss, but he was too much in command, too hungry. She felt the hardness of his desire against her and arched her back, pushing herself further into him. He opened the door, and they tumbled into the darkened room. She fell on top of him, their lips still joined. His left hand cradled her head while his right hand grasped a buttock firmly. She ground herself against his erection.
They kissed as if searching for something within the other to satiate their appetites. Her head spun from the effort to keep up with his forceful exertions. He rolled her beneath him, and moved the one hand from her head to a breast. Her stays had been loosely tied and slipped to allow him access to her nipple. He pinched it gently through her garments.
With a groan, he pulled her up, swept her off her feet, and deposited her upon the bed. Her hands made quick work of his shirt and pants. Remembering his look when she had him in her mouth, she encased him once more and sucked hard. She tried to take in as much of him as she could, but her inexperience made her gag when he hit the back of her throat. Forcing herself to relax, she made an attempt with better success. Rockwell emitted an oath and undulated his hips, pushing his cock in and out of her mouth.
He pulled her head away. “You’ll make me spend.”
She stared at him. “That is the intent, my lord.”
Shaking his head, he pushed her into the bed and turned her on her stomach to access the buttons upon her gown and the ribbons of her stays. Soon he had her stripped to the buff once more and on her back. His hands roamed over her body, kneading breasts, gripping hips, and squeezing her buttocks before finding their way between her legs. Still wet from before, she felt slippery to the touch. She enjoyed his caresses there but she wanted him in a deeper way.
“Take me,” she said in a husky voice beside his ear.
He looked into her eyes as if contemplating the invitation, then slid off the bed. He pulled her to the edge of the bed and spread her thighs wide. His thumb strummed her clitoris, heating the familiar sensations of delight and agitation.
“Take me,” she implored.
“Your servant, Miss Herwood,” he replied, pointing his shaft at her and driving it into her.
Feeling victorious, she willed the muscles inside her to grab at him.
“Good God,” he breathed as he buried himself further into her.
She savored the fullness inside of her before beginning a slow grind of her hips. Propped above her, he buried his face in the crook of her neck as he moved his lower body in rhythm, thrusting in and out. He mouthed her neck and planted kisses along her shoulder. She arched her back and jerked herself harder against him. He responded by pushing himself up off of her and tossing her ankles over his shoulders. Wrapping an arm around her legs to hold them in place, he shoved himself deep into her.
“Oh!” she cried as he buried himself to the hilt.
The penetration struck new areas within her.
“Harder,” she instructed.
He withdrew, then rammed himself back in.
“Ah!”
He repeated several times until she clutched the sheets beneath her. Her climax began to build. He quickened his pace. She marveled that he could exhibit such force from this part of his body. The bed shook and creaked from their actions. Her breasts bounded up and down.
As her ecstasy loomed, she wondered that she could ever be with any other man. Her abdomen clenched as the most divine sensations ricocheted wildly inside of her. Her body could no longer contain them. She screamed as they raked through her.
He shoved himself at her, his shaft seeking her womb. She felt something hot spilling into her. He shuddered, then bucked his hips against her a few more times. Perspiration glistened upon his brow. After withdrawing, he collapsed onto the bed beside her, his breathing hard. She pulled her legs onto the bed.
“Much obliged,” she murmured.
She felt spent but triumphant. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him.
“Chateau Follet suits you well, Miss Herwood,” he replied.
Chapter Sixteen
VOTRE MADEMOISELLE EST si jolie,” Marguerite remarked to Halsten, who stood overlooking the grounds from the veranda where the lady of the house was hosting morning tea for several guests.
He turned to look where Miss Herwood sat at the table. The sun had found its way through the clouds at that moment. Miss Herwood seemed to radiate the rays that shone upon her. Her eyes sparkled with uncommon brightness and her cheeks bore a natural flush. When he had first spotted her in the gaming hall over a year ago, he had thought her rather plain, but the more he observed of her, the more she intrigued him. This morning, he thought her uncommonly pretty.
In many ways, he wanted to forget as much of last night as possible. The vision of Lord Devon atop Isabella would make him cringe for years to come. But there were moments he would come back to over and over again. Surprisingly, one of those moments was when he held Miss Herwood in his arms while she slept, listening to the rhythm of her breath, feeling it upon his chest. The full sensation blossoming in his bosom was not one he had felt since he was a young man who had fallen in love for the first time.
The desire to hold Miss Herwood forever troubled him. He had hoped his time with her at Chateau Follet would satiate his craving for her, not enhance it. He had the sinking suspicion it would be even harder to overcome his feelings this time, but overcome it he would, in time. As if to prove this fact, he had extricated himself from Miss Herwood, dressed, and returned to the East Wing to see Isabella safely ensconced in her own chambers.
As if sensing his gaze upon her, Miss Herwood looked up and smiled at him over her teacup. He felt his heart swell and would return her smile, but Lord Devon appeared with Isabella upon his arm.
“Blasted bright out here,” he cried and seemed strangely pleased by this pronouncement.
Halsten felt his jaw tighten as he watched the pair sit down. Miss Herwood, perhaps recalling the events of last night, shifted in discomfort and placed her attention upon her tea.
“Ah, Miss Sherwood,” Lord Devon noted, “I take it you slept well after the events of last night?”
Halsten went to stand near Miss Herwood.
“And you, too, Halsten,” Devon smirked.
Isabella covered a large yawn. “I was fatigued beyond words. I think I could have slept for two more hours if one very naughty gentleman had not disturbed my s
lumber.”
Halsten clenched a hand but was saved from further distress by the appearance of a footman.
“A letter for Lord Devon arrived by courier,” the man said.
Startled, Devon took the letter and opened it. His countenance darkened as he read its contents.
“Bad news, Lord Devon?” Marguerite inquired.
“No, no. It is a note from the Earl,” Devon explained, rising to his feet. “My father wishes to speak with me. I regret that I must end my stay earlier than I would have wished.”
Isabella looked incredulous. “You are leaving? Now?”
“Yes. My sincere apologies.”
“But—”
Devon bowed to her, then to the hostess, and hastened from the veranda. For the first time since Halsten had set eyes on Devon the chateau, he took in a peaceful breath.
“Worry not, mademoiselle,” Marguerite said to Isabella, clearly still taken aback by Devon’s abrupt departure, “you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. And if you require an escort, I have many options for you.”
“Thank you, Madame.”
To her guests, Marguerite said, “I am having a new sculpture installed in my garden. Who here will join me in a stroll?”
Miss Herwood looked to Halsten.
“Please,” he encouraged. “I will join you in a moment.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. He could not keep the affection out of his eyes, nor did he care to make such an effort at the moment, but her gaze was upon Isabella.
“Yes, my lord,” Miss Herwood replied and rose to follow Marguerite and the other guests.
When they had left the veranda, he approached Isabella, who stared into her tea. “I think it best if you return to your father. Madame can part with a carriage and footman for the day.”
Isabella looked up. “I think I shall stay.”
Halsten stared at her in disbelief.
“In the East Wing,” she added.
He did not bother to hide his frown.
“I have met many a friendly person here. The Chateau is quite the intriguing place.”
“If you left now, your presence here may yet go undetected.”
An Improper Proposition (A Steamy Regency Romance) Page 15
