An Unconventional Affair: Forever Yours Series

by Reid, Stacy

  She was blushing now, profusely. Holding her stare, he slid his fingers down over the wet folds of her soft sex. They both stilled, and his throat worked on a swallow. His chest lifted heavily with each breath he took. Max couldn’t believe he was touching his Amalie in such an intimate and carnal manner.

  “Do not look away from me,” he ordered softly.

  She bit into her lower lips, her fingers digging into his shoulders when he started to caress along her sex. She quivered beneath him with restless hunger. It was her turn to breathe erratically as he stroked her over and over. She stared up at him, her eyes dazed, unfocused, her face flushed with passion. Still holding his shoulders like a lifeline, she leaned forward and took his mouth in a hungry kiss.

  The wild flavor of her need felt like a wicked assault on his senses as he kissed her with all the pent-up longing he’d held over the years. Their tongued tangled, and he ran his fingers up to her nub and pressed. Her hips jerked, but he did not let up on that stroke. She cried out into his kiss as he rubbed her clitoris until she trembled.

  His lust rose to a fever pitch, and his body screamed for a release that it had been denied for so awfully long. He glided his fingers over her petal soft sex to the heart of her sex and slid a finger deep.

  Her cries became more frantic, and her hands kneaded his shoulder. A scream exploded from her as she unraveled around him, clenching so tightly he was unable to withdraw his finger from the heat of her quim. A dark heady feeling rushed through him as he imagined his cock sinking into the tight heat of her.

  Their lips parted, and she said raggedly, “I want to touch you.”

  Everything in this moment told him she had read his book thoroughly and had paid keen attention to the chapter that spoke on how mutual touching enhanced the pleasure of coupling.

  “Yes.”

  She reached her hand between them, and with badly shaking fingers open the front fall of his trousers. His cock sprang out, and she closed her fingers around his length. Max groaned.

  “You are so thick... my fingers can barely go around you.”

  Then she ran the tip of her finger from his base to the flare mushroom head of his cock. He had never before felt the incredible sensation that arched up his spine and bowed his back. Everything in Max went tight, his heart pounded, and his balls ached.

  He hugged her to him, his hip surging upward as if his body had a will of its own, desperate to feel her hands everywhere. “Fuck... I need to be in you!”

  Her face flushed at his crudeness. “Max!” And then she squeezed his cock.

  Shock tore through him as his release ripped from his body. The boat rocked hard, and though he tried to steady them, it turned over and dumped them into the lake. He held onto her, though he knew she could swim for he had been the one to teach her. Max kicked to the surface; his ardor completely doused. They quickly rebuttoned their trousers, not looking at each other. The entire situation was laughable.

  She pushed her wet strands from off her forehead and peered at him. He had spent like an untried lad. Max could feel the tip of his ears burning and it had nothing to do with the sun which had risen high in the sky. “I... fuck!”

  “I gather that was not supposed to have happened?”

  “No,” he admitted through gritted teeth. “I... hell!”

  She giggled. “Oh, if you could only see your face, Max!”

  He grinned and couldn’t help chuckling too. Their combined laugh rang across the lake, dissipating all the tension and need which had gripped them earlier.

  “We are not too far from the banking,” she said, “Let’s race! The loser will...” her nose wrinkled as she thought about it. “The loser will spend the night rubbing the feet of the winner, read any story the winner demands, perhaps play the pianoforte.” She tossed her head in a challenge. “I submit the loser must submit to all of the winner’s desires.”

  “Are you confident you will win?”

  Humor danced in her expressive eyes. “I do recall how astonishingly fast you were at swimming and that I was never able to beat you, so I do thank you my lord for the advantage of a start.”

  Then she dipped into the water, her hands stroking as fast as she could. Max watched her impeccable form, an ache rising inside his chest. The things she had laid out were desires of her heart, very ordinary to his way of thinking, how a lord and his lady would spend a quiet evening at home. Were these the things you’ve hungered for over the years, my Amalie?

  Realizing that there was no splashing beside her she paused and gracefully twisted in the water. “Are you not racing me?” she demanded, laughing.

  At his silence, the smile disappeared from her lips as awareness dawned in her eyes.

  “You want to be the loser?” she asked softly, her gaze searching his face with quiet intensity.

  He waded a bit closer. “I daresay I do.”

  Why? her stare demanded but her lips asked, “You want to rub my feet?”

  He nodded, watching each nuance of her face. How puzzled and hopeful she appeared. He turned that hope over into his thoughts, wondering what was it that she craved...and could he give it to her without breaking the trust and friendship reforming between them?

  An unexpected hunger clawed through him and Max admitted he wanted back everything he’d had with her, the friendship and easy comraderie...and more, for now he wanted her in his arms and underneath him on the bed, the sofa, and the carpet by the fire.

  “You want to read to me,” this was said with a deep sigh of pleasure.

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to be curled into your side by the fireplace.”

  “Yes.”

  They stared at each other for long moments, then with a soft smile hovering above her lips, she turned around and swam toward the boardwalk.

  Chapter 8

  Amalie laughed until a tear leaked from the corner of her eyes. She reposed on a plush sofa with a glass of wine in her hand in the smaller drawing room. The fire crackled merrily, and Max stood in the center of the room, scowling at her. That sign of displeasure did not detract from his handsomeness. They were both scandalously casual with feet bare of shoes and stockings, his shirt sleeve had been rolled to above his elbows and his cravat had long been discarded. She wore a dark blue high waisted day dress without a shift or stays underneath. Amalie felt at once free and naughty.

  “That fierce glare will not change my opinion of your skills,” she said, still laughing. “They are atrociously nonexistence. Have you not been to the theater and seen the efforts of the craft?”

  “This situation is not remotely humorous,” Max drawled. “It was your idea to play a game of charades after dinner.”

  It had been suggested from sheer nervousness. Amalie had supposed the joviality of the game would have lessened the tense anticipation of being bedded by such a skilled lover. Would she please him? Or would his varied exploits with his other lovers overshadow her inexperience.

  Worry had beset her most abominably, and in desperation she had suggested playing charades, though the game really required more players. They had adjusted the rules of the game, so each wrote their own words on pieces of paper, then enact those words for the other to guess. This was a variation from how the game was famously played in many parlors, where normally dramatic expressions and artful poems were used to describe their actual words. Ambrose had been quite indulgent in adjusting to the rules until now.

  “I should also point out that you, madam, cheated,” he groused, going over to the mantle to refill his glass with brandy.

  “You impugned my honor! I did not cheat,” she said with mock severity.

  “We were to write artful words and phrases and then act them out to entertain each other. All your words were terribly simple. Cat, rose, house, dog!” With each listed word his scowl got blacker

  She took a large sip of her wine, feeling pleasantly warm and languid. “I did not tell you to write such words as Prinny, Bonaparte, Ship mast!”

&
nbsp; “I guessed your words with little acting effort on your part. You were able to maintain your dignity during this game. I was just on my knees and hands twitching my damn arse in the air.”

  A peal of laughter erupted from her and the wine in the glass sloshed precariously. “My dear, Max, your performance was rather dramatic, but I still cannot guess what you could possibly be acting! Now, there is a definite twinkle in your eyes, and why have you stopped acting?”

  “Do you think I want to continue making an arse out of myself.”

  “But such a fine, wonderful arse you are!” she cried, sipping on her sherry, before leaning forward and setting the glass on the small walnut table between the sofas. “Would you like us to revert to using rhymes to guess our words?”

  “I think I would prefer to punish you for putting me through this game.”

  And before she could react, he was on the sofa coming down over her. His large body blanketed hers, and a wave of heat shimmered between their bodies. It kissed over her skin, igniting a thrum of need within her. Amalie squeaked, then spluttered into laughter when he started to tickle her sides.

  “Max, please, stop!”

  His efforts intensified and she writhed beneath him, trying to escape the torment of his teasing fingers. His eyes glinted with devilish determination, and she realized he truly would not stop. Amalie wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She swallowed his muffled grunt of surprise and coaxed him to open his mouth with soft kisses. Their playful mood vanished when he threaded his finger through her hair, tilted her head, and ravished her mouth with exquisite thoroughness.

  He twisted with her so that she sat stop him, her knees bracketing his hips and her mons flushed intimately against his rising arousal. Amalie shivered in his embrace, almost frightened at the burst of molten heat low in her belly. His mouth ravished hers while his hands busily removed the pins from her coiffure, tumbling her hair to her shoulders falling to her mid-back.

  Their mouths parted and they breathed raggedly.

  “Your hair is like the curtain of waterfall,” he said against her mouth. “Beautiful.”

  Another hard press to her mouth. Then he said, “Arch your neck for me. Hold onto the edge of the sofa and do not let go.”

  Amalie complied, moaning softly when he nibbled along the exposed arch of her throat. He slid the gown down her shoulders, and down her arms. The cut of her dress and the lack of shift and chemisette made it painfully easy for him to remove her breasts from her garment. He dipped his long fingers inside her bodice.

  They both gasped at the point of contact, and her breasts grew heavy with need and her nipples went painfully hard. Nothing could have prepared her for such a violent jolt of desire, and she shivered with burning need. The touch of his fingertips against her nipple was almost unbearable in the tenderness it created.

  “How large and red they are,” he said, wonder and arousal rough in his tone. “Like succulent berries.” Gently his hand outlined the circle of her breast.

  His head dropped and he took her nipple into his mouth. A cry tore from her as his teeth tugged at her nipple before he laved it tenderly with his tongue, then roughly kissed it sucking it deep into his mouth. That suction sent the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl, and that secret nub of her womanhood ached unbearably.

  Amalie clasped his head to her chest, arching more into his embrace. She had never dreamt passion could be this brilliant, overwhelming fire. The soft, satiny feel of her gown slid sensually against her skin accompanied by the crackle of the material as he pushed it to her waist.

  Everything felt frantic and desperate, so great was their need for each other. She swallowed tightly as his hands skimmed so hotly between her legs, at the same time he used his other hand to pull her head down to his and kissed her hungrily. There was a sharp tug and he parted her drawers.

  Amalie’s heart pounded with excitement and apprehension. Their lips parted, and his breath flowed to her.

  “Amalie, my sweet,” he murmured roughly.

  “Yes?”

  The hand he used to touch the corner of her mouth trembled. “I’ve never had a lover.”

  “So you’ve said, I gather they were all quick liaisons...” Something in his expression halted Amalie, and her heart started to jerk even faster.

  “Do you mean...do you mean you are chaste?”

  His lips touched hers like a whisper. “Yes.”

  “I... truly?”

  “Yes.”

  You waited for me. Inexplicably she knew that was his reason, but she was petrified to ask. “Take me,” she said hoarsely.

  His fingers glided through her wet sex, up and down, over her aching nub. That friction sent wicked hunger clawing through her veins. Her lover used his thumb to rub that nub over and over, filling that bundle of nerve with piercing pleasure. Something dark and hungry unfurled inside of her, and her hips arched into his caress.

  “Max, please,” Amalie cried, not sure what it was that she demanded.

  “Just like that,” he muttered hotly against her mouth. “I need you so wet for me, my Amalie, so wet.”

  And she was mortifyingly so. A sob of need lifted in the drawing room as the tension low in her belly drew tighter until she shattered into a million stars. Then something hot and hard pressed against her aching sex. He gripped her hip and drew her tortuously slow onto his cock. Her muscles burned, and stretched, and she held onto his shoulders as if her life depended on it, never removing her gaze from his.

  The cool night air kissed her skin, but it did little to calm the fire that burned inside her. She was painfully aroused and gripped by emotions she had never felt before. She felt suddenly vulnerable, completely exposed. This was Max touching her, kissing her, joining their bodies together. A knot formed in her throat. “Do you feel as I do,” she whispered.

  “Scared?”

  “Yes...desperate.”

  Something undefinable flashed in his eyes. “Hungry.” Then he thrust up and pulled her down onto his length in one smooth motion. She gasped at the fiery burn and the sweet agony.

  His hands tightened on her hips almost painfully, and with a rough shout he hugged her to him as he emptied his seed deep inside her body.

  She slumped against his chest, her tender flesh still throbbing with unfulfilled need and desire. The soft folds between her thighs were tender, sensitive…aching, but she still craved his touches. Then a soft giggle slipped from her. “I gather that wasn’t supposed to happen again?”

  He grunted, pushing damp tendrils of her hair behind her ears.

  Soft humor lit into his eyes and he smiled sheepishly. “Once again I spent like an untried lad.”

  She kissed his nose, then his mouth. “I am so very glad we waited on each other.”

  He thrust his hand in her hair and angled her head slightly so they stared into each other’s eyes.

  “I did,” he said gruffly. “It was not by chance, I could not...there was no other who could evoke a response within me. It has always been you, Amalie.”

  She took those words and buried them deep in her heart. “And it has always been you, Max.”

  They kissed, and an odd but welcoming sensation sank into her heart. The feeling was more than sexual desire. She felt...completed.

  Oh, silly, silly heart.

  Chapter 9

  Max brushed his thumb against Amalie’s cheek tenderly. She smiled without opening her eyes. “Has the wind picked up?” she murmured sleepily, twisting so that her head was pillowed more comfortably on his thighs.

  “Not as yet, based on the movement of the clouds we will be able to fly or kites soon.”

  Another gusty sigh escaped her. “It is getting chilly.”

  They had slept entwined in each other arms last night. It had been so natural for her to slumber on his chest, though he had been painfully aware he had left her unfulfilled. She had reached her pleasure once when he had prepared her, but once again he had fumbled and relea
sed too soon. The memory of how tight and wet and just bloody delightful she had felt around his cock had him biting back a moan. It had taken him a long while to fall asleep, as some anxiety had lingered about his performance.

  What if that was how he always react? A brush of her finger on his manhood, and as he entered her quim he would release? Christ. Many of the acts he had observed on his travels had taken several minutes to even hours of sensual play and delight. He felt he was cheating her. His Amalie did not know any other lover so she did not realize how badly he was an inadequate lover. He had slipped from the sheets to re-read his own book and hadn’t gained anything new.

  They had woken early to ride their horses across the lanes of the estate. Max had been befuddled by how contented he had been with her by his side and had found himself wondering what if would be like if she were there always. After a picnic in the afternoon, they had found two large kites in the attic and waited under the large willow tree by the lake for the wind to pick up.

  “I feel happy,” she said, opening her eyes and staring at the thick canopy above. “It has been years since I have felt such contentment, Max.”

  He leaned his head against the thick trunk of the tree. “Are you able to say with me here for the rest of the season?”

  She started in surprise, “That is weeks!”

  “We are having an affair,” he said smoothly, “How long did you expect it to last?”

  “I... I never gave it much thought. Did you?”

  Forever. “I’ve never had an affair before, these waters are also uncharted for me.”

  Her lips curved in a small. “Perhaps we could try to garner a deeper understanding of our particular arrangement. You are the embodiment of a most eligible gentleman and will be expected to marry soon. Should...should we continue our affair de coeur until you’ve selected a wife? Or do we give our time together an end date?”

  The tightening in his gut eased, and Max suspected he would delay seeking a wife for years to come. “I presume once I’ve become affianced our affair will end?”