Lady Wallflower

by Scott, Scarlett

  His jaw hardened. “I want nothing to do with her, and I told her as much. I am sorry I did not tell you sooner, or that I did not write to her myself making it clear she was not welcome in my life. But she will never again call upon me, I can assure you of it.”

  “I know,” Jo told him, “because I overheard some of your conversation with her. I am ashamed to admit I was eavesdropping. I did not intend to, but I was afraid, Decker.”

  “Afraid?” He frowned now, his gaze searching hers. “Of what, bijou?”

  “I was afraid you were still in love with her,” she admitted.

  “Ah, Josie.” He reached out to her then, taking her in his arms. “I am so sorry for making you wonder and worry. My mother’s death forced me to make a great deal of realizations, and one of them is how much you mean to me.” He buried his face in her hair, inhaling. “I have been an arse. Can you forgive me?”

  She clutched him tightly to her. “There is nothing to forgive, my love.”

  “Am I?” He raised his head, searching her gaze with his. “Your love?”

  “Of course you are.” She cupped his beloved face in her hands. “My heart is yours, Decker. It always has been and it always will be. I love you.”

  “I love you,” he said again, before his mouth swooped down on hers.

  Jo kissed him back with all the love bursting inside her, all the need, the relief, and the passion, too. It felt as if forever had passed since she had last known the sweetness of his lips on hers. She opened for him, their tongues tangling. He tasted like forgiveness and love and tea and everything she wanted for the rest of her life.

  He tasted like hers.

  She broke the kiss with reluctance, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. “I finally completed number eight on the list. I was wondering if you might aid me with that one now.”

  “That depends.” His flirtatious manner had returned, along with his devilish charm. “What does number eight say?”

  “It was meant to have said ask a gentleman to help you disrobe,” she told him. “But I have made some realizations myself since I first wrote the list, and the most important one is that there is only one man with whom I want to complete it. You. No one else will do.”

  “When you phrase it thus, Mrs. Decker, how can I resist?” He kissed her again lingeringly, slowly, masterfully.

  It was a kiss of love and worship and reverence.

  A kiss of promise and forever.

  She never wanted it to end, and she kissed him back with every bit as much veneration. Lips moved in tender, seductive rhythm. Tongues glided together. Her fingers slid into his hair, sifting through the thick, luxurious strands.

  A lingering, nagging question reared its head then. Or rather, two of them. She ended the kiss, trying to gather her thoughts. If this was the moment in which they were both embracing complete honesty, then these questions could not wait, regardless of how badly her body longed for Decker’s.

  He traced her brow with a gentle swipe of his forefinger, the caress casual and yet at once so caring that it made her heart ache. “Something is bothering you, my love. What is it?”

  She inhaled, exhaled. Locked her gaze on his. This was the man she loved. Her husband. She could tell him anything. Ask him any question.

  “When you were attempting to convince my brother to give you my hand,” she began, “you told him I could be carrying your child when there was no possibility of that.”

  His sensual lips compressed. “I did. In truth, I was desperate to make you mine and fearful your brother would disapprove of the match. I could not bear the notion of you marrying another, and so I set out to make certain he would have no choice but to accept my suit. I would apologize for my actions, but in truth, I am not sorry, Josie. I wanted you—needed you—and now you are mine.”

  She could hardly argue with that logic. But there was another part of that question she had yet to ask. Her cheeks went hot as she searched for the words. “That does not explain…do you not want children, Decker? You said you had no need of heirs, but…”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She could not help but to notice that even his throat was handsome—every part of him attracted her notice. She wanted to press her lips there, to inhale his scent, to kiss and lick and nip him.

  But answers first.

  “Ah, Josie.” He exhaled, his warm breath fanning over her lips as he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment before straightening again. “That is another realization my mother’s death has left me with: I do want children. Your children. I was so caught up in my hatred and anger toward Graham that I vowed never to carry on his legacy. Instead, I was determined to give it to everyone else—to spend it wisely, yes, for not even I could bring myself to profligacy just to spite him. However, everything I did—every penny I spent—was to defy him in some way. I gave to orphans and hospitals, I used it to buy erotic art and fund erotic literature. And I will be honest with you. I have yet to find a compromise for myself. But neither will I deny us the chance to have a family because of the bitterness I carry toward the man who sired me. It is time to cut free the shackles of the past in every way.”

  Her heart hurt for him by the time he finished his earnest explanation. He was such a strong, intelligent, good man. And so much of his life had been defined by his inability to be accepted for who he was. No longer, she vowed.

  “Oh, Decker, my love,” she said, caressing his jaw. He was so beloved to her, so vital. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let him go. “We will find a way, together.”

  “Love is more important than hatred.” He kissed her cheek, her nose. “I understand that now. You make me whole. You make me want to be a better man for you. A man who deserves you.”

  “My darling man, you have always deserved me.” She caught his face in her hands and dragged his lips back to hers for another lengthy kiss before tearing her mouth away. “My heart has always known yours. I feel it. Here.”

  Jo took his hand and pressed it over that madly thumping organ.

  “I feel the same way,” he breathed, his gaze so profound, tears unexpectedly stung her eyes.

  “Good,” she said, needing to break the heaviness of the moment. “Now help me to disrobe before I die of longing.”

  He laughed into their kiss, and she had never heard a better sound. She laughed with him, their smiling mouths melding together in sinuous unison. They kissed and kissed until the laughter was gone, and in its place was only a deep, burning hunger.

  Longing skittered through her as he kissed to her throat. Open-mouthed kisses made her shiver as his fingers made short work of the buttons bisecting her polonaise bodice. The smooth black cotton slid from her shoulders and arms in a decadent whisper over her flesh. He rubbed the dark shadow of his whiskers on her throat. Her knees felt as if they may give out.

  He filled her senses—his scent, his touch, his breaths.

  “Let me be your servant,” he whispered in her ear, before taking the fleshy lobe in his teeth and tugging.

  “Yes,” was all she could manage, her nipples throbbing behind her corset, her sex pulsing between her thighs.

  She was wet for him already, and he had scarcely touched her.

  He seemed to know how desperate she was. Or mayhap he felt the same way. His fingers moved faster, his mouth playing over her skin with greater intensity. Her layers were falling away, slipping to the floor with all her inhibitions. Silk and satin pooled in a heap around her. Laces were loosened. Her corset hit the Axminster as his mouth found her nape.

  The slide of his tongue over her skin was electric.

  “You are the most beautiful, bewitching, glorious creature I have ever met,” he murmured against the side of her neck.

  With all her underpinnings gone save her chemise, stockings, and drawers, when he pressed his big body against hers, she felt the rigid outline of his straining cock. She wanted him inside her, filling her. She rubbed her bottom against him, seeking whatever contact she co
uld get.

  Her reward was his low groan, a tongue dipping into the hollow behind her ear. His hands were on her hips now, hauling her more snugly to him. Heat licked through her, her core clenching. Every part of her felt heavy, weighed down by desire.

  “You want my cock in you, don’t you, Josie?” he growled into her ear.

  Feeling bold, she reached behind her, finding his length through his trousers. She squeezed him, rubbing her thumb over the tip. His breath was hot and ragged at her ear as she explored him. When her grip on him tightened, his hips pumped forward. His hands slid from her hips, moving upward.

  He found her pebbled nipples through the thin layer of her chemise and plucked at them while his tongue traced over the whorl of her ear. She was so wet, she was soaking her drawers. So needy. But he took his time, grinding into her hand, pulling on her nipples, then taking her breasts in his hands and gently massaging them. His forefingers flicked over her painfully sensitive flesh.

  She thought she could spend like this, from nothing more than his touch and his body fused to hers, his mouth knowing all the ways to make her wild. She wondered if he could, too. But when she stroked him harder, he made a low sound in his throat and spun her around.

  He was impeccably dressed, down to his waistcoat and crisp white shirt. He was so handsome, his bright eyes burning with desire and something else, something more profound.

  Love.

  “I am going to make you come on my tongue,” he told her, his voice low.

  Her heart pounded. So did her sex.

  What could she say to that? Nothing. She was trembling with desire. Words were impossible.

  “Raise your arms, bijou,” he ordered.

  She obeyed. He lifted her chemise slowly, making certain the soft fabric dragged over her hungry nipples as he went. The teasing was delicious. Her breaths were coming in short, uneven bursts by the time her chemise was finally gone.

  He lowered his head and sucked first one nipple into his hot, wet mouth. Then the other. Decker laved one with his tongue and then rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. Slow, steady licks. The abrasion of his teeth. He rubbed his jaw over the curve, his short whiskers rasping over her flesh. It felt like heaven and torture, bliss and pain, all at once. She was going to demand he forego shaving every other day, just for this sensation.

  His mouth was on the peak of her breast once more, sucking hard. He cupped her mound through the barrier of her drawers. Nothing more—just that possessive cradle—so tantalizing, so tempting. She could not stifle the moan he wrung from her.

  “Whatever can be the matter, my lady?” he murmured against her breast, slanting her a look laden with sinful intentions. “You sound as if you need release.”

  “I do,” she whispered.

  He suckled her again, then blew on her nipple, which stood at lusty attention, elongated and tight. She wanted more. This teasing was not enough. Her fingers had found their way into his thick, wavy hair. She tugged on it, trying to urge him on, arching her back so that her breasts were presented to him like offerings.

  “Let me help you.” His mouth was on her breast again, stealing another moan as his fingers worked on the placket at her waistband. Her drawers slid down her hips in a whisper of sound.

  He released her nipple and then took her wrists, pulling her hands from his hair. “Come.”

  She was wearing nothing but silk stockings and black satin boots. Jo allowed him to tug her to a chair positioned by the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. He sank to his knees before her, then released her hands and tenderly caressed her ankle. He guided her booted foot to the cushion of the chair, opening her to his brilliant gaze.

  “There you are, my lady,” he said, his eyes darkening as they settled upon her most intimate flesh. “So pretty and pink and wet. I know what you need.”

  And then, he filled his hands with her rump, drawing her sex to his mouth. He sucked on her pearl just as he had done to her nipples, groaning in appreciation. The vibration sent a spike of pleasure through her. She was dizzied, perched on her Louis heels, helpless to do anything other than give herself up to him.

  She was surrendering, in every way.

  But surrender had never felt so good. Nor so right.

  Decker sucked on Jo’s swollen, slick pearl, doing his utmost to keep from coming in his trousers. She tasted so good—musky, spicy, feminine and floral, everything that was her. Everything that was good. Love. She tasted like that, too.

  There was no denying the sight of her in nothing but her stockings and boots, spread and open for him, had been the most deliciously carnal sight he had ever beheld. No erotic picture could hold a candle to her. For a moment, he had been on his knees before her, desire slamming into him with ballocks-clenching force as he took in the perfection of her glistening lips and that tempting bud demanding his attention. He had mustered all the control he possessed to keep from cupping his rigid cock and stroking himself into oblivion with his face buried in her cunny. Because when he spent this time, it was going to be inside her.

  Not into the counterpane. Not onto her belly or thigh. He was going to bury his cock deep in her and he was not going to withdraw until he had filled her with his seed. Just the thought made his cock ache.

  He flicked his tongue over her the way he knew she liked, catching the delicate underside where she was most sensitive, and then could not resist licking lower. Down her seam. He delved between her lips, where she was so soaked for him, the evidence of her desire sending another arrow of need straight to his cockstand. He was rigid against the placket of his trousers, aching to free himself as he sank his tongue deep inside her cunny.

  Gripping the soft globes of her arse in his hands, he held her firmly, feasting on her, fucking her fast and hard. Her thighs quivered and the most erotic mewls hatched from her throat. More wetness coated his tongue. He lapped it up, savoring her cream, pointing his tongue to thrust deeper. As deep as he could go.

  She was close. On the precipice.

  He latched on her pearl again, sucking while he released her rump and slid two fingers deep into her drenched channel. She tightened on him instantly, the hot clench of her inner muscles making him groan and bite her clitoris until she came in a gushing spend, her juices dripping down his fingers, his hand. Pleasure pulsed through him as he ran his tongue back to her cunny. He licked up her spend, every drop, greedy bastard that he was.

  He was not done with her yet. He wanted her helpless and limp. He wanted to make her come so many times, she could not bear one more lashing of his tongue. He moved back to her pearl, which was more swollen than before, plump and delicious. Alternating between sucking and licking, nibbling and running circles around her with his tongue, he slid a finger back inside her. Then another. He curled them, finding that magic spot within her.

  She cried out, her knees buckling.

  Decker caught her to him, holding her steady as he added a third finger, fucking her faster and harder. The wet sound of his fingers moving inside her mingled with her panting breaths, her sweet cries of pleasure.

  Yes, my love.

  I want to ruin you.

  Come on my face.

  Cream on my tongue.

  Coat me with your dew.

  Fuck my fingers and my mouth.

  Decker was out of his mind with need. He was not certain which of these things he said aloud and which were litanies in his mind. It hardly mattered. Her hips were pumping in wild thrusts. He was sucking her pearl and stroking in and out of her body. This time when she came, she gasped his name and a fresh torrent of her juices leaked from her core. He was right there to lick up every drop again.

  In a haze of need and want, he removed her boots and stockings.

  She was naked and he was fully dressed, on his knees before her. She towered over him like a goddess, breasts full, eyes dark and drunk with desire, her nipples tipped with hard points, her cheeks flushed. She was all creamy curves and delicious woman.

&n
bsp; All his.

  He forgot about the little game he had been playing, acting the part of her servant. Everything in him roared to have her now. He rose to his feet.

  “Josie,” he rasped, tearing at his coat and waistcoat, clawing at his necktie. “I need you.”

  “I need you too, my love,” she said, her hands on him, helping him.

  In a frenzied rush, they divested him of every stitch. Naked, kissing, they fell upon the bed together. Jo took his rigid prick in her hand. He was leaking from the tip, and she slicked his mettle over him, rubbing her thumb over the slit in his cockhead in a way that had him groaning, hips swiveling.

  “I want inside you,” he said, frustration and desire blending to an acute pinnacle.

  “Not yet.” She kissed down his jaw, down his throat, stroking him as she went.

  He forced himself to remain still and allow his wife to have her way with him. Her lips left a trail of fire blazing in their wake as they slowly traveled over his abdomen. Then lower. His cock was standing at attention, thick and protruding and begging to be inside her sweet berry-pink lips.

  He realized that in his haste to undress her and have her, he had left her coiffure untouched. His fingers rectified that travesty immediately, sifting through the dark, silken strands, plucking hair pins as he went. When the velvety suction of her mouth engulfed his cockhead, he forgot to care about anything else.

  Decker grasped a handful of her hair, wrapping the strands around his fist, and watched as his desperate cock disappeared between her lips. She cupped his ballocks, which were painfully full after so many days and nights without her and taut with the need to spend. And then she took him deep.

  Down her throat.

  His hips jumped off the bed. He lost control, surging into her. She squeezed his sacs, massaging them, and he nearly lost himself then and there.

  “Fuck, Josie,” he groaned.

  She released him slowly, leaving his cock glistening with the combination of her saliva and his own mettle. Gripping him in her small fist, she laved her tongue over his tip. When she flicked over the slit, pressing there, and licking up another drop that seeped from him, he knew he could not bear any more torture.