Fantasy 02 - Forbidden Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  He couldn't get over the fact that she'd visited him, in the middle of the day—without hesitation or concealment—which indicated that the scene with her parents must have been appalling. He'd imagined that life with the Earl of Derby was unpleasant, so he wasn't surprised by her story, but it pained him that she was hurting.

  He peeked in his dressing room, ensuring there were no servants lurking; then he drew her inside. "What's this?" she said.

  "Honestly, Caro, you must have seen one. It's a hip bath."

  "I know that," she retorted. "I assume one of us is about to bathe. Is it to be me? Or you?" "You."

  "Are you going to watch?"

  "Yes. I intend to wash you, too." He grinned wickedly. "If you're really nice to me, I might even join you."

  "In the tub?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you telling me that men and women actually carry on this way? Together and in the open, where any servant could stroll in?"

  "It's quite common, and a favorite pastime of mine." At realizing how much he'd revealed about his disreputable character, she glowered, and he hastily added, "Not that I've ever done such a thing with a female."

  "Oh, of course not." "I'm a veritable saint."

  "Absolutely," she wryly agreed. "How could I be twenty-five years old and not have learned these secrets?"

  "Don't ever regret being sheltered."

  "I used to presume it beneficial"—her sizzling gaze took a deliberate, inquisitive meander down his torso—"but since becoming involved with you, I've changed my mind."

  "I have that effect on people. The more you get to know me, the worse you'll behave. I guarantee it."

  She chuckled and spun around. "Unbutton my gown."

  He proceeded methodically, stripping her as if he were a lady's maid. He could have lingered and enjoyed the endeavor, but he wanted her naked. He removed her dress, petticoats, shoes, and stockings, and he paused to take them into the bedchamber, to drape them over the chairs in front of the fire.

  At seeing her belongings scattered about, he was much more pleased than he should have been, and when he returned to her, he was frowning.

  "Why are you scowling?" she asked.

  "Because I like having you here."

  "My presence makes you grumpy?"

  "Very."

  "I don't understand men."

  He nestled himself to her backside and peered over her shoulder, tantalized by how her breasts pushed against her corset. She was so beautiful, and she was all his.

  He untied her laces, dragging the blasted contraption away; then he yanked off her drawers, and in a thrice, she was nude. He wrapped his arms around her and ran his palms down her stomach and thighs, and she shivered, but he was fairly sure it wasn't from desire.

  "Let's get you in the tub," he urged, and he held her hand as she climbed in.

  She slid down, hissing as she immersed herself. There was an extra bucket of hot water on the floor, and he dumped it over her, earning a squeal of irritated delight; then he pulled up a stool and sat next to her.

  She was relaxed and content, and at the sight, he was overcome by the oddest impression that she'd finally arrived right where she was meant to be. His heart did a funny flip-flop, jerking in his chest, until he actually rubbed the center, massaging away the ache.

  "You're scowling again," she said, laughing.

  "I'm trying to figure out how rapidly I can have you in my bed."

  "Is that your plan?"

  "Oh, yes, that's my plan."

  "You have a very fiendish mind."

  "I can't deny it."

  "I'm not complaining."

  He snatched up a cloth and swished it; then he swabbed it over her body, stroking it across her shoulders and bosom, down her tummy and between her legs.

  Though she was a spinster and a virgin, she'd abandoned her prior reticence. Events had made her more reckless, more eager to experience the mischief he initiated, so she did nothing to slow him, which was incredibly titillating. His cock was so hard that he wondered how he'd stand.

  "Are you feeling better?" he inquired.

  "Oh, yes."

  "Have I vanquished your chill?" "Like a knight in shining armor." "Marvelous. Out you go."

  He helped her rise and step out; then he grabbed a towel and dried her.

  "You didn't get in with me," she protested.

  "That's because I'm so impatient to lure you to my bed, instead."

  "Will you join me next time?"

  "Most definitely."

  At the notion that she was already contemplating a next time, his heart made that silly fluttering motion again.

  He was so happy when she was near, so miserable when she wasn't, but he wouldn't focus on the peculiar sentiment. He wouldn't like her more than was wise, wouldn't moon over her when they were apart. If he did, he'd start to dream about a future that could never be, which was the height of folly.

  They'd been acquainted forever, and he knew her well. Though she was currently distressed over her betrothal, in the end she would relent. If he began to hope she'd do anything else, he'd drive himself crazy.

  He folded the towel around her, tucking the corner between her breasts, and he led her into his bedchamber. They tumbled onto the mattress, and Caro was as comfortable as if they'd been lovers for years rather than days.

  He rolled on top of her, and as he kissed her he was stung by the realization that he never wanted to let her go, so his journey to insanity was complete.

  He wasn't looking for a mistress—he had one of

  those—and he wasn't looking for a wife. He especially wasn't looking for a wife who was the daughter of one of the most powerful families in England. He would never pursue such a negligent path, but at that moment, when she was warm and fragrant and snuggled beneath him, any wild conclusion seemed possible.

  Needing to feel her flesh pressed to his own, he yanked at his shirt, tugging it off and tossing it on the floor. Then he pulled her towel away, exposing her to his avid scrutiny, and he lay atop her again, both of them moaning with pleasure as bare skin connected.

  He nibbled down her neck, across her chest, and he suckled at his leisure. His sexual stimulation was painful, his poor, neglected phallus begging for mercy.

  He groaned with dismay.

  "What is it?" she asked. "Are you injured?"

  "No, but I'm so aroused that it hurts."

  "Really?"

  "Yes."

  She grinned. "You're suffering because of me?" "Yes, you wench."

  "Fabulous. How can I soothe your ache?" "You can't." "Why not?"

  "Well... there are ... we are ... I am ..." He still wasn't able to explain the mechanics of fornication. It was simply beyond him.

  "Why are you embarrassed? Are you telling me that you can philander with ease, but you can't talk about it?"

  "Some things are better in the demonstrating." "So demonstrate." She flung her arms wide, like a virgin about to be sacrificed. "No."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'd have to remove my trousers and have you touch me."

  "What a grand idea! Let's try it." She wiggled out from under him, ready to undress him against his will.

  "No," he said again. "If I take off my pants, there's no predicting what I might do."

  "You'd be spurred to further misbehavior?"

  "Yes, and a man can become too provoked, to where he can't control himself."

  "Have I suggested you control yourself?"

  "You're to be wed soon, Caro."

  "Not if lean help it."

  He continued as if she hadn't interrupted. "So we can't do anything that might harm you at the start of your marriage."

  She shoved him onto his back, her glare imperious and irked. "I hate it when you treat me like a child, and I'm tired of waiting for you to get on with it."

  "One of us needs to keep a level head."

  "I don't see why. So far, we've broken every imaginable rule. Why restrain ourselves now?"


  "Because we must."

  "Ian?"

  "Yes."

  "Do be silent."

  She came up on her knees, and she hovered over his crotch, making quick work of the buttons on his trousers, and he dawdled like an imbecile and let her have her way. He should have stopped her, but his anatomy seemed to have cast a spell on his tongue, and he couldn't utter a single word of protest.

  She drew the fabric away, baring him to his haunches, and she sucked in a surprised breath.

  "My, my," she murmured, "would you look at that!"

  "We're built differently—in our private parts," he managed to grind out.

  "I know. I've listened to women gossiping."

  As if she were a tot that had discovered a new flavor of candy, she proceeded to explore. She squeezed and caressed, each innocent stroke shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. Her thumb grazed the sensitive crown, his limbs jerking in response as sparks of desire flowed from his loins outward.

  "It's very large," she mentioned.

  "It can be—when I'm excited."

  "Such as now?"

  "Yes. I'm definitely excited now." "Wonderful."

  He reached down and positioned her fingers, wrapping his hand around hers and guiding her in the appropriate rhythm. She was a willing, adept pupil, who instantly grasped what was required, but the stimulation was too extreme.

  He'd intended to be patient, to let her tease and play, but he'd been goaded to madness. His lust spiked, his seed surging to the tip and demanding release. He slapped her away, when she didn't understand why he would.

  "What's the matter?" she queried. "What did I do?"

  "I need to come."

  "I don't know what that means."

  "You don't have to know. Just hold me."

  "Like this?"

  "Yes."

  She hugged him as he stretched out, his phallus pressed to the soft skin of her belly. He thrust once, again, and again, and he emptied himself against her stomach. A potent orgasm carried him away, and as he spiraled up he worried that he'd never find the peak.

  Finally, it crested and he tumbled down, joyous and laughing and happier than he could ever remember being. He landed in her arms, so glad to be with her, so glad he'd taken the chance.

  As he struggled to slow his frantic pulse, she chuckled and said, "What on earth was that?"

  "That, my darling, Caro, was a very dramatic example of male sexual ecstasy."

  "Dramatic, was it?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "And what is this?" She dabbed at the spot on her abdomen where he'd spewed himself with such relish. "My seed." "What is it for?"

  "It's a sign that I was pushed beyond my limit."

  "It erupts from the tip every time?"

  "Only when I'm very satisfied."

  "So I take it that you were?"

  "Yes, you minx. But it can also plant a babe."

  She scowled. "How?"

  He slipped his fingers into her sheath. "When my rod is very erect, I can shove it inside you—here." "Inside?"

  "Yes, and if I would spill myself while I was there, I could leave you with child." "You're joking." "No."

  "What happens when you simply discharge it on my stomach?"

  "Nothing. It's very pleasurable."

  She appeared very smug. "Can we do it again?"

  "If you give me a minute to catch my breath."

  "But I'm ready now."

  "A man needs a bit of a break in between." "Spoilsport," she pouted. She fondled his cock, which was sated and half-erect. "You're not very hard." "But I will be very soon. Just you watch." He rolled her onto her back and started in again.

  Chapter Eleven

  You lousy bastard." "What? What did I do?" Rebecca stormed into Jack's bedchamber and slammed the door. He'd just bathed, so his hair was damp and swept off his forehead. He was attired solely in a pair of tight-fitting trousers that delineated every muscle on his fabulous body, but she refused to be distracted by how marvelous he looked. "You tattled to Ian," she seethed. "Yes, I did." "I told you not to."

  "I couldn't keep such a terrible secret," he piously declared. "It was eating away at me."

  "What about what I wanted?"

  "What about it? Ian is my brother, and you are ... are..."

  "What am I?" she demanded when he couldn't finish. "And I must warn you that if you're about to refer to me in a derogatory fashion, you might wish to reconsider. I'm very, very angry."

  She reached into her reticule to retrieve a small pistol, and she aimed the short barrel right at the center of his black heart.

  "Are you mad?" he snapped.

  Not intimidated in the least, he stomped over, stopping directly in front of her. He didn't grab for the weapon, nor did she lower it. A stony, awkward impasse ensued.

  "I take it the rumors are true," he taunted.

  "What rumors?"

  "You're a man-killer."

  "Only when the man in question needs killing. Then, I don't have the slightest qualms." "Really?"

  "Yes, really. Take another step and you'll see what I mean."

  She didn't want to murder him, but after the humiliating encounter she'd just endured with Ian, she'd decided that Jack should pay for the damage he'd wrought. At that moment, death seemed like a dandy price to extract.

  She hadn't visited Ian in days, hadn't had sex with him in weeks, when she was supposed to be his devoted mistress. Their separation unnerved her, had her fretting over whether his attention was waning.

  She'd come to his home, dressed for seduction, but she'd been rebuffed. Not only had he been uninterested in a tryst, but he'd claimed that they should break off for a bit and let their ardor cool. He'd even hinted that perhaps they should split for good.

  When she'd pressed him as to why, he'd informed her of Jack's confession, but she hadn't felt he was being entirely candid. There were other issues driving him, issues that had nothing to do with Jack. Ian had changed, was happier and more content than he'd ever been. Something had happened that went beyond her misbehavior, and she had to learn what it was, but in the interim, she had to deal with Jack.

  He was such an insolent, imperious creature, and he needed to be put in his place. Hence, the pistol.

  She waved it at him. "I'd like to hear one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

  "Because I'm awfully partial to living?"

  "You'd best think up a better response."

  "Do you actually expect me to believe you'd shoot me?"

  His disdain made her even more irate. "Yes, that's precisely what I expect you to believe."

  "Give me that thing before you hurt yourself."

  He laughed! The bastard laughed as if she were some wee bug who wouldn't harm a fly.

  Didn't he understand anything about her? She had to marry Ian. She wouldn't be poor, wouldn't be forced into another violent marriage. When she was a girl, her cousins had wed her to the first reprobate who'd asked. They'd treated her as if she were a prized cow, and they'd received a pretty penny for their efforts, too. Then she'd been sold again, and a third time, until she'd grown old enough to avoid their machinations.

  She would never again be in a position where her finances and physical safety were at risk, yet he stood there chortling as if her problems were a joke.

  Her fury spiked.

  "Shut up, Jack."

  "I'm sorry, but I can't help myself. You humor me in too many ways to count." "Shut up!"

  He lunged, and without thought or deliberation, she squeezed the trigger just as he knocked her to the floor. They both landed with a painful thud, and she tried to crawl away, but he stretched out and pinned her down.

  The room was filled with smoke, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air, the loud explosion making her ears ring. She gaped about, hoping to discover that she'd hit him, but with how tightly he was restraining her, she was fairly sure she'd missed.

  Wasn't that just her luck! She'd fired at point-blank range, and the arrogant ass
was still breathing!

  Over his shoulder, she could see where the ball had struck the plaster. He stared at it, too, aghast at the damage.

  "You've blasted a hole in Ian's wall."

  "Yes, I have, and if I had a second round, I'd shoot another—only I'd aim more carefully."

  "But you've wrecked his wall," he stupidly repeated.

  "You ought to be glad."

  "Glad!"

  "If you hadn't tackled me, I'd have shot you instead. Which was definitely my intent." She struggled against him, wanting to escape his annoying presence. "Let me go."

  "No, you crazed vixen. Hold still."

  He clasped her wrists over her head, and suddenly every intimate spot was joined, chests, bellies, thighs forged fast. Down below, his cock had swelled in size. He smirked and took a naughty, delicious flex, his gaze metamorphosing from anger to desire in the beat of a heart.

  He bent down and kissed her, and before she could command her traitorous body to ignore him, she was kissing him back.

  Like two carnal savages, they were wild for each other. They clawed and bit, yanked and pulled, rolling about on the rug and fighting as if they were in a tavern brawl.

  He jerked at her skirt, pushed her legs apart, and began unbuttoning his trousers.

  "Don't you dare!" she warned. "I won't have sex with you. Not ever again."

  "Won't you?"

  He'd freed himself from the confines of his pants, and he wedged the blunt crown into her sheath. "You could have killed me."

  "I wish I had!"

  "You deserve a spanking."

  "Hah! I'm trembling in my slippers."

  "What you're going to get—is this!"

  In a smooth thrust, he was impaled to the hilt, and the feel of him, so hot and virile, sent her into an immediate orgasm.

  The pleasure was too extreme, like nothing she'd ever experienced prior, and she screamed in ecstasy. He clamped a hand over her mouth, as he found his own potent end. They came and came, spiraling up, then plummeting down together.

  The instant it was concluded, his penetrations ceased, his livid look returning, as if she'd bewitched him against his will.

  Footsteps hurried down the hall, as a servant approached to see what the racket had been.

  Jack drew away and adjusted his trousers, while she lay there, gawking at the ceiling. He'd tumbled her as if she were a cheap harlot. Her dress was rucked up, her thighs bruised from his forceful incursion, her feminine regions wet and sticky with his seed. She'd never previously participated in such a shocking fornication, and all in all, she felt quite grand. Not that she'd admit it to the conceited oaf.