The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  She wanted this. More than anything she’d ever wanted before, she wanted to prove to this man she was a worthy partner in their marriage. Prove that she was worth keeping.

  To her surprise, he didn’t join her immediately. Instead he trailed one strong hand from her shin to her thigh, over her hip, and around her stomach, drawing little circles there, making the nerves confined to her jittery stomach bloom out to the rest of her limbs.

  She felt slightly intoxicated by his touch: Her head set to spinning; her heart felt as though it would pound right out of her chest; and she was sure that a great deal of wetness slicked her thighs at the vee of her body. Good Lord, her husband was doing things to her body that she wasn’t used to, drawing reactions from her that she didn’t quite understand. He was distracting her from her purpose.

  “Richard,” she pleaded for no other reason than wanting him to lie next to her long enough for her to catch her breath. To gather back her senses that seemed to have fled.

  “Shh, let me do this. I find I’m completely enthralled by your beauty.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. She needn’t rush this. She had plenty of time to explore him.

  The bed was set high off the floor so she had a clear view of his pectorals. She could see the wound at his side. It seemed mostly healed, a puckered red scar that sliced over his rib cage. It made him look dangerous.

  Some naughty whisper in her mind dared her to reach out and touch the hair on his chest, to see what it would feel like under her fingertips. She watched his jaw tighten as her fingers brushed through the coarse hair. His eyes closed as she moved her hand higher to his neck, her fingers pressing into his strong muscles, feeling their resistance and the latent strength lurking beneath the surface.

  She had the urge to kiss her husband. She loved it when he kissed her, but she wanted to initiate it this time. Unsure how it happened, nor inclined to question what put her body in motion, she found herself before him on her knees, her thumb pressing into the center of his bottom lip, pulling it down the slightest bit.

  She leaned minutely forward, her thumb still between their lips when she pressed her mouth to his for the most fleeting kiss, like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings against a flower petal.

  Richard pulled her arm down from between their bodies, leaving their lips with nothing between them. One of his arms wrapped around her lower back, the other pushing through her locks of hair and holding her head still as he looked into her eyes. The brown of his gaze seemed to flicker and sparkle in ecstasy.

  “Is that what you desire? Just a kiss?”

  His words snapped her out of her daze and she attempted to pull away from the embrace. He wouldn’t let her go. In fact, his hold seemed tighter, almost unrelenting.

  “I never said that was a bad thing, my darling wife.”

  His lips connected with hers again, only this time the union was less chaste than her approach had been. He pulled her upper lip first, then moved to pull her lower lip as his tongue swept out to stroke over the smarting his nips caused.

  She moaned into his mouth and wound her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. Close enough that her upper body pressed against his. Her breasts crushed between them. His hand dropped from where he had been kneading into her lower back, and both his hands came up to cup her face with a tenderness that made her want to swoon in pleasure.

  She would fall apart if he left her again. She knew that with a clarity that drew tears to the surface of her eyes; thank goodness they did not fall.

  Despite her desire to remain an independent woman, despite her desire to hide away in her painting tower without the need of another, she knew she was fooling herself. She would never be complete without this man at her side, always and forever.

  Their tongues seemed to meld together as they tasted of each other. It felt natural to kiss her husband like this, with all the pent-up desires she’d harbored for him over the years. Every feeling, every emotion seemed to pour out of her as she warred with his lips and tongue. He was not unaffected by their kiss; he groaned for every one of her mewls, his pelvis rotated forward in a rhythm all its own. The jut of his manhood on her stomach didn’t so much frighten her as rouse her curiosity.

  She pulled away long enough to say, “I ache so badly for you, Richard.”

  “I ache too, darling,” he whispered over her lips.

  His hands fell away from her face to gather the material of her night rail in his hands. He held it at her hips and stalled. “Lie back on the bed.”

  She complied and didn’t have to question his intentions once he knelt on the bed between her open thighs. His manhood stood straight out from his groin and curved thickly toward his navel, the slit at the tip moist with fluid. Good Lord, he was a well-endowed man.

  She must have made some sound of distress, because he was cooing sweet platitudes about how much he wanted and needed her. He pushed her thighs farther apart and pressed the head of his instrument inside, groaning so deeply in his chest it almost sounded like a growl of frustration.

  His arms strained on either side of her. The cords of muscle flexing and moving awed her as he held himself still as a leopard waiting for its chance to strike. Raising her hands to his face, she beckoned his mouth closer so she could kiss him again. She liked kissing her husband. A great deal.

  As his lips connected with hers, his manhood thrust fully forward inside her body. She released his mouth long enough to let out a surprised groan, and arched the upper half of her body off the bed and closer to his warmth. His lips found her neck.

  He wasn’t as gentle this time with his kisses. He bit at her, trailing his teeth and tongue over her life vein, then higher to her earlobe. Nibbling on the end wasn’t the last of his exploration; he stuck his tongue right in her ear and licked around the shell before moving back down her neck. Goodness gracious, she loved the feeling it evoked. The shivery, tickling delight it created.

  Pressing her hands into his back, careful to avoid his side where his half-healed wound was, she kneaded into his flesh, massaging the length in slow, teasing touches. His skin was smooth and firm. Hot to the touch.

  Pulling out, he pressed his lips against her breasts. Licking and nipping at them in turn. Then over her ribs, the soft curve of her stomach. His teeth were sharp at her hip. Where was her resolve to touch him tonight? To inflame his desires as much as he did hers?

  Rolling to his side, he rose up on one elbow and looked down at her, that mischievous grin of his sparkling in his eyes. One of his hands grasped her core with determined fingers. The other pushed out her legs, exposing everything to his gaze.

  She failed to breathe as he looked her over in blatant approval.

  Fingers rotating around her sheath, slicking her mound, he pressed inward in the same thrusting pattern his penis made. His thumb flicked over the little bud at the apex of her womanhood. It offered up the most exhilarating pleasure she’d ever felt in her life. She was still sensitive from their foray this afternoon. Needy. The sensations were inexplicable. Words failed her.

  “Kiss me,” he demanded in a gruff voice.

  With his imploring tone, she forgot to be embarrassed by what he was doing to her body and turned her face to his. This kiss was sweeter, softer, and so much slower than the others they’d shared, but just as carnally explicit in implication. His tongue dipped into her when his finger thrust up inside her sheath. When his finger circled the entrance of her cunny, his tongue traced the seam of her lips. Her whole body took on a faint buzz from his ministrations. From his every touch.

  The firm demand of his hard member pushed into her thigh. She thought he’d stop the sweet sensations he was playing out on her body and fill her again, but he didn’t. He seemed quite content to carry on with his hand pressing and circling her bud.

  She’d never felt a pleasure more beautiful. So perfect it nearly brought tears to her eyes. Her pelvis pushed up against his hand, rotating of its own accord, desperate to feel these sensations to
the fullest. To finally find release under his titillating touch.

  It was like rolling down the hill earlier today with her sisters. Her insides were all scrambled and excited. Her body felt as though it would never touch the ground. Her whole being felt suspended in the midst of nothingness and then she was crashing into a throbbing, mind-numbing release that seemed to split her body apart like a firecracker going off. All the sparks exploding surreally around her, all her nerve endings feeling as though they couldn’t be expounded upon any further.

  She bit into Richard’s lower lip, her voice mute though she felt like she was screaming. Her heart stopped for the merest second before the full force of its pounding rang deafeningly in her ears.

  Her whole body throbbed from the inside out, centering where her husband had massaged her bud, where it felt like that part of her body had a heartbeat of its own.

  Her breath was coming so fast, her mouth so dry, she couldn’t find any words, any sound to utter.

  “Now, that is the kind of reaction I like,” Richard said, with a smugness so common to his character. Then he positioned himself above her. “Wrap your legs around my hips,” he demanded in a guttural tone.

  So taxed of energy, she could do only partially as he asked, tightening her thighs around his hips. His weight came down on her then, one hand grasping her bare buttocks and squeezing as he pushed into her body with more vigor than he’d ever displayed before.

  He was hammering into her so hard and fast they inched up the bed with each hard slam. She wasn’t sure if the sounds she made came from the enjoyment of the act, or because he forced the breath out of her lungs with each upward plunge into her body. Her fingers flexed into the flesh of his back, molding the sinew beneath her hands.

  Hands now clasping her hips, he held himself inert above her, breathing hard, his forehead sweaty as it pressed to hers.

  “I could fuck you nonstop for a whole day,” he groaned.

  His movements took on a new measure of speed, as though he wanted to push farther up inside her than possible. He swore a much cruder word than she’d ever heard him utter before as he worked himself inside her. Her pelvis thrust up to meet each of his shoves. Her hands couldn’t hold on tight enough to his sweat-slickened skin. She’d never get enough of her husband. Never get enough of this feeling of breathlessness that he made her yearn for more of.

  Then she felt his seed spilling into her with each subsequent plunge of his manhood. It seemed to go on infinitely, long enough that she felt a rush of fluid seep from her core and slide between the cheeks of her buttocks.

  When he stopped spurting inside her, he fell atop her, his body clammy with sweat under her exploring fingers. She hoped her touch felt soothing, relaxing. He seemed replete enough as it was, but she’d not be able to spend too much time under his heavy weight. His member slid from her core and he rolled over to lie beside her.

  To her everlasting surprise, he didn’t leave. He pushed her to her side, and pulled her close to his chest, arm wrapped around her middle, finger flicking and rolling at her nipple as their breaths evened out.

  Would he stay the night? Indulge in her once again as she wanted to indulge in him?

  Chapter 14

  In my heart, I know there is no hope of your return. Why can’t I move on? Forget?

  After receiving the letter from Waverly, she hadn’t expected him to call on her at home. Her maid had knocked on her door just past breakfast. Emma had rushed down to the parlor in fear of Richard finding another man calling on her. She couldn’t deal with another barrage of accusations. Her relationship with her husband was growing. She’d not chance ruining that.

  Waverly relaxed in a chair, ankle crossed over his knee as if he had every right to make himself feel at home in her house. He did not stand on her entrance. Which was well enough; she didn’t want to pay him any polite kindnesses, either.

  His clothes were rumpled, as though he’d slept in them. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, waistcoat wrinkled and improperly buttoned, his hair unwashed and greasy. Stubble lined his angular jaw … Was the man fraying around the edges? Or was this just overindulgence from the night before?

  She cleared her throat. “I made it clear you weren’t invited here. I’d rather not make a scene by having the servants physically remove you.”

  “Touché, darling.” He swirled a glass of amber liquid. “Touché.”

  Obviously, he also thought he could help himself to the decanter. She changed her mind about her husband finding her in the company of another man; she wished Richard would walk in. But then, Richard still didn’t know anything about her paintings. And of course, she couldn’t trust that Waverly wouldn’t state his reason for being here.

  Hands clasped tightly in front of her, she gave him a stern glare. “What do you want, Waverly?”

  “To chat.” Stupid man that he was, he shot her his snake smile. He was goading her, pricking at her ire intentionally. She’d not give in to his cruelties so easily this time.

  “I find that hard to believe. You’ve set out to blackmail me. Not something a friend would do.”

  “Ah, but you’ve assured me we are no longer friends.” He drank the rest of the liquor in his glass and set it on the floor since there wasn’t a table nearby. “Perhaps you’d like to come and sit on my knee.” He patted his hand to the place he wanted her to sit. “We could play it very differently that way.”

  The blackguard! She would not show her discomfort at this whole situation.

  “Why are you doing this? We were friends.”

  “We were never friends, love. You were a means to an end. I’ve just needed to move things along a little faster after an unexpected turn in events.”

  What was he talking about?

  Waverly stood from the chair and prowled closer to her, eyeing her as though she were potential prey. She held her ground and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze defiantly.

  “Never understood your devotion to your marriage. Had you fallen for my charm early on, we’d never have come to this pass in our relationship. Things would be entirely different.”

  “I do not understand what you mean.” Emma crossed her arms in annoyance. “How did you obtain the painting?”

  He laughed. A horrid, awful crowing sound. “Would you believe I received a letter from Vane yesterday evening? Blighter thought to purchase a painting that he heard was in my safekeeping.”

  His fingers reached out and caressed the length of her arm. She could not hold back the shiver of revulsion that ran the length of her body from his touch. “Tell me, sweet, sweet Emma, was that painting for your lover? Did you paint it for Vane?”

  She didn’t flinch at the accusation. Most would think precisely that.

  Waverly didn’t deserve the truth: She’d painted it for herself.

  That painting had been done at a transition in her life. A time when she realized she was no longer a girl but a grown woman. A woman with her own desires, her own needs to accomplish something for herself. The painting had been a bitter reminder of what she was missing in life. With its creation came the consciousness that she was like the trapped creatures she painted—that society only saw a shell of who she was, not the real woman beneath the polite facade of a countess.

  How dare Waverly take that away from her! How dare he!

  “What is it you wish to accomplish by revealing that painting to the world?” She dared to take a step closer. She would not be cowed by him. “Ruin me if you will. I care not what society thinks. You are wasting your time trying to expose me as the artist.”

  “I could not care less what society thinks of you, dear.”

  His hands grasped onto her arms, the force bruising. Trying to dislodge his hold, she was yanked against his lanky frame. She turned her face away so he couldn’t force a kiss on her. Never again would she give him that opportunity.

  “You think mighty highly of yourself. You’ve always put yourself on a pedestal. The ice-cold, untouchable Countess of A
sbury.” He shook her when she refused to look at him. “I know your secrets. Secrets I’m sure you want hidden. Otherwise, everyone would know about your little pastime, wouldn’t they? I guarantee your husband hasn’t a clue what you do in your spare time.”

  The mention of her husband had uneasiness creeping into her mind. What did her husband have to do with Waverly? Emma wanted to ask Waverly, but didn’t dare—he’d only tell her lies. She pinched her lips together and held herself rigid in his grasp.

  The stubble on his face scratched her cheek and neck. He licked the length of her neck. She jerked her head farther away from him, a sound of distress passing her lips. His hold on her arms only tightened. The last time she pushed him away he’d become more aggressive. Unpredictable. She would not allow that to happen again.

  “I don’t care if you expose me,” she hissed.

  That was a complete lie. But what else was she supposed to say when he threatened her? She had to believe that Vane would retrieve the painting by any means necessary. Waverly would be out of her life once and for all.

  “If you don’t release me and leave, Waverly, I will call the servants and have you removed.”

  He chuckled against her throat, the sound low and intimidating. He jerked the sleeves of her gown down, tearing the material and exposing her from her shoulders to the top swell of her breasts. “And what if they should find you in a compromising position?”

  The way he held onto the torn material left her immobile. She could not pull from his hold. Could not raise her hands to push him away. She had underestimated this man’s daring. This man’s lack of restraint once his rage hit its peak.

  “I don’t care.” She spat the words in his face, finally daring to meet his eyes. It was a mistake. She’d known it would be. But she was running out of options to stop Waverly from doing something horrible.

  His hands grasped the edge of her gown at the sides of her breasts and made to tear it right off her body. She squeezed her arms tight. Not allowing the material to budge.