The Seduction of His Wife

by Tiffany Clare

  Richard’s dark eyes focused on her, their faces inches apart. He didn’t apologize for his actions or the lust radiating from his body. Tension bunched the muscles of his thighs and arms as he held her.

  She should ask him about their future. Ask him about his plans. Would he tell her he still didn’t know? His answer was likely to wrench at her heart. She would wait. Wait to see if she was pregnant.

  “I must confess,” she said. “I always thought that our intimacies would never change from our first night together.”

  “Who led you to believe such a lie?”

  “It’s what I always believed.” She dropped her gaze to his chest, and stared at the dark coarse hair, and traced her fingers through it.

  “You must have thought me a veritable fiend. Rutting for my own pleasure, without a care for yours.”

  “I don’t think you a monster, Richard.” She circled her finger around his nipple; it was so tiny compared to hers. He closed his eyes, hands tightening around her back. “Simply a man with desires.”

  “I was angry the day we were married. I knew I’d hurt you, but didn’t know how to comfort you.”

  “Angry because you had to marry me?” she ventured.

  He shook his head. “With my father. You were too young. I felt like a monster having to take your innocence.”

  “The only parent to blame was my father. He insisted we marry because he thought he’d be dead before the year was out. He didn’t want me to go into another year of mourning after my mother’s death. I think he was afraid you’d find another woman to marry in London.”

  His fingers were drawing lazy patterns on her bare hip, under her shirt. “We always did have that in common. Crazy fathers.”

  “Your father wasn’t so bad. He was very kind to me over the years.” Emma ran her fingers through the hair between his pectorals. It was too tempting to ignore any longer.

  Hands moving from her hips, Richard brushed the sides of her unbound breasts. His hands roamed over the back of her shoulder blades, then higher till his hands rested on her scalp. His fingers tangled through her hair.

  Her lips parted to ask him something, anything to break the silence. He pulled her head closer to his. The slide of his tongue against hers set her body afire. She liked kissing her husband; she liked doing things a countess probably ought not do. Instead of worrying, she hesitantly explored his tongue with her own. The taste of whiskey was faint in his mouth.

  She would have kept exploring him like this if he hadn’t pushed his groin up into hers. She tried to scramble off his lap at the rough scratch of his trousers against her very naked womanhood.

  “Stay with me like this,” he whispered between heated kisses. “Let me make love to you this way. Right here. Right now. Clothes on, lights burning bright, everything as it is. Just let me have everything of you tonight.”

  She settled back into his lap with the soothing, pleading tone in his voice. Biting her lip, she looked him in the eye. His gaze was expectant. As though he couldn’t bear for her to reject this small concession.

  If she did this, she knew without a doubt that there would be no turning back to the proper marriage she’d always envisioned. This would change things between them. Not that the games they’d played at yesterday and this afternoon hadn’t put her on this path to begin with. But something about this seemed different.

  “Only if you kiss me like that again. I love when you kiss me that way.”

  When he smiled back at her, all the tired lines around his eyes smoothed out. “I will do so much more if you’ll trust me. Permit me leave to pleasure you in all the ways I can think of.” He demonstrated his desire by running his hands up the sides of her thighs, slipping them around to grab her bare buttocks. “No pantalets. I like this wild side I’ve brought out in you.”

  She could do no more than blush at the praise. His smile brightened, and he pulled her in tight to his hardened groin.

  “Do you feel how badly I need you?”

  Eyes wide, she clutched at his arms, which flexed strong and masculine beneath her hands. She wanted to stroke the corded strength, shade it in charcoals on a piece of paper. Run her fingers along each and every line until it was memorized.

  She couldn’t continue on this path with her husband. It was dangerous. For her. He was slowly destroying her from the inside out. Meddling with her heart for his own purpose.

  “Tell me what you want of me, Richard.”

  “Nothing more than to give us both pleasure.”

  Of course that was all he wanted. He didn’t want her heart, even though she’d torn hers out of her chest and handed it to him still pumping and full of life. She might as well throw it down in the dirt for all he cared.

  She closed her eyes. She could play the same game he played. She could enjoy the newfound intimacy they shared.

  “Will you pleasure me in kisses?” She wanted to ask for explicit details, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, refusing to give voice to the questions she had.

  “Just trust me. Can you do that?”

  “I did this afternoon. I have so previously. I could do no less now.”

  As though he couldn’t help himself, his hands kneaded into her backside, fingers inching closer to her wet core. She was sure she’d remained drenched for him the whole of the day. His finger slid along her slit.

  “God, Emma. I love that you’re always ready for me. I’ve been negligent where you’re concerned. If there is one thing I can promise it’s that my inattention stops now.”

  That was a tall promise to make.

  And she didn’t believe him for one second.

  Pulling his hands away from her core, he brought them around to release the buttons on his trousers. He fiddled with his smalls till she felt the smooth warm flesh of his cock resting against her lower stomach. She wanted him inside her body. She craved him.

  He pulled her rear in closer with one hand. The other hand spread her nether lips over the base of his cock.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Relieving some of the pressure. How does that feel?”

  “Different,” she replied without hesitation. Though she was too embarrassed to elaborate—to tell him that she wished him to stand so she could learn his body by sight, by touch.

  “Remove your nightshirt, darling.”

  Looking toward the windows, she saw the curtains were pulled away from the glass to reveal an orange-and-red-toned evening sky. The sun was mere minutes from fully setting, and she was baring herself to her husband without a care. She liked this new Emma she’d grown into.

  “I’ve been craving another sight of you since we arrived back at the manor.” He rocked her body along his, the dampness at her core slicking over the firm ridge wedged between the lips of her sex. So thick and so demanding it nearly had her mouth watering to taste it. To taste him.

  “It’s only been a few hours since we were at the pond.” It felt good doing this. Different, but the way she was stretched out over him, the way her nub was stimulated, had her breath coming faster.

  “Too long … Remove your night rail.” He helped her by hitching it over her waist.

  Gathering up the linen of her nightclothes, she pulled it over her head and set it aside without delay. What did he think as he inspected her body? Did he like what he saw? Afraid to see the answer in his eyes, she focused on his chest again, feeling the muscle as she moved her hands higher so she could mold them around his shoulders and biceps.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” she asked.

  At his sharp intake of breath, her eyes snapped up to his. He no longer stared at her face but studied her breasts.

  “You are beautiful, Emma.”

  He lifted one of her breasts in his hand and ran his knuckles over the areola and nipple. It immediately formed into a hard point. She was afraid to look down and watch his ministrations. Afraid of how her body reacted to his touch.

  “Is it sensitive when I touch you her
e?”

  She nodded. So sensitive, she sometimes didn’t know if she liked his touch or not. The tingly, anxious feeling skittering across her flesh told her just how pleasurable it was.

  “You’re so damned soft I can’t stop touching you here. I’m going to suck on these pretty titties. Suck them till you’re writhing against me.”

  At her gasp, he picked her up by the waist and sheathed himself within her body. He sucked the tip of her breast deep into his mouth, and held her hips inert as he rotated in slow sensuous circles against her pelvis. Releasing her breast, he swore crudely, then heaved upward.

  “Bloody hell, I could stay here for an eternity.”

  He held her shoulders tight, pulling her in close as he jerked up into her body. He only stroked up into her for a few blissful thrusts, then he lifted her from his body and set her on the edge of the bed again.

  He stood before her, his privates exposed where he’d undone his trousers, and in plain sight. She swallowed. She wanted nothing more than to lick that part of him.

  “Don’t seem so shocked.”

  Scooting up the bed, she looked for the nearest pillow to toss at him. She wasn’t quick enough to grab one before Richard clasped his hand around her ankle, slowly pulling her back down the bed and closer to him.

  He kicked off his trousers, then knelt on the bed, his manhood sticking out hard from his body. What a curious thing it was. She watched it as it bobbed all on its own.

  Breath hitched, she looked back up and met her husband’s gaze.

  “When you look at me like that, it makes me harder. Do you want to touch me, Emma?” He wrapped his hand around himself, pulled the skin fully from the tip of his instrument to reveal a smooth rounded head.

  Good Lord. She’d never seen it in such clear detail before. Never been given the opportunity. Now that the occasion was here, she didn’t know quite how to handle it.

  Walking to her across the bed on his knees, he stroked his hand over the straining length.

  “Touch me, Emma.”

  She shook her head no. How could she do that? What would he think of her if she acted so forward? He didn’t ease up on the grip he had on his cock.

  He lowered his head and curled his tongue around her nipple, which immediately firmed at his cool wet touch. “I want to see you do wicked things to me … to yourself.”

  “Isn’t this the reason men have mistresses?”

  As soon as the words were out she wanted to snatch them back.

  Richard lifted his head from her tender breast. “Never suggest such a thing again. I might not have remained pure during the course of our marriage, but I never understood the need to shower any woman with riches and affection.”

  She pressed her lips together, refusing to form any sort of rebuttal. Of course he didn’t need to shower a woman with anything.

  Her expression must have shown her dissatisfaction, for he quickly amended, “No woman other than one’s wife, that is.”

  “How very practical of you,” she said drolly.

  “I think most might think me more frugal than practical, dear wife.”

  “Have you never kept a mistress?” She sucked in her bottom lip. Did she really want to know the truth? Would he even give her the truth? “When I saw you in London, with that woman … I thought that was just how you spent your evenings.”

  It made her sound jealous. And she was jealous of the other woman. It was a question pulled from deep within her heart. She needed to know, even if she didn’t like the answer she received. What would he make of it? Would he even give her an honest answer?

  “No mistress,” he said simply.

  * * *

  She was thinking too hard. Richard didn’t want her thinking at all. He supposed he should be thankful that she’d welcomed him back into her bed. They still needed to discuss the procuring of her art, but that could be done later. Much later.

  She had a lot of questions she wanted answered. He understood that. And tried to be patient, even though he was hard as a damn poker again. Instead of continuing their conversation, he lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled the soft flesh into his mouth. Her hand came around and clasped his head.

  His tongue curled around the pert, firm tip and sucked deeper. That had her back arching off the bed. Rolling her to her side, he hitched her leg over his hip so he could rub his cock between her slick folds, sliding it over her nub. God, he wanted inside her again. Wanted her to suck his cock so he could watch himself fuck her throat. Wanted to fuck her pretty titties, too. Good God, what had come over him?

  It was too soon to ask for that. She’d probably faint dead away if he suggested such things.

  Her fingers were tight in his hair, her thigh tight around his hip. What was it about her that made him act like a horny, insatiable youth? Rolling her to her back, he spread her thighs wide, reared back, and entered her tight sheath. He inched in slowly, loving the feel of her gripping and pulling him in with the flexing muscles of her core.

  He looked at her glassy-eyed expression as he seated himself up to his cods. He kissed her nose, her forehead, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. Rotating at her core, making sure the lips of her sex spread farther open with the movement, he pressed his body tight against hers to stimulate her clitoris. His hands were tangled with hers above her head. He didn’t want to let go. It offered some strange intimacy, handholding during their lovemaking.

  When had it become more than intercourse with his wife? And he was calling it lovemaking now? But his wife was different from any other woman he’d had. He was glad for that. Glad that coming home to his wife had made him feel like a whole man again. He’d been a monster for far too long.

  Quite possibly, he was in love with his wife. That was something he would have to explore another time. Before he could make an ass of himself and utter any of those condemning words, he lowered his mouth to hers. Their tongues explored, twisted, and melded as he pounded into her body with renewed enthusiasm.

  Emma’s breath mingled with his. His with hers. Her ankles were locked about his backside, and she arched against him. She broke from their kiss to let out a moan. Her sweet breasts squished between them. Their bodies were slick from their exertions, and the smell of sex was like an aphrodisiac perfuming the air.

  Shaking off the hold he had on her hands, she pressed her fingers into his shoulders and held onto him tightly. Her pelvis thrust up with his every downward stroke. She screamed her release, her fingers biting into his flesh to keep him from going anywhere. Hell, he wasn’t going anywhere. Moving up on his knees, he grasped her hips and pounded into her body until he finally went over the edge with her. He jerked above her till the last drop of semen pumped out of his body.

  He held her body arched off the bed, pressed his lips to her slick, salty skin, and licked a line all the way up her abdomen, between her ribs, stopping between her breasts. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling fast. No faster than his, he realized. Goddamn, he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave her body.

  He managed not to collapse atop her and had enough sense to get them both under the sheets before they fell asleep. Pulling her up against his body, he threw an arm over her and held on to one of her breasts. His cock was half stiff where it pressed into her buttocks and lower back. He’d make love to her again later. Right now her breathing had petered off to a steady even rhythm.

  He’d tired his wife out. The thought made his lips lift in a grin.

  This silence was nice. He just wished he could stop thinking altogether and sleep next to her. What was this attraction he had to her? Did he plan to make her more permanent in his life? To give their marriage a real chance?

  The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. This was definitely a surprising outcome to his trip to the country.

  There would be no divorce. He’d not give her up so she could find another man to spend her life with. He’d be the only damn man in her life once he scared the duke off for go
od and found the damn buyer of her paintings.

  She’d have to get used to him being around. Or perhaps he could court her, as he’d never really done when they were young. Shower her with attention. Make her forget about ever wanting a divorce. He could be charming when he wanted to. And he did want to be just that. For her, anyway.

  And once she was pregnant, there would be no escaping their marriage. Not for either of them.

  Emma pressed back into his body, her heat and soft curves a welcome intrusion to his thoughts. This was how they were meant to spend their nights. He didn’t plan to sleep outside her bed again.

  Smoothing back the curls from her forehead, he kissed her temple. She didn’t stir, so he didn’t pester her anymore despite the erection straining between her back and his stomach. A few hours’ sleep should be sufficient rest for her. Then he’d start their lovemaking all over again.

  Chapter 20

  If ever our paths cross again, what will you make of me?

  “I wonder if I should leave ahead of you for London? Your sister’s plans have thrown a wrench in ours.”

  Emma looked up from the sketch of Abby she’d been filling out. Her youngest sister had sat for her for an hour earlier in the day. Enough time for her to get down a rough outline so she could paint it later.

  Richard had been reading a paper at his desk as she concentrated on her work.

  “You’re so anxious to leave?”

  The taste of bitter disappointment bled into her words. Her reaction had been very telling of how she felt about her husband deserting her. Did he know he owned her body and soul? That the slightest change in their arrangement—no matter how temporary—would destroy her? What a fool she was for allowing this attraction to bloom into something more for her.

  He grinned like a cat that had caught and swallowed the canary on its first swipe. Yes, he knew she didn’t want him to leave her. Hadn’t everything she’d done and revealed over the weeks proven that?

  He didn’t say anything for some minutes. Then he put down his paper, leaned back in his chair, and scrutinized her.