by Thea Devine
This was so choice. A bear would come out of hibernation just to watch the fun. And he himself would give a fortune in coin just to see Simon's face when Corinna offered him her objective help in finding a wife.
Chapter Seven
She knew he would come this night. There was something about the look in his eyes, that mocking reckless look that deepened and became more dangerous as the evening wore on and he got worn out.
It was the first full exposure of this season's white lilies to the exigencies of operating in the ton, and they were all scared to death of committing any solecisms. So they were like puppets, manipulated by their rapacious mammas behind the closed doors of the tiring room, and barely coherent when spoken to.
And this was only the beginning. Corinna remembered it well, Simon had forgotten how onerous it was, and taxing to the best manners of the best men. They were all in the same retinue—men of position looking to mate and marry, and carrying their standard into the moated walls of Almack's and the most sought-after events of the season.
Of course he would come. He needed surcease from the rigors of the evening. He'd made no choices, singled out no one dewy bud, and so he was hers for the evening—for the night.
When, the night? He would come, she had no doubt. She lay in a fever of anticipation until she finally drifted into sleep.
And only then did her fantasy begin. She awakened in darkness, the blindfold over her eyes, her wrists harnessed, to the feeling of something wet and hot laying her legs upward, licking, nipping, sucking the tender flesh between her legs.
Inch by inch her shadow lover worked his way upward with his tongue until with one heated swoop, he embedded himself in her cleft and began sucking her there.
Now she was wide open and vulnerable to him. In the dark, she could imagine, wholly feel, every lick and flick of his tongue as he dug it into her labia and the honey that flowed there.
He held her legs spread so wide apart that she felt as if there was no part of her between her legs that wasn't open to him. And she had no other choice but to ride his probing tongue as he burrowed it deep and hard into her.
He kept coming at her and coming at her, his insatiable tongue stroking and sucking at her woman flesh, and the distended nub of her desire.
The pleasure was sharp, deep, and incandescent. She felt as if her body was sending off explosive flares as he pulled at her clit with his lips and tongue, and then—like a cannon, the spasms hit her—boom, boom, boom—one after the other, crackling all over her body, and jolting her deep between her legs.
And then she had to get away. She couldn't take anymore. She felt raw and sated. Over—she was too naked, too open. She twisted her body wildly away from his possession, and he pulled her back and buried his head in her pubic hair and inhaled her scent.
She pulled her hands from the harnesses, removed the blindfold, and stabbed her fingers in his hair. Thick lovely hair. Thick lovely pleasure. She wanted more. They lay like this for a long, long time, and then he slowly crept up beside her.
"It was a hellacious night. I need your kisses."
"Take them…" Her voice was hazy, clotted with satiation and burgeoning need as she realized he was naked, he was lusciously hard, and he meant to take her tonight.
He eased his mouth onto hers with a long low groan. Now he was home. This was a woman, eager, aware, knowledgeable about her body, her needs, her desire.
He lost himself in her mouth, in feeling the lean silky line of her body, barely clothed under her gauzy nightgown. Her nipple, so tight and hard and responsive under the fragile material, as he tweaked it back and forth with his thumb just to feel her body arch tightly, ferociously against him.
Her naked legs, long and shapely, made to wrap around his hips, to pull him more deeply inside her. Any minute now, he would plumb deep, deep, deep into her hot honey.
He nudged her leg, pushing it wide, and rolled over onto her pliant body. She melted into him, spreading her legs wider, canting her hips and enticing him in.
This was the moment, in the dark. She felt him probing her slit, felt the first push of possession, and then his penis, in the full, lush pleasure of penetration.
She caught her breath—it had been too long, too long… he was so big, thick, all-encompassing as he plowed his penis deep into her feminine core.
And then they lay, with him cradled between her legs, rocking gently, his hips undulating to push himself still deeper, his mouth tight against hers as she made pleasurable little sounds at each incremental thrust.
Perfect. Nothing could be more perfect. She was tight, hot, wet. He couldn't get deep enough inside her. He wanted deeper—right to the hilt, and if he could cram himself into her still more, he would. It just wasn't enough, this penetration. He wanted his balls inside her too and even that wouldn't be enough.
And then she wrapped her long legs tightly around his hips and the pleasure boiled up inside him, thick, creamy, volcanic, a spew away from swamping her in the flood-tide of it, drowning her in it.
Losing control. He hadn't yet moved in her, or stoked her naked body to a fever pitch. But she was there already, feeling his lust for her naked body right to her soul, right between her legs. No words were needed—and every word was neededωbut not yet, not yet…
If one word was uttered, he would blow. He could barely concentrate on her kisses and the fluttery little back of the throat sounds she made as he insinuated his length deeper still.
Shadow lover no more. But she was now his naked lover, utterly bare to his lust, his need, his penis. Wet and willing. Open and honey hot to take him as deep and hard as his penis could go.
Who wouldn't want to fuck this perfectly wanton and willing body? Who wouldn't want to soak her cunt, her nipples, her body with his semen?
Just that thought—his cream oozing between her legs, smeared hot and thick on her hard pointed nipples… and he erupted like a gun-blast, pouring himself into her, hot and replete.
Her shadow lover, no longer an abstraction… dear lord, how she had missed this—the closeness, the kissing, the naked feeling of skin against skin, the scent, the sex. The unbelievable sex, raw and real and pleasurable beyond sanity.
From Simon. Her long-ago, who could have known he would be so excellent in bed, Simon. So amazing to believe. Oh, but she believed it because those spasms of pleasure had shaken her to the core.
Thank goodness, she did not have to deal with this after the morning, because she didn't know what she would have done. It just wasn't possible to live a normal life with such lust lurking around every corner.
Thank heavens Simon was seeking a wife. A wife would calm him down and ease him away from his wild ways. And give her just enough time to enjoy him before he must get an heir.
It was perfect, because she didn't think she could live day to day in such tumultuous need. His being her shadow lover was enough. And the fact he would leave well before morning. That was the best part. The perfect part. The way she had envisioned it when she planned her return to England.
Of course, she could never have predicted Simon would be her lover, but those were the surprises that made life so delightful. And she really did well and truly want to help him find a wife. He would be endlessly grateful to her for the suggestion.
"Simon—?" she shook him gently.
"Ummmph?"
"Simon—listen…"
"I listened. I know all your secrets."
"Shhh. That's not what I want to tell you."
"Oh…"
"I had the best idea today."
"That's good." He shifted his body so that he covered her again.
She wriggled away from him. He was too hard again, too hot; and she knew where that would go, but that was later. "I'm going to help you find a wife."
He pulled her back. "Ummm?"
"I'm going to help you…"
He bolted upright. "… help me—find a wife?"
"Exactly—who better? I can be utterly impartial, totally ob
jective. And who has your best interests at heart?"
"My mother?"
"Simon—"
"You will not interfere," Simon said, his tone just this edge of dangerous.
"You'll see," Corinna said, snuggling down next to him, not for a moment thinking that she was using her body to seduce him to the plan. "It will be perfect. I will find you just the girl of your dreams, and you will be beholden to me forever."
The only thing he felt beholden to was the fact he was the only one in her bed right now. But leave her on the loose a few weeks more, and there might well be a line outside her bedroom door.
Find him a wife… dear heaven. First she thought he needed practice, and now she would aid in his quest to find a wife. He had found the wife he wanted many long years before, and he wanted only for her to realize it.
He had planned his strategy oh-so-carefully, on hearing the news of her return. Let her come home. Let her attend the intimate dinner parties that preceded everyone's return to Town. Let her hear about his desire to find a wife. Let her become curious, and then, at the proper moment, put himself in her line of sight and let her see what he had made of himself.
And then, withdraw. Let her be piqued by the fact he had not a moment for her until finally she must ask him to come. He knew she would, but it still had been a risky plan at best.
He never could have predicted she would broach the suggestion they be lovers to hint, but that was so much the better. And last night's coupling had been wild beyond imagination.
And so, she now must help him find a wife.
It defied explanation. Unless she really was wholly wedded to the idea that she would not marry and truly only wanted the sex. But he couldn't—wouldn't—believe that. She was so young yet, still of childbearing years. She must, in some deep curled up place, want a child, a husband, a home, love…
Love …
He had loved her forever, it seemed. And those years that she had been abroad now seemed so long ago. Perhaps he couldn't have loved her then the way he did now. Perhaps he had been too young, too rash, too untempered at the time. Had too little to offer and too much to do.
Sometimes fate took a hand and steered you the way you were meant to go, and brought back to you the thing you were most meant to have.
No one else would have her, she was the wife he sought, the one he loved. And so he would sit back, fuck her until she couldn't live without it, and let her help him find a wife.
Lady Apperson was the source: she knew everyone and everything, and she for certain knew the names and virtues of every paper white girl who had come this season upon the scene.
And she wasn't loath to share the information with Corinna, all in aid of helping Simon find his wife.
"I will not, at the outset, tell you my feelings," she told Corinna one afternoon over tea. "You must approach this mission with no one's opinion swaying your impressions of these girls."
"Exactly my thought. Though these last several evenings, I have not seen any evidence that Simon is leaning toward any one of them with any favor."
"Still too early. And a man must size up his competition and decide where his chances lie. An honorable wouldn't want to pursue a duke's daughter if there is a prince in the offing. That way is disaster—to a man's worth and sense of self. Simon will approach this with the same forethought and logic with which he recouped his father's fortune. You will see."
But what Corinna saw was Simon in social situations operating with unfailing courtesy and good humor, and not a nod to single out any of the girls who were obtaining town bronze and flirtatious repartee faster than the gossip spread about them.
And then, there was Richard. For a man who had not presented himself in society for many years, he seemed suddenly very ubiquitous.
"And why not?" he asked of Corinna. "Simon is my dearest friend; I have concerns for whatever decision he might make. And then, in looking after his interests, I have had the great good fortune of making a new friend, whose opinions and sensibilities match mine, and with whom I can share a good piece of gossip or a candid observation."
"Exactly what kind of friend is she to you?" Simon demanded, hearing Richard's version of what he had said to Corinna.
"Should it matter—if you are indeed seeking a wife?"
"Damn it all, Richard, you know intimately what my plans are."
"Well, until you act on them… my lady is fair game."
He had been warned—weeks before and now this night. It was up to him to tie Corinna to him so tightly she would never think of wanting another.
Damn it, there was no time. And she was too busy vetting potential wives. And enjoying it too much, too.
"Well, here we have Miss Heath," Corinna said of the newcomers at dinner one night. "She is no beauty, is well dressed, has two thousand a year to offer her prospective husband, and a family history of many siblings four generations back. I do believe she has a half dozen brothers. You will not want for an heir with her. She would breed well and fast, Simon."
"She does not attract me," Simon said grimly.
"My lady Worsley, perhaps. Let us look. Well, she is quite lovely, beautifully dressed, well-mannered…"
"Pale as a ghost, ethereal as a shade. If I kissed her, she would scream and die."
"Simon …"
There was no talking to her. "Let us leave off and enjoy the dinner."
Except he didn't enjoy the dinner. Richard was too attentive to Corinna, and Miss Heath was too interested in him.
"You will have all the mothers frothing at the mouth at the thought of one of their daughters snagging you," Simon told Richard bluntly at a rout the succeeding week. "Look at them buzzing around. I do believe you have lost your mind."
"Nonsense. I have found a friend, and never knew how delightful these proceedings could be when you have a beautiful and intelligent companion with whom to share the absurdities."
Simon gnashed his teeth.
"Here is Lady Barkham," Corinna said. "Now let me think—what did Lady Apperson tell me about her? Ah, yes. Daughter of an earl, has a nice presence for one so young. Beautiful dress—I do believe it is one of Miss Wytch's creations—so she is well-funded. And becomingly modest. Well, at least she doesn't blush when a man speaks to her. Simon! Here is a girl with potential."
"She is too thin, too coming, in spite of her seemingly modest airs."
"You are too particular," Corinna said, stamping her foot. "Time is wasting and there are too many others eager to make a choice."
"I can wait."
But he couldn't, because Corinna was attracting too much attention herself. Even Fanny mentioned it.
"Oh, pooh. I am too beyond the pale for anyone to have any interest in me."
"Excepting my lord Richard, and Simon, of course. Oh, and that earl—Both wick, was that his name?"
"Oh, he was chasing every green girl under the age of seventeen, Fanny. Give over. He could have no interest at all in me."
"No, only to engage you in conversation for a good twenty minutes."
"I have no idea what we talked about." Nor did she care. She was having an amazingly good time at these events, even though she had removed herself from contention.
She supposed it was because Richard was there, providing an ongoing commentary on the foibles of the ton, and comically avoiding any mother hell-bent on introducing him to her particular flower girl.
Because finding a wife for Simon was proving to be hard work. And it was difficult to separate her shadow lover from the man who would be a husband and father, and she hadn't expected that at all. So she was glad he hadn't fixed on anyone yet; she still wanted him in her bed.
He came to her again that night, insinuating himself into her room as she slept, always as she slept, so that she would be enfolded in the dark, the shadows, and he could do with her body what he would.
Eat her, suck her, play with her, bring her to point. Always to point, always to the lush, sumptuous, back-bending crackling point… a
nd she never knew just when he would come. She would feel him massaging her feet, her legs, playing with her nipples, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers invading her cunt… he couldn't get enough of her cunt, the heat, the wet, the thick honey essence of her… he lived in her cunt, night by night, burrowing his penis deep and dark into her hole, stretching her to the limit, and then pushing still more.
In the dark, in the shadows, naked, hot, breathless, kisses, thick wet kisses, voluptuous, opulent, her cunt soaked with his come, his penis still jutting in the thick cream of his come, hot, hard, lusting for more.
Hours in her bed, with every inch of the potent power of his penis focused between her legs.
Where she wanted him. Naked and over the moon to fuck her.
So how she could divorce the pleasure of this from the need to find him a wife, she could not understand.
"So, here comes Miss Gibney. Here is a prize—Simon, are you listening?"
"I see her," Simon said stoically.
"Is she not delightful? So petite, so perfectly formed. Everyone staring at her. What do we know of her? Oh, she is the one—much money, little pedigree. But one can overlook such things, can one not, Simon? Thank heaven she has beauty to recommend her, and pretty manners, it would seem."
And she was so tiny, he would split her in two in bed, Simon thought caustically, but he wasn't about to say so.
"Money can soothe over many faults," Corinna was saying. "I believe her father is prepared to pay for the right suitor."
"You are too well-versed in everyone's business," Simon said trenchantly. "It is not a pretty trait."
"But how else can I help you?" Corinna asked, stung.
"I have specifically asked that you do not."
"Well, you cannot mean that, Simon. I am the perfect one to give advice. Tell him, Richard, am I not?"
"You are the perfect one to be linked with Richard when you may well wish not," Simon said, a hint of anger seeping into his tone.
"Nonsense. Nobody takes Richard's appearances in society seriously. He has chased off every hopeful mother, and they are talking about it even now."
