by Once a Rogue
She should never have…
With a small, breathless cry, she arched, waves of pleasure flooding her body, every tiny hidden part of her too sensitive and all of it, every inch, at the mercy of his tongue. Her knees weakened until she almost tumbled forward and only his powerful hands, clasped around her stockinged thighs, kept her upright. When she attempted to pull his head back by the hair, he grunted in protest and another rush of heat overtook her, stealing the strength from her limbs.
“My good fellow, this is not necessary, you know. Stop that!”
He did as she asked this time, looking up at her, moonlight shining in his eyes. He was breathtaking. Not smoothly well-favored like other gentlemen she knew, but like a barbarian, hard, unrefined, even brutally handsome.
It was tempting to let him continue as he wished, to let him take all the time in the world he wanted; however, there must be no deviation from the plan. Time was wasting. He, of course, knew nothing of any plan. Nothing about the maid waiting anxiously to let her in at the servants’ entrance before first light crept over the sky, nor about her strict father, who sat up late to read and rose early to walk, no matter what the weather.
“Hurry and get on with it, then,” she exclaimed. “Take me to the bed and…do what needs to be done. No more of this delay.”
His expression, so easily read, told her she was lucky. He wouldn’t usually hear a woman’s commands. She was trying his patience and he was primed. Yes, this too was gloriously evident as he stood again before her, not bothering to hide. In fact, he showed off, boldly confident in his raw male beauty.
The only other naked man she’d ever seen was her brother, when she once burst in on him by accident as he dressed. At the time, it made her laugh, much to her brother’s chagrin. As a young girl, she’d thought how glad she was not to have such an unwieldy burden to hide away. Women were fortunate to have everything neatly tucked out of sight.
But now she thanked the good Lord for giving her some idea of what to expect. She also had her maid’s careful explanation of its purpose, so she was not utterly at a loss, however, to have this stranger’s large appendage thrust upon her was quite another matter. Under no circumstances would that thing fit anywhere…she couldn’t even finish the thought.
He took her by the waist, holding her hard against the item in question. “Are you ready for this now?” he whispered, leading her hand to his erection, watching her lips, which had yet to recover from the invasion of his kiss.
“I don’t think it will fit.”
He laughed. “I’ll make it fit.”
She swallowed hard, grateful for her leather mask, which hid most of her expression, but whatever he saw in her lips made him press another gentle kiss to her hot cheek. “You leave it to me, my lovely wench.” There was the slight twist of a question in his tone, as if she puzzled him and he still couldn’t make out her purpose there in his arms.
She struggled to remain aloof. “Very well then. Proceed.”
Dipping his head, he put his mouth to her other breast, teasing her nipple with his lips and tongue, relishing, savoring. He was in no hurry, intent on taking his time. With one timid hand, Lucy touched his manhood again. Instantly he reacted, the broad head swelling further, thick veins pulsing, pushing against her tentative, exploring caress. He closed his fingers around her wrist, as if he meant to stop her, but then he was guiding her hand, up and down, setting the pace to a slower tempo, even as his breath quickened.
Alas, through the open shutters, the sound of church bells rang out. “’Tis the hour of nine already,” she groaned, turning her face toward the sound.
At first, one hand still pacing her strokes, he seemed not to hear. Then, waking himself, he muttered, “Do I keep you from more important business, wench?”
“Yes. I can’t stay long, so make haste.”
There was a sharp silence, cutting the cool air. He dropped her wrist. When she looked at him, his eyes were afire, his breath exhaled in short, shallow gasps.
Fearing she might have insulted him in some way, trying to ignore the warm strength of his hand spread across her bare back, which, for some reason, seemed just as intimate as when he’d touched her between the thighs, Lucy tried to coax him forward. “You may as well get on with it.” Still holding his manhood, she now grew bolder out of desperation, stroking up and down, faster without his guidance. “This item is all we need, is it not? It seems…prepared.”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“I’m only here to give away my maidenhead. It won’t take long will it?”
She might have slapped his face. It surely couldn’t have achieved that expression of shock and horror in any other way. Afraid he might leave, she grabbed his free hand, placing it over her breast.
“Don’t mind me,” she said. “You may continue.”
Chapter 3
John Sydney Carver concluded he must have drunk more than he thought. Or else he’d fallen through to an alternate world, where women made the decisions and men were expected to obey like mindless playthings.
Or someone was out to play a trick on him. Cousin Nathaniel, for instance.
He exploded. “Your what?” He snatched his hand away from her breast, as if her skin was scalding hot. “A virgin? You’d best explain yourself, madam!”
Wide-eyed under her mask, she said nothing. This sweet-tasting, naked young woman, who should be guarded with greater care by whichever male was responsible, had nothing to say for herself.
Appalled, he spun away and sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees, shoulders slumped. “A virgin?” he repeated, as if she’d just announced she had the French pox.
“I want you to take my maidenhead. I thought you understood.” She sounded annoyed, frustrated. Feelings that were surely all his domain.
Amid all these muddled thoughts, one stood out. Today was his thirtieth birthday. Was it possible this ripe maiden was Nathaniel’s gift to him? His cousin didn’t generally remember birthdays, but it was just the sort of thing Nathaniel would do, present him with a virgin to deflower. Nathaniel refused to believe him capable of celibacy and with this beautiful, bold creature for bait, he must have set out to prove it, once and for all.
Aware of her gaze pinned lasciviously on his erection, he covered it protectively with both hands, glowering at her, suspecting she might try to separate it from the rest of his body. How did he know what her true intentions were? Was his cousin under the bed, waiting to jump out and surprise him in the act?
“This prudishness didn’t trouble you so much a moment hence, farmhand.”
Why did she keep calling him “farmhand” in that snooty voice? As if he should be insulted by it, or ashamed of working for a living.
When she tipped her head back, moonbeams caught on her bare shoulder and framed her tumbled hair. Earlier, there had been a reddish tint to those long, thick locks, and the candle light before it was extinguished had played warmly over her bound tresses, but now, in the cool moonlight, her hair was mostly a dark mass, a mystery to be explored.
“You were ready enough to do your worst just now,” she snapped.
He stubbornly looked away from the temptation. “That was when I thought you were…” he stopped, shaking his head again.
“Because I’m a maid, you won’t continue?”
“No. I mean…yes.” He liked to think he was a reformed character now, a hard-working man of responsibility, one day soon to marry a young lady of moral fiber and good family. He was not in the habit of casually deflowering bossy maidens in whore houses. However lovely they were.
And she was. She was damned lovely to look at, at least, the parts of her she let him see. She smelled sweet, tasted even sweeter. If he stood, she would see for herself how much he ached to continue.
He couldn’t get the idea out of his head that he’d seen her before in his dreams. He seldom remembered dreams, but these stood out in his mind, little disjointed flashes, broken shards of glass, glinti
ng in sun as they fell through the air.
Ah, he was just being a hare-brained fool. Wishful thinking wasn’t enough to bring a dream to life, was it?
He cursed again under his breath. It had been Nathaniel’s idea to meet at Mistress Comfort’s. A frequent customer of such houses, he’d teased John that he shouldn’t be so ready to shut pleasure out of his life. No doubt this was the sort of pleasure his cousin had in mind.
A brand new whore. How much did she cost Nathaniel, he wondered. Probably more coin than his cousin should have at his disposal, considering the number of angry people to whom he owed money. But whenever Nathaniel was flush with coin, he spent it on frivolous luxuries instead of paying off his bills.
“Listen, plowman.” She stooped, gathering her shift and holding it over her pert, moonlit breasts. “I was told this should only take a few minutes. If you have no inclination for the job, I may as well find another who does. You waste my time.”
He stiffened, incredulous. This was getting worse and worse, or better and better. He wasn’t entirely sure which it was and whether he should be angry or laugh. Hands pressed down on his thighs, he regarded her fiercely. Go to another, would she? Leave him in this state?
“If you won’t perform the service to my satisfaction,” she added snippily, “another will.”
She was either very brave or stupid to provoke his lust and then his temper. He squinted, trying to hide his thoughts, not wanting her to know his mind was made up already and under no circumstances, except over his dead body, was she leaving now until he’d had her. Had her to his satisfaction. She wanted a “service” performed? The malcontent wench would get that and more besides.
In all likelihood she was no maiden. It was probably an act meant to titillate his interest. As if he needed any additional incentive to bed her.
“I’m not even to know your name?” he demanded.
“That’s correct. It’s all very simple.” And she punctuated her answer with a condescending smile. Even as it roused his anger, he felt his cock shift and pulse, stretching another half inch, eager to conquer and subdue this haughty creature.
Still he pretended to consider his choices, rubbing his chin slowly with one hand, while leaning back on his elbow, letting her look at him.
Her eyelashes fluttered against the holes in her leather mask, her lips parted with a sudden breath of excitement.
“Well?” She clutched her shift around her. “Must I go down and find another man?”
It must be part of her act, he mused, this prim formality. It matched the fine look of her, the soft, clean skin and well-kept, fragrant hair. Her perfume was obviously an expensive blend. He recognized ambergris, musk and sweet marjoram. Thanks to his sisters he had familiarity with these things, more than he ever wished to. Her teeth were clean, her breath flavored with aniseed and mint. She was, as he’d said to her already, not one of the usual wenches. Must have cost Nathaniel a fortune, in addition to those three sovereigns she kept offering, just to make her fine, ladylike act more convincing.
“I think you know what my answer is,” he said softly.
But still she waited, as if she didn’t, in fact, know. As if the sight of his proudly erect cock wasn’t answer enough. Exquisite, teasing little whore. Virgin or not, and there was only one way to find out, since she played her part prettily. He wondered if this was good fortune or wicked mischief. Perhaps it was both.
One thing was certain: this woman had a rarefied loveliness no man could pass up. His cousin had excellent taste and evidently knew exactly what would tempt John. Her high and mighty manner was just annoying enough to set him a challenge. The way she talked down to him, tossed her head and set her full lips in a disdainful sulk made his shaft harden until it almost hurt. Even before he touched them, her nipples were tight, budding in readiness for his tongue, and between her thighs, tender treasure blossomed eagerly, sending out signals he couldn’t ignore. She was irresistible and, as she said, it was only for the night, no complications. Was this not every man’s fantasy?
“All right, woman, I suppose I’d better service you, now you dragged me up here away from my ale and that warm fire.” Lurching upright, he crossed the room to where she stood, lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “But there is one thing,” he said, as he dropped her to the mattress and knelt beside her, tossing the bolster and sheets aside.
With foolish modesty, she clutched her crumpled shift to cover her nakedness. “What would that be?”
“I want all night.” He held back a smug grin as her prim lips parted again, ready to argue. “Not just a few minutes of your time,” he added, “thrown from the high table like scraps to a dog.”
“But it won’t take long. It’s all over in a moment, my… I was told by a reliable source with experience in these matters.”
He tugged on her shift, prying it from her clenched hands. “You were misinformed. I see I must set you straight.” Tossing her shift to the floor, he sat back on his heels at her side, running one hand slowly up and down his eager manhood. “Now…do you want this or not?”
Her lashes fluttered again through the eye holes of her mask. Her lips rolled inward and then popped open as she drew a wistful breath. That silence was eloquence itself.
“Then you’ll let me take my time.” He released his grin fully now. “Perhaps, where you come from, it only takes a moment. Where this simple plowman comes from, pleasures are few and generally hard won, so they’re relished and properly appreciated.”
“Oh,” was all she said.
He’d noticed a small dimple in her right cheek and now saw it was the herald of a polite, painfully dignified smile.
He tipped forward, a hand on either side of her shoulders. “Let’s proceed, shall we?”
Her lips pursed and she stiffened.
“You’ve a lot to learn,” he remarked coolly, waiting.
There was a small movement in her throat. Her tongue darted out, dampening the soft, fragile rosy blush of her lips to a deeper, more exotic hue.
“Arms down then, madam.”
Slowly she uncrossed the arms to reveal her breasts, two pert, dainty things, lush mouthfuls crying out to be lavished with more of his attention, nipples waiting like precious little rubies on creamy silk pillows. He paused a moment, taking a breath, reminding himself not to rush in clumsily, however badly he wanted to claim the prize.
No need to act like a barbarian, he cautioned. She’d still be here in ten minutes, in twenty, in two hours.
No need to abandon civilized manners altogether, just because….
Too late.
He gave in to the desire pounding through his body like a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil.
* * * *
With his weight over her, his tongue caressing her skin, Lucy struggled to remember that she must be home by daylight, before she was missed, or her maid would be in trouble.
“All night,” he insisted again, pressing his words to her breast like a branding iron, his deep voice choked with passion. She guessed he was rarely refused in such instance. Who would refuse all this? As he rose up again, his body poised above her, staking her to the bed, she noted the sharp contrast of her smooth, white hand against the sun-browned planes of his hard chest. Then, slowly, she returned her gaze to his face, finding his eyes, warm with mischief, watching her hand, too.
“Why? Have you nothing else to do tonight?” she asked wryly, relaxing a little, her voice warmer, throatier. “None other to entertain with all your delights?”
“No. You’re a lucky wench, to have me at your disposal this evening.”
“Am I indeed?” She wanted to laugh then. It was a pity she didn’t know his name. She could have sent him a gift later, to thank him, perhaps wine or oranges, or a brace of birds from her husband’s land. Or a token more intimate, like a ring. She looked at his fingers now laid over hers, where she held them to his chest. He wore no jewelry. Of course not, he was but a peasant.
P
ity he wasn’t a permanent fixture in her life, a secret lover.
He drew her hand to his mouth. “Perhaps we’re both lucky tonight.” He kissed her fingertips, one by one, his gaze never leaving hers. “The least you can do is stay with me all night, wench.” A slow, provocative grin melted her further still, until she was liquid under him. “If you want this thing done properly, as you first claimed.”
Already sensing the danger of looking into his breath-stealing blue eyes too long, Lucy closed her eyelids tightly, stretched out her body and impulsively flung her arms over her head, finally and completely offering herself up to him.
And as his brawny thighs eased her knees apart, he whispered in her ear that a job worth doing was worth doing well.
He lived up to this maxim, kissing her from head to toe, touching her tenderly, until she was utterly desperate to have the rest of him. Even then he made her wait, lowering his body with infinite care. When he entered her at last, she would have cried out, but he kissed her quickly to quell the sudden sharp sound.
It rained that evening. The first drops were light, spattering against the open shutters, but by the time he crossed her threshold, it had become a steady downpour, muting even the sounds of the tavern below.
Through the rain, she heard her own gasps and his breathy, soothing whispers, telling her the pain would pass. He lay still while she trembled under him and then, when she relaxed, opening like a bud in spring, he filled her a little more, gradually easing his way deeper. His whispers changed to soft groans of pleasure, resonating deeply within her, teasing her further open. He buried his lips in her hair and the side of her neck, while she stroked his broad shoulders and kissed his ear, letting him know the pain had indeed passed. And she wanted him, all of him. Bracing his torso above her, arms tense with strain, he was foggy-eyed and ground his jaw. Shyly she stroked the clearly defined muscle of his arms, soothing him as he did her, with gentle, encouraging whispers. Then as he still paused, holding steady, more urgent needs overcame the limits of her patience and she arched up, lavishing his chest with hot kisses, licking his sweat-dampened skin, winding her fingers through small curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him down.
