A Lover for Lydia (The Wednesday Club Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  “And this is how you swam today?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” His eyes flamed and she watched them as he gazed at her body. “And I wished it had been with you.”

  “Someday it will be,” he promised, and then pulled her to the bed. “Lie down, Lydia.”

  The edge in his tone thrilled her and she rapidly obeyed, allowing her sensual nature free rein. Reclining on the pillow, she put her hands behind her head to watch him as he shed his clothing, fighting with his breeches and nearly tripping as they hobbled him for a few moments.

  She wanted to laugh, but her breath left her as he clambered nude onto the bed, straddling her.

  “Mowbray,” she whispered again. “I can’t seem to stop saying your name.”

  He grinned, his cheeks flushed, his lips reddened from their kisses. “I don’t mind at all,” he answered, his voice husky. “Turn over.”

  “What?” She blinked.

  “Turn over. Onto your stomach.”

  Puzzled, she did so, only to gasp into the pillow as she felt his hands on her spine—and then the cool fire of his tongue as he licked his way down her back.

  “God, you taste good,” he muttered. “Like strawberries and cream, sweet, tangy…a dash of salt…” He nibbled, nipped and licked, while his hands found the sides of her breasts and stroked her, teasing soft touches that made her moan.

  Moving downward, he gently bit her bottom, caressing her buttocks in a way that made her squirm.

  “I…what are you doing?”

  “Touching all of you, every part of you. I want you in my brain, so that I can see you like this any time I choose. Feel you in my memory if you’re not there.” Again those long seductive strokes of his hands from shoulders to buttocks, and then he parted her legs.

  “Oh,” she breathed, as he slid a hand between them and found her wet and swollen secrets. “Oh dear God above…”

  “They say this is a religious experience, Lydia. I think they’re right, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She was everything a man could ever wish for, and then some.

  Laying beneath him was the whitest flesh, the warmest skin, the best of everything this world had to offer, as far as he was concerned.

  Her scent wreathed his nostrils, her moisture soaked his hand and her body was opening to him, to his touch, demanding more.

  Her whimpers of pleasure fuelled his desires and it was all he could do not to bring her to her knees and take her there and then.

  But she was still new to this, and he knew he had to bide his time.

  So with the patience he was renowned for, Mowbray restricted himself to licks and kisses, with the occasional nibble thrown in for good measure.

  It was no hardship sliding his way down her long beautiful legs, rubbing the muscles and pushing them further apart as he did so.

  Just as she would relax into his touch, he fondled her again, noting how her hips moved lasciviously as he rubbed gently over her sex. So sweet and hot and wet for him.

  She seemed a little ticklish behind her knees, jumping and gasping as he ran his teeth over the tender skin.

  “Mowbray,” she choked, “you are driving me mad…”

  “Good,” he answered, satisfied that she was enjoying his touch. “Relax. There is more.”

  He kneaded her feet and then bent one knee, taking her toes into his mouth and sucking them, playing with them, nipping and nibbling.

  Her sigh of delight and the almost instant relaxation of tense muscles told him that she enjoyed having her feet touched. He wasn’t surprised, since he’d read that many women would succumb immediately to such treatment.

  Lydia was the first and only woman he’d experimented on, however, and the results were most acceptable.

  She was, in a word, perfect.

  And he wanted her so badly at that moment, it was painful.

  To distract himself, he left her feet and moved aside. “Turn over,” he whispered, smiling as she instantly shifted to make room for him.

  “I want to touch you, Mowbray,” she whispered back. “So far you’ve shown me things I never knew could be so exciting. I need to learn how to excite you…” Her fingers found his chest and played with his nipples.

  He sucked in a breath. “All right. That seems fair. You could try breathing. That excites me…” He might actually die of pleasure, but it was all in the name of fairness.

  She moved to her knees with a chuckle as he took his turn lying down. “You will tell me if I hurt you?”

  “Of course.” He swallowed. “I will also tell you what feels good.”

  She smiled and touched his chest again, fondling his nipples until they beaded.

  “That feels good.”

  “Mmm.” Leaning over, she nuzzled him and ran her lips down the centre of his body.

  “That feels good too.”

  She paused at his navel, ringing it with one finger and glancing up at him.

  Gritting his teeth, he nodded. “Yes, that feels good.”

  Adventurously, she wandered south, ending up at his cock. He was worried that he would explode if she breathed on it. But she took her time, gently running a finger up and down, contemplating it with what he hoped was a degree of awe.

  “Oh that feels very good,” he mumbled.

  Her exploration continued to his balls, and gingerly she touched his tender sac.

  “Yes,” he squawked, “good.” Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Very good.”

  “Well then,” she settled herself comfortably next to him. “I hope you will find this acceptable.”

  Leaning down, she astounded him by licking his cock, toying with the head and running her tongue over and around it several times. Then she took him into her mouth.

  “Ahhhh…”

  It was all he could manage. His hips wanted to lift high and push himself further in, as far as he could go.

  Where the devil she’d learned that this was something she could do, he would very much like to know, but not right at this moment.

  She was driving him upward, but it was too soon, so he quickly moved, pulling himself free and pushing her down on the bed.

  “My turn.”

  Before she could catch her breath, he was on her, his mouth between her legs, sucking, licking and nuzzling into her swollen folds. Her taste was beyond anything wonderful, her scent the finest perfume, and her moans a symphony only he could conduct.

  He drove her hard, making her writhe and clutch at him, her legs tense, her breaths coming quickly.

  He found her breasts and toyed with them, teasing the nipples, pinching them into tight buds and letting her responses guide him. This time, their second night together, she knew how it would feel to have him inside her.

  All he had to do was arouse her to the point where her body opened, flowered in welcome, the point where he could indeed thrust deep and spend himself in that fiery darkness, filling her to the brim with his seed.

  She moaned and moved again, finding his head, grabbing his hair and pushing him into her, lost in the moment, and telling him without words of her pleasure.

  It would have to be soon; he couldn’t last much longer and he wanted her coming with him inside, not outside looking in, as it were.

  So he pulled back, a tight grin curving his moisture-laden lips as he heard the heartfelt groan she made as he left her.

  “Turn over, Lydia. On your knees.”

  She quivered and shuddered as she obeyed, eager now, shamelessly presenting herself, ready for his possession.

  His. She was his.

  He’d always known she was special. Now he knew exactly how much.

  For a brief instant of time he held her, his hands on her hips, her sex ripe and shining. This was the moment he’d savour, the moment before he took her and relinquished every other woman forever.

  She was trembling, awaiting his penetration, offering herself without a qualm. There would never be another Lydia, not in his life and probably
not in this world.

  He settled himself and leaned over her. “Are you ready, Lydia?”

  “Oh yes, yes…” she breathed, the words so quiet he barely made them out.

  Slowly he eased forward, the kiss of her woman’s lips a firebrand, and when they parted to admit him, he lost control and thrust hard, deep, almost pushing her down with his need to be inside her.

  She gasped, then—to his surprise—she pushed back.

  And the race began.

  Their bodies slapped together, their throats made similar sounds, and when he freed a hand to delve beneath her and find her slick sensitive spot, she sobbed out incoherent words.

  He plundered her, his cock deep, almost locked into her tight channel. Using muscles she probably didn’t realise she had, she gripped him as he pulled back, and added to the sensation of climbing the most magnificent mountain on a wind-whipped night of magic.

  He knew he couldn’t last, and as she began to gasp her body tensed and he held his breath, one final thrust sealing their fates.

  Breaking, he let go, panting for air as she exploded around him, spasms against spasms, cries and sobs mingling in a unique song of lust and intimacy.

  Endless moments of blind erotic madness, adrift and whirling in a vortex of indescribable sensations, body to body, flesh within flesh.

  For the first time in his life, Mowbray learned what it was to pour one’s soul into another. It was, for him, a revelation that changed his world in an instant.

  The implications were profound, but for once he let them go, content to collapse on top of an exhausted Lydia, who still shuddered with the aftereffects of her release.

  He moved aside and drew her close as he had done the night before, and she settled into what he was coming to think of as her spot on his shoulder.

  “That was…” she whispered.

  “Yes. I know,” he answered. “Me too.”

  *~~*~~*

  The next morning Lydia awoke to find herself alone.

  She reached out—a reflex action—to meet cool sheets and a dented pillow, the only signs that she’d shared her bed with her lover.

  She wished he had awoken her before leaving, but knew if he had…well, they would have loved again. Could one ever get enough of such pleasures?

  A languorous stretch reminded her that she’d used many unfamiliar muscles over the last few days, although she smiled at the memory even while groaning a little at the soreness in various places.

  A bath would set that to rights. And today they’d sail around the coastline to see the cliffs where they’d fallen. Would she have chance to retrieve what she considered her fossil? Perhaps Mowbray would help…

  Deliberately, Lydia put aside the matter of her future, and focussed on the day’s little voyage. There would be time enough to make decisions about her relationship with Mowbray. She would seize every bit of joy from these halcyon moments and face the music when the moment came.

  It seemed as if everyone was in the mood for a late breakfast, and once Ronan had declared the Maeve ready for boarding, those who were eager to sail gathered at the little dock to climb aboard.

  “Good day ladies,” Ronan twinkled at the women as they carefully boarded. “Hold on tight now, there’ll be no swimming today.”

  A laugh greeted this statement, and Lydia immediately felt the slight swell beneath the Maeve’s keel.

  It wasn’t unpleasant though, and as if by rote, the passengers took their seats without a murmur. Colly and Sir Laurence had stayed on shore; Colly because he had letters to write, and Sir Laurence because although he loved his wife to the ends of the earth—he professed—he’d rather sit in that lovely shady spot on the terrace with a book by his favourite author he’d found in the Maiden Shore library.

  So it was a cheerful group of six friends who looked to their seventh, their Captain O’Malley, to steer them out into the breeze.

  The sails snapped smartly, the waves shattered against the bow in droplets of rainbows, and Lydia lifted her face into the wind, inhaling the day.

  “You like sailing,” observed Mowbray from his usual seat beside her.

  “I do,” she answered. “And it’s something I’d not have realised until this summer. I owe both Colly and Ronan a debt of gratitude.” She opened her eyes and glanced at him. “I recall Miles telling us you had salt water in your veins…”

  He grinned. “A gross exaggeration. But then again, it’s Miles, so one would expect no less. However, I will admit to a fondness for the sea. I discovered it one summer a few years ago when I had chance to sail in the Channel.”

  “You went to France?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “No, I wasn’t that brave. Just sailed along the coastline, past Dover, toward Margate. Never quite made it that far, but it was enough to let me know I enjoyed being on the water.”

  A gust of wind rocked the Maeve and Lydia reached for the bulkhead, as Ronan did something with ropes and the sail.

  “He’s right, I believe. There’s a storm on the way.” Mowbray sniffed the air like a dog scenting a rabbit.

  She couldn’t help a chuckle. “And pray tell, what does a storm smell like?”

  He shot her a scornful glance. “One has to sense it, more than smell it.”

  “I see,” she nodded in amusement. “And how should one do that?”

  “In the bones,” he replied. “Close your eyes and let the scents and sounds around you tell you their stories.”

  She obeyed, closing her eyes, only to jump a little as she felt a hand slide down her back out of sight of everyone else.

  She gritted her teeth as that hand found her bottom and pinched it delicately.

  She coughed, and the hand moved away.

  “Oh there…” Rose pointed.

  “Yes…oh my goodness.” Prudence was on her feet, holding on to a convenient rope and staring at the shore.

  Lydia looked at the mess, shaking her head in surprise.

  Just before their private cove, and on the near side of the natural rocky barrier, a new tumble of dirt, grass and rocks lay strewn on the beach. It stretched far out into the water, but clearly those rocks were already washed clean, since they shone in the spray of the waves.

  “I’m glad we had our swim,” said Prudence. “It would be a lot harder to get a rowboat in there now, wouldn’t it?” She looked at Ronan.

  He nodded. “Aye, lass. That it would.” His gaze swept the coastline. “This has changed the flow of the sea. And there’ll be more falls soon, I’m guessing. This area is none too stable and the ocean is ever hungry for a bite of land.”

  By mutual agreement, they sailed on for a while longer, not to hunt for cliff falls, but just to enjoy the clear skies and brisk wind.

  Eventually Ronan decided that time and tide made it necessary for them to return, and Lydia wondered if this might be her last sail on the Maeve. They still had a couple of weeks at Maiden Shore, but a bad storm could wreck any outdoor activities and keep most boats and yachts tied to their moorings for longer than usual.

  “What will you do with the Maeve if the storm is bad, Ronan?” Prudence asked the question that was uppermost in Lydia’s mind as well.

  “She’ll be anchored a little way off the beach,” he answered soberly. “If the beastie comes from the west, as I believe it will, then that breakwater that stretches out from the Staunton’s property will serve as a buffer. Best to let her ride it out with her bow into the wind and enough rope to let her rise and fall and drift on the water rather than fight it.”

  “How bad do the storms get around her?” Miles asked.

  “Not as bad as some she’s weathered,” Ronan replied. “The Irish Sea has a rough reputation and takes pride in living up to it. The Maeve’s made it through some frightening waves. Scared me silly, but she ignored ‘em and simply rode through the thing like the queen she was named after.”

  Mowbray shook his head. “I can’t say I envy you that experience, Ronan. I may enjoy a sail, but I’ve no he
art to steer into that kind of weather.”

  “Neither have I, lad.”

  Ronan steered them toward home as Lydia looked to the west. There was a strange steely look to the horizon, and for an instant she shivered. Yes, there was indeed a storm on the way.

  Then she met Mowbray’s eyes and forgot about storms and seas and bad weather. All she could think of was him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  That evening was a frustrating one for Mowbray.

  He wanted nothing more than to get Lydia alone and ask her the most important question of all.

  But as fate would have it, everyone decided it was going to be a night of fun and games. So out came the card tables, the Spillikins boxes and the charades cards. Everyone, he realised, was the majority, rather than the result of individual polling, since if he’d been asked, he would have found some way to demur, and scurry away to wait until he could corner Lydia.

  How many days, weeks…months had passed before this night? How many hours had he spent turning over matters in his mind?

  He’d yearned, of course. The kind of yearning that sends one to sleep with a sigh and to wake wondering if today would be the day one might meet that special person. And if so, what would she say? Would she even notice one’s presence?

  Since they’d arrived at Maiden Shore, what had been a friendship on her part had deepened into something so much more. But for him, it was merely the flowering of the bud that had remained constant for many months.

  Even now, watching her laugh as she played Spillikins with Rose, Ivy and Prudence, he could not believe that they shared such an intense relationship.

  Yes, he could recall every single detail of her body, each dip and hollow, each rise and curve and gentle fold. He could breathe in her scent and taste her on his lips, just by looking at her.

  He wanted her, of course. He believed he always would.

  But now there was something deeper mixed in with that want. Something more profound. He didn’t just want the woman; he wanted the future they could build together. He wanted her to carry his child, to share his life, to hold his hand as they walked alone toward the inevitable.