by Lisa Torquay
Something made her raise her gaze to him. Like the previous evening, there was a stillness about him that drew her attention. Blue eyes clashed with green behind spectacles. The stillness came from the tension wrapping him like cords. His hands gripped his open book, short puffs leaving his nostrils and angry red washing his skin.
“I need a moment,” he said and jumped from his chair to exit without giving her the chance to answer.
Like that day when they started the paper, he excused himself due to his unmanageable arousal. The study door clicked politely, but she heard his rushed steps up the stairs.
Without thinking or questioning what she was doing, she stood up and climbed to the second floor.
At this hour, Mrs Marsh must be in the kitchen preparing luncheon.
Harriet halted before his door, put her hand up to knock, and stopped. The surprise element might be better. He had done so much for her in this regard, she wanted to do the same for him.
Silently, she opened the guest chambers.
And froze.
Samuel was unbuttoning the last button on his breeches when the flap fell down, evincing a considerable bulge marking his undergarment. The pristine shirt bunched around tapered waist. He removed the underclothes to display the most magnificent member at which she had ever had the pleasure of staring. Erect to its full capacity, erupting from a cradle of ginger hair, it stood proud with a furious red, bulbous glans emerging from the retreated prepuce, wet with extreme arousal. Tight testicles snuggled between his long, sparsely hairy thighs. She wished she could see all of him completely naked in his lean, elegant glory.
One hand flicked on the wood, closing them inside the sheltered place. The noise drew his attention.
He turned, palms splayed on his sides, disclosing his state to her, there was no cockiness in it, nor false modesty, simply the statement of a fact.
“That is so weird,” he said hoarse. “I can’t be in the same room as you without going hard to the point of explosion, like a lunatic.” One hand hang on his hip, the other rubbed his nape, stretching his body for her appreciation, that male part of him bobbing with the movement.
She gave a few steps forward. “It’s not lunacy, it’s natural.”
“I don’t think so because I can’t control it.” His nostrils expelled tense air.
“Of course not. You’re a healthy young man with healthy appetites,” she reassured him.
“A little too healthy, wouldn’t you say?”
“Let me help you,” she said without subterfuge.
His erection twitched at her suggestion, his eyes fixed on her, heated behind the lenses.
He never moved as she approached to a mere two feet from his magnificent member. A delicate hand wrapped around the thick stem. His head fell down with a moan, his hips thrusting in her hand.
“Bluidy hell!”
Her palm tunnelled the length of him slowly, using the prepuce to cover, then uncover the scarlet, leaky glans. And repeated it while Samuel fell against the wall with no will to go on standing.
“F— Hell, Harriet!” he mumbled in between pants. “I couldn’t stop thinking of the place you said I’d fit in you.” Her fingers moved up and down his silky, firm girth while he pushed his hips off the wall into her touch. “Woke up all wet and sticky this morning.”
“And I was damp with the need of it,” she revealed when her other hand stroked his taut balls.
“If only—oh—” he groaned weak with her ministrations. “I’m imagining how it would be for you to sheath me in that tight, hot place,” he externalised his fantasies.
In the throes of passion, he yanked her bodice down and grabbed one breast with his desperate mouth, accelerating his hips.
At this point, Harriet’s core dripped with the sight of his pure delectation and the suckling on her breast. In her mind, she saw him thrusting in her with all his vitality.
“I’d go mad with pleasure,” he said.
The tip of him dribbled with his juices, which her hand had smeared on every hard inch of his spectacular erection. The effect being he fairly ate at her nipple with the urgency he felt.
“Faster, Harriet, or I assure you I’ll be delirious!”
She sped up as his balls tightened in preparation for spilling. His spine arched further from the wall, his jaw ticking when his head bent back, unable to pay any more attention to her breast.
“It’s so much better when you do it!”
His shaft became harder, his glans redder, wetter, the veins protruding. An undulation on the base of him told her he was close.
Now she concentrated on the tip, appearing and disappearing from the prepuce. The first drop of his delivery surfaced, his hips got frantic, his face crumpled in a fierce, crimson scowl. His ejaculation started in earnest, jets and more jets launching from the slit on the glans. She did not stop, listening to his serrated breaths and stifled grunts. When he fell limp against the wall, she considered her task complete. Her spine met the surface beside him.
Dazed with his enjoyment, the sight of his arousal and release put her in a state of desire she was trying very hard to abate.
Next to her, his breath had evened, his tousled reddish-brown head turned to her. His hair would never cease to amaze her, not really auburn, or dark-auburn, it possessed a shade if its own, one for which she had no name.
Suddenly, his manly arms suspended her from the carpet, one bared breast, skirts flaring in the air. “What—?”
Her back met the counterpane on his bed when she looked up at him to have a wave of heat bludgeon her. Gaping white shirt, breeches mid-thighs, his appendage dangling from the ginger nest. Oh, yes, now she knew what shade coloured his intimate parts, and liked it—dash! more than liked it.
“I’ll tidy up later,” he said, as he joined her.
One of his legs wedged between hers, one arm laced beneath her waist, the other went under her shoulders, his hot member accommodated on her dress. The hot lengthening of him, that is. As though this avalanche of sensation was not enough, the man dived to kiss her. He was becoming very good at it, too good, masterful even. Or she began to like it a lot, too much, exaggeratedly so, perhaps. Fact was she embarked on his caress with carefree abandon, gluing her frame to his, winding her arms around him. He smelled so good, the weight of him so snugly on her, the heat they made together so encompassing.
“Hm,” he groaned, “I could carry on kissing you for eternity.” And did exactly that.
Much as his words melted her, they made her remember where they were, what time it was and that the house held more people in it. Still, she succumbed for several heartbeats before she gathered enough strength to put a stop to it.
Holding his shoulders, she coaxed him to look at her. “Samuel,” it came as a pitiful sigh. “We can’t do this!” Eyes wide on him, anxiety on her expression.
His arms braced at her sides as he lifted his torso to smile at her. “Why on Earth not?” The movement imprinted his renewed arousal on her. Bless men in their prime! She mustered every ounce of will to fight against the enticement he represented.
“It’s daylight, it’s risky, it’s improper,” she countered while scrambling away from the inviting bed and even more inviting Highlander.
“More’s the pity,” he shrugged disappointed, sitting up to watch her adjusting her clothes.
Flushed, flustered, tempted, she swung to him, “I’ll see you downstairs.” And left before the sight of him convinced her otherwise.
CHAPTER FIVE
Harriet stood at a darkened corner of one of the lecture chambers in the campus, watching Samuel deliver his lecture. Impeccably dressed in dark grey suit, black cravat around the collar of a pristine white shirt, his tall figure made her insides flutter. Deep admiration filled her as she witnessed his joy and passion for knowledge and research. It had been in him from the start. He exhibited this scientific curiosity and eagerness in learning, so rare in most of his rich
peers who did not value their easy access to education. Unlike the poorer students who squeezed their last penny to be able to complete their academic steps, her father being a typical example.
She only lamented that women were not allowed in their midst. Would not be for another seventy years. She would have loved to have sat on these benches and accomplished her own high studies. Instead, she must be satisfied with the home tutoring she received, fighting the prejudice the male teachers carried that she would not understand their teachings. Therefore, they would not provide them. Fight she did and reached higher than most of her friends.
Those listening to Samuel’s lecture, the visiting scholars, undergraduates and the peers he had invited, did so with ecstatic attention. His diligence and hard work evident in every word. The semi-circular room with its centuries-old oak benches and the huge desk in its front contributed to the air of ceremonious deference that seemed to dominate anyone who entered it.
“You are very much aware women cannot enter these premises, Mrs Stratham,” a derogatory voice muttered by her side.
Her head swung as she saw Michael Trent standing beside her. A shiver of pure revulsion travelled her skin. “Good afternoon, Mr Trent,” she made it a point to call him by the wrong tittle, instead of Lord Trent. This excuse for a gentleman did not deserve it. Neither did he deserve an answer to his taunt.
His sniff conveyed with precision what he thought of her mistake. But she did not care, and turned back to Samuel, much more interested in his speech.
Her indifference must have piqued the future Marquis. From the corner of her eye she saw his jaw ticking with irksome speed.
“I can call a clerk who’ll evict you in a rather loud way,” the threat caused a cold rush to wash over her. Shaming Samuel was the last thing she wanted.
But backing down did not list in her options at that exact moment, not yet at least. “You do that, my lord,” the title sounded the very opposite of its importance, “I’ll be right here.”
Both looked ahead, seemingly with their attention on the lecture. “You shouldn’t have refused my protection. I could have settled you lavishly.”
The repellent shudder that crawled up her spine nearly unbalanced her. But she managed to tamp it down resolutely. “I thanked you at the time, preferring to enjoy my employment with Professor Hayley, if memory serves,” she clipped out, wishing he left her alone.
“Should you become…unemployed, my offer stands,” the veiled threat climbing up his words was not lost on her. Though how he intended to set it up, she had no clue. The ruffian did not frequent the professor’s house anymore and held a distant contact with Samuel. Besides veiled, the threat was empty at best.
“I’ll remember that,” she answered without giving the impression she grasped his meaning. Better if he thought her daft.
Samuel only half-listened to the questions asked after his lecture, with his attention on the exchange taking place in the back of the room. He swelled like a peacock showing off his proud feathers to his mate. Despite other people’s presence, his speech had been solely for her. His delight in it faded the moment Trent approached her. She had gone stiff, tension thrumming in her every muscle, those lovely crystalline eyes becoming dull. He had this urge to stop everything and go to her, protect her, shield her with his own body, prevent any harm from darkening her beautiful face. But he must wait until he finished here to do that. Fortunately, they reached the questions part. It would not be long.
As soon as the last question was answered, he came down from the front dais and strode towards her, distractedly thanking the audience’s praise as he passed.
“Mrs Stratham,” he called as he neared her, keeping the formality in public. “I trust you enjoyed the lecture.”
Her eyes snapped to him as a relieved smile drew her delectable mouth. Memories of every moment they shared almost knocked him out of his senses. Somehow, he held onto his polite mask, offering her his arm.
“Mr McDougal,” his name came too clipped for comfort. “It was outstanding as usual,” she praised, placing a tense hand on his sleeve.
“Trent,” Sam greeted his former classmate. “I never thought you’d be interested in a lecture on Bromeliaceae.” Michael’s glance darted to Harriet’s hand on his arm and up to him with a hard expression Sam did not decipher.
They walked outside where the setting sun announced supper.
“I am not,” Trent confirmed, “I just came to invite you to join us. It’ll be a special night there where we met the other day.”
Naturally the nobleman would not mention Madame Drummond’s bawdy house’s name in Harriet’s presence. The label ‘special’ must surely refer to all kinds of debauchery Sam considered abusive to everyone involved.
“I regret to decline, but I promised to take Mrs Stratham home.” Which he would do in the ten-minute walk to where he currently lived, a detail he curiously had not shared with his acquaintance.
Again, the other man looked at him and at her alternately, a suspicious expression covering his jaded person. Short, with a paunch showing under his garments, his carousing lifestyle had imprinted itself in his tired eyes and sallow skin.
“Perhaps later,” Trent insisted.
“I’m afraid not,” Sam reiterated firmly.
This seemed to make the Londoner certain in his suspicion for a smug smirk came to his bloated face. “I bid you good-night, in that case.” Naturally Trent did not bow before taking his leave, Harriet not being a lady of society.
A sigh escaped Harriet as the hand on his arm gripped him trembling. “Harriet, what happened?” His large hand covered hers, squeezing it.
“I—nothing, don’t worry,” she turned a brittle smile at him. “You were a resounding success,” pride exuded from every syllable.
“It would not have been without your invaluable help,” he thanked her.
“I do it with joy,” her smile more genuine this time.
“You belong in scientific circles, not just in the background.” Even with the flourishing research taking place around him, it seemed that real advancement came slowly regarding the inclusion of women in every sphere of life.
“I wish I could,” she said wistfully. “I take great satisfaction in science.”
They made the rest of the way in companionable silence, relishing the spring twilight.
After supper was cleared and Mrs Marsh announced she would retire, tension returned. One that embroiled so many elements Harriet would be barely able to list them. The conversation during Sam’s lecture had shaken her more than she would like to admit. It reminded her how happy she had been with her position as a governess with a family that received her so kindly in their midst.
It also made her apprehensive for her future, when the professor’s children would not need her services anymore. Made her realise how alone she was in a world that offered few opportunities for women other than marriage or the other less well-regarded positions. She did not blame mistresses or lightskirts, they were simply the victims of that lack of choices. Since she came to Oxford, she had been saving her wages as best as she could, which would grant something to live on in between positions.
In her case, marriage proved ineffectual and not a source of safety as society led—or misled—her to believe. Trying it once more was out of question for her. Independence and living by her own means seemed the most reliable choice. But that would not shove away the Trents of the world. Her integrity would be endangered at every turn, forecasting the need to stay alert at all times.
Amidst this fretting, she stood from the table. And heard the other chair move too. Samuel. The second element embroiled in her tension. She never felt so attracted by a man as she was to him. These last months had been a battle against the steamy desire he awoke in her. It had simmered to an unbearable point and now it was bursting at the seams, and she became nearly without will to fight it any longer.
The little moments with him simply induce
d more yearning. She really did not know if she wanted to resist. He beckoned her with warmth, respect and a high regard she never saw in another man. Made her feel cherished. He made her feel that was the crucial point.
“I think I’ll call it a day,” she said and turned to the door. She had better not tempt destiny.
A large hand closed softly on her wrist. “Harriet,” the silky call caused her head to swing to him.
Still in his refined suit, he stood there tall, his hair gleaming with reddish strands in the candle light. His eyes bore intensety behind his spectacles. She never imagined that she would consider spectacles charming. Most people viewed them as a sign of flaw. But on him, they looked serious, smart. And so penetrating.
The fixed stare he directed at Harriet induced thrills to run all over her. Heat surfaced on her skin, air became scarce as he held her in thrall. Next moment, he had pulled her to him, his hands on each of her nether cheeks, drawing her close, so close to his hardness.
“I cannot hold this any longer,” the hoarse admission caused a veritable flash wave of moisture to crash between her legs.
The hungry way her eyes fairly gobbled him was becoming familiar to Sam. So familiar he had no choice but to bring her flush against him amid her clear desire imploring to be set free. His jaw lowered to connect with her satiny neck. It dragged down charged with white-hot thirst. He captured that vein leaping under her skin, sucked it, nibbled on it until he heard her gasp and registered that her arms had tied him with an inevitability that resonated with his own.
“Neither can I,” she finally answered before pressing her breasts to his chest.
At this, his mouth fused with hers in a kiss so full of feverishness they might set fire to the whole town. One hand held her nape, the other laced her waist as he bent to take more. Every time he kissed her, touched her, something expanded in him, not only the obvious physical response, something else in the region of his chest. It felt special, unique, as though he had found himself.
They came up for air, and he framed her cheeks, taking in her swollen lips, flushed face and the eyes that clasped with his. “I want you in a way I never thought I’d want any woman in my life,” he rasped.
