by Debra Glass
And then mortification swamped him.
He’d spanked her.
Spanked her!
Why did she drive him to such rash behavior? How could he ever make amends?
Shit.
He shook his head. Her reaction had completely caught him by surprise. She’d kissed him. After he’d worn her ass out, she’d kissed him! He blew out a sigh. He’d known women who enjoyed a certain amount of rough play, but that spanking had really aroused her. She’d been so damn wet he thought he’d spill his seed on the spot.
His cock protested against his tight trousers. Absentmindedly, he stroked himself through his clothes, recalling her clumsy, passionate kisses, her unabashed moans. She’d been ready. It made his head spin to think how ready she’d been. He could have easily taken her.
But what then?
Thank heavens he’d had the wherewithal to stop when he did. He’d seen to it that she finished because intuitively he knew that if she’d asked him one more time, he would have impaled her.
And, truth be told, if he had, he’d probably still be fucking her.
Something about her stripped him of reason and provoked him to the point of wanting to thoroughly dominate, to tear off her clothes and pleasure her until she yielded to him body and soul.
He rubbed his jaw. It didn’t make sense.
She didn’t make sense.
This goddamned attraction to her didn’t make sense.
She hadn’t smelled of perfume like other women he’d known intimately. Instead, he’d detected the faint scent of soap and talcum. He liked her fragrance. More than he cared to admit.
There’d been no pretense in her actions. She’d kissed as if baser elements controlled her. Her hips had rocked at his touch. Her cunny had become drenched. Her fingers had curled so tightly into his shoulders, her nails would have left marks had he not been wearing a shirt.
She’d done nothing for show or sport. She’d been…real. Genuine.
Ransom stretched out his leg and finally relented and unbuttoned his fly. He continued stroking himself slowly. He wasn’t the type of man who doubted his abilities. Quite the contrary. But to discover a woman who acted on her desires with such forthright passion…
A man liked knowing where he stood in regards to pleasures of the flesh.
And if she was really open to the idea of free love, then what would it hurt to—
“Damn,” he muttered. He was actually entertaining the idea of initiating more with her. What was he thinking? He’d gone completely insane to consider such a thing.
First of all, he did not intend to marry. Not anyone. Especially not Cathleen Ryan. Being discovered, or inadvertently getting her pregnant, would doom them both to the altar—no matter what objections she raised.
Secondly, suppose she did something utterly foolish, such as fall in love? He shuddered. She wouldn’t be the first female to set her sights on him.
“Women,” he murmured.
Most importantly, the fact remained that she was Jenny’s teacher. Jenny needed her full attention. He needed to look elsewhere for a place to bury his cock.
His gaze fell on the pair of spectacles lying in the floor amidst several hairpins. He inhaled. She’d be wanting those back. Damn, why wouldn’t his cock go down?
Giving up, he reclined his head on the back of the chair and squeezed his flesh. Blood pounded in the crown, making him impossibly harder, longer. He pulled up and over the tip and then back down again. His dry palm was hardly an appropriate substitute for Cathleen’s moist heat.
He imagined how good it would feel to push past the barrier no man had ever before breached, to seat himself fully inside her—to possess her.
She’d rise beneath him. She’d sigh her pleasure and rake her nails down his back. A shudder tore through him at the thought. He hissed through his teeth. So hot. So wet.
Her legs would wrap around him, holding him tightly inside her. And when he moved, she’d move with him.
His Annabel Lee.
In spite of the heat, cold chills whispered across his skin. His sac tightened and he exploded. “Cathleen…” He breathed her name as hot liquid oozed onto his hand and dripped down his knuckles.
“Cathleen…” he muttered again, and continued to stroke until the last ripple of pleasure eddied away.
* * * * *
Supper was a terse affair.
Cathleen could hardly make eye contact with Ransom. He’d arrived late, mumbled an awkward greeting and now ate quietly—and brooded.
Cathleen attempted to give all her attention to Jenny, but realized how obviously she avoided Ransom. Even without her sight, Jenny would know something had been irrevocably altered between them.
The only one who seemed completely oblivious was Mrs. Byrne. By this time of day, she was well into her cups. No one mentioned her dependence on her tonic, as she called it. Least of all Mr. Byrne, who only appeared inside the house at mealtime or bedtime.
Cathleen chanced a glance at Ransom and caught his eye. At once, her face flamed with heat. She knew she was blushing but there was little she could do about it other than quickly look away.
“Miss Ryan is going to start teaching me braille tomorrow,” Jenny announced.
“That’s lovely,” Mrs. Byrne said.
Mr. Byrne made a noise of approval—or at least that’s what Cathleen thought—and then lifted his glass for more tea. Sally moved to fill it.
Jenny’s forehead furrowed. “Braille,” she repeated. “Don’t you understand? I’ll be able to read.”
“I’m certain you will pick up the skills quickly,” Cathleen said.
“You won’t have to read to me anymore, Ransom,” Jenny said, directing her comment across the table.
His lips pulled into a little smile. “I’ve never minded reading to you.” Again his gaze flicked to Cathleen’s.
The split-second look had been filled with meaning—and with the shared memory of the poem he’d read to her.
She delicately cleared her throat and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. Images of what had transpired between them earlier assailed her. A tendril of desire unfurled. Her stomach tightened and the flesh between her legs warmed.
“Perhaps, then, you can read to your brother,” she told Jenny.
At that, Jenny’s face brightened.
“I’d like that myself,” the elder Mr. Byrne said and winked at Cathleen.
Sally began clearing the plates and everyone stood to retire to the parlor.
“Might I have a word with you, Miss Ryan?” Ransom asked softly.
“Of course,” she squeaked. Panic spread through her like an out-of-control fire. Did he intend to admonish her?
As the others moved toward the parlor, Cathleen followed Ransom out the back door and onto the veranda. He produced her spectacles and placed them in her hand.
“Thank you,” she said, some of her anxiety dissipating. Her heart flew when his skin made contact with hers. Some sort of invisible connection pulled her magnetically toward him and she resisted it with all her might.
Her stays suddenly seemed too tight. Her bottom tingled with the desire to be smacked soundly once more.
“I really am sorry,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” she blurted.
A hard light flashed in his eyes.
Cathleen tamped down sheer terror. “I’m not sorry. I…I wouldn’t be opposed to…to more.”
He blew out a breath. “Miss Ryan…Cathleen…I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”
“I was not under the impression I had the wrong idea.”
He let out a laugh. The sound of it resonated through her body, caressing her insides like a warm drink on a cold day.
“I’m not looking for a wife,” he stated plainly.
“And I’m not looking to become a wife,” she said. Why did she feel as if her heart were going to drum its way out of her chest? “I meant what I said about marriage…and sex.”
His eyebrow
s lifted.
“I understand that you don’t wish to marry. Neither do I. That’s why I think we would make perfect lovers.” She stared so there’d be no mistaking her sincerity.
“I’m not looking for a lover either,” he said, and leaned casually against one of the whitewashed columns. His eyes told her he had all the lovers he wanted and then some.
She wanted to state that she was positive he had many at his disposal in that regard. She judiciously didn’t.
His eyes grew flinty. “I don’t want you to mistake our…encounter for something it was clearly not, Cathleen.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
He glanced at his hand that rested on the column and then back at her. “I don’t want you… Let me rephrase that. As your employer, I don’t want you attempting to start some sort of a rebellion in town.”
“Rebellion?”
“Uprising, temperance league, whatever you want to call it. For Jenny’s sake, don’t let it happen again.”
“Mr. Byrne!” she exclaimed. “Are you belittling the cause which is so dear to my heart?”
“I’m not belittling anything. I hired you to be a teacher for my sister. You can hardly do that properly while inciting riots and discourse in town.”
“Riots and discourse!”
He seemed exasperated. He stood tall and, once again, Cathleen was struck by his sheer size. “You don’t know these people. You don’t know how they believe. And you sure as hell don’t know how they’ll act if you—an outsider and a Yankee—try to tell them they’re not living their lives the way you think they ought to.”
“I merely intend to present the information and if—”
“The people here are still stinging from the war. It won’t do for you to rub salt in that wound.”
“But—”
“The situation in the South is unstable at best, Cathleen. There are men who’re taking the law into their own hands and meting out justice as they see fit. It wouldn’t matter a hill of beans to any of them that you’re a woman. They’d string you up and lash you same as they would anybody else they didn’t think wasn’t acting right.”
She didn’t have a comeback.
He continued. “Trust me on this. Don’t be so all-fired hardheaded.”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’ll tell you what…” he said, and took a half step closer.
Warning bells went off in her head. Her skin prickled with the heat that exuded from his body.
“If you’ll behave,” he began. “If you’ll promise to teach my sister and refrain from any more…equality speeches, I will…entertain your desires.”
Her breath froze in her lungs. Her lips parted. She gaped at him.
“So long as no one knows about it,” he added.
She still couldn’t form words.
“And as long as you don’t expect me to…to tarnish you. I’m not in the business of deflowering virgins.”
She nodded dumbly.
“Can you abide by that?”
Again, she wagged her head up and down.
He laughed. “Who would have ever imagined it? Cathleen Ryan at a loss for words.”
“Tonight?” she piped.
“As long as everyone is in bed asleep. Be cautious and vigilant.”
She offered to shake hands with him. He chuckled before hauling her close and pressing a firm kiss to her lips.
It only lasted an instant, but when he released her, she reeled backward two steps and clapped her hand over her thudding heart as he walked away.
Weak-kneed, she dropped into one of the rockers. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”
Chapter Six
Ransom wasn’t surprised when he heard a timid knock at the door. “Come in, Cathleen,” he called from his chair.
The hinges groaned as she stepped into the front hall. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, peeved at the way his cock jolted in his breeches.
She stepped out of the shadows and the sight of her stunned him. Her hair was loose and tumbling about her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink from the effort of her trek here. She wore nothing but her thin cotton nightgown and a matching dressing gown. Her shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths that made the points of her nipples visible beneath the fabric.
A smile tugged at one side of his mouth. Earlier, he’d chided himself for making such an inane arrangement. But now…
He stood. “My bedroom is in there.” He gestured toward the open door. “Go inside and remove your clothing. Everything. I want you naked.”
Fear flashed in her eyes, but quickly transformed into eager expectation before she turned and padded into his room.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Fool! What in the hell am I doing? This was going to end in disaster. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.
Steeling himself, he stepped into the room, only to stop short when he saw her naked as commanded—but bending over the side of the bed with her lovely backside turned up.
Two plump lips beckoned him. God, he wanted to fuck her. How would he ever resist?
If he hadn’t learned—literally firsthand—that she was an untried virgin, he would have thought her a liar.
He’d intended to taste her, to let her do the same for him. “What on earth is this?”
Biting her bottom lip, she looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m not sure I want to be spanked as hard this time.”
“Spanked?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t going to spank you.”
“You’re not?” She seemed disappointed.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her beautiful form and the way the lights and shadows played on her curves and highlighted a glistening drop of dampness in the curls between her thighs. His fingers curled into a loose fist.
“Of course not,” he told her.
She stood and blinked owlishly. “But…but I…that’s what I…enjoyed the most.”
The spanking had provoked her into kissing him and more. But liking that most? He still couldn’t get over it. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
She nodded. “Would you? Please?” She bent again.
“Cathleen, are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
His cock had grown ramrod hard. He swallowed and closed the distance between them and skimmed his palm down her narrow back, over her rounded hip. Her fists tightened and her muscles grew taut. A shudder rippled through the soft flesh of her ass.
He couldn’t keep his hands off her. No man has ever touched her, save me. No one else has felt this velvety skin, or caressed the silken strands of her hair. She sighed in pleasure as he twisted her hair around his fist and gave it a slight tug. He anchored her in place with a firm hold on her hair, lifting her head off the bed, causing her back to dip and her bottom to raise. Her feet inched apart.
He slid his palm over the rounded curve of her bottom, teasing his fingers through her cleft, testing. He drew in a sharp breath. She was soaking wet.
A strangled sound left her lips. He tugged her hair a little harder. She wanted to be dominated, and by God, he was the man who could do it.
Smack!
The force of the blow caused the breath to leave her lungs on one harsh rush. He rubbed the offended spot, waiting for a protest that never came.
He delivered a second solid whack. At that point, something dark and erotic overtook him. He doubted he’d be able to keep from fucking her. If she escaped with her virginity intact, it’d be a damn miracle. “Is that what you want?” he asked, shocked at how gravelly his voice came out.
“Yes,” she cried. “Again!”
Maintaining his hold on her hair, he stepped to the side and smacked her already rosy flesh several times in swift succession.
She moaned. Dampness glistened on the inside of her thigh. He delved between her legs and stroked, burrowing through the slippery folds, threatening entry to not one but both orifices with his insistent fingertips.
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br /> She tensed but he knew without a doubt, she’d let him do anything he wanted with her. Anywhere he wanted.
Before she could take her next breath, he scooped her up, flipped her over onto her back and moved between her legs. He spread her thighs as wide as they would go and gazed down at the nest of wet black curls in striking contrast to flawless ivory skin.
Instinctively, her hands flew to her breasts. She covered them, but couldn’t prevent him looking at her thatch.
His gaze flicked to hers. “I’m going to kiss you.” He raked the back of his knuckles against her folds. “Here.”
She whimpered as he brushed her hands away from her breasts then bent to devour one peak. Her nipple was hard against the roof of his mouth. He sucked and swept his tongue around the tip before moving to the other one to lave it as well. Her fingers tangled into his hair to hold his head in place. Her back arched and she pushed her breast more fully into his mouth. She writhed and draped one leg around his torso.
He’d been with his share and more of women. But none of them had ever responded so freely; so unapologetically willing to experience pleasure. Not once had she shied away. He gazed into her eyes again, bemused by the wonder and curiosity there, before he kissed a trail downward.
Her breathing hitched when he nuzzled the tuft of hair at the juncture of her thighs. Her legs trembled as he inhaled the sweet, musky fragrance of her cunny. Cupping her bottom, he tilted her hips up and traced his tongue through her folds then around the ripe bud at their crown.
She moaned and shook as he closed his lips around her clitoris and sucked gently. Nothing in the world gave him more pleasure than tasting a woman intimately. Here, there was no hiding. She lay bared and open, vulnerable. Her pleasure was in his hands—his mouth.
He explored the juicy crevice, dragging his tongue over her peachy flesh, flicking, licking then latching onto her bud again. Her sharp intake of breath told him all he needed to know. He’d found her sweet spot.
