Forbidden Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  With a groan of dismay, he proceeded to the bed. He removed her cloak and tossed it on the floor; then he climbed onto the mattress, urging her down so that she was draped across him. She was still attired in the gown she’d worn to supper, the fashionable neckline cut very low, her breasts practically falling out of the bodice.

  With the slightest tug, he freed them and sucked on her nipple, seeming to be soothed by the gentle motion. But as he shifted to the other one, the passion rapidly escalated.

  “How long can you stay?” he queried.

  “As long as you’d like.”

  “Till dawn?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I want to make love to you. I want to make you mine in every way that counts.”

  “I want it, too.”

  “I don’t want to ever forget what it was like.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He was unbuttoning her dress, as she worked on his shirt. They jerked and pulled, wrenched and yanked, and quickly they were naked. They stretched out, with her on top.

  “I wish there was more time for you to teach me your sexual games,” she said. “I feel like there’s so much I don’t know.”

  “I’ve created a wanton.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  She relished how naughty they were when they were alone, and as a spinster she’d missed out on many fantastic adventures. Without a doubt, Mr. Shelton would never inspire her to such outbursts of ardor.

  It seemed as if a portal was closing, as if she was about to be shut off from the life she could have had if she’d been smarter in her decisions. On this, her last night with Ian, she felt that it was her final chance to be happy, and she planned to grab for whatever bliss he chose to bestow. At the moment, she didn’t care about Mr. Shelton or her mother or her duty to her family. For once, she would selfishly revel.

  In the morning, when it was over, she was positive she’d rue and regret, but not now, not when her every sinful desire was about to be realized.

  He dipped down and nursed at her breasts again; then he meandered lower and settled himself between her legs. She grasped his destination, and she spread wide, welcoming the decadent invasion.

  Swiftly, he goaded her to the precipice and heaved her over, her anatomy convulsing with ecstasy. She struggled to the peak, then floated down—grinning—as he caught her.

  He was very tense, his body rigid with unfulfilled lust, and she wasn’t certain how to pleasure him. He’d always acted like too much of a gentleman, so he’d never shown her the indecencies she’d been anxious to learn.

  “I want you to put your mouth on me,” he said. “I want to be inside you at least once before we’re through.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  He hesitated, then mumbled, “I don’t know if we should.”

  “I’ll do whatever you’d like. Tell me what it is.”

  “It’s a whore’s trick,” he claimed. “It’s awful of me to ask you.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He shifted up the pillows, his masculine shaft alive and reaching out to her, demanding she tend it.

  To her amazement, he clasped it and brushed the tip across her lips.

  “Lick me with your tongue,” he instructed.

  Surprised by the request, she froze, then did as he’d commanded, and she was tantalized by how she’d galvanized his attention. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a man quite so focused.

  “You like that, do you?”

  “Very much.” He moaned and flexed his hips. “Open up. Take me like this.”

  She gazed at him, stunned, but horribly fascinated, too, and she eagerly complied. He tasted like heat and salt, and though he’d mentioned that it was a deed for a harlot to perform, she was enthralled.

  He thrust, pushing in, then retreating, giving her a bit more with each penetration. She could have lain there forever, savoring the depraved escapade, which only proved how low her true character actually was.

  She might have been an earl’s daughter, but she was thrilled to misbehave like any common trollop. He was transfixed, and she was delighted to confer something he so obviously treasured.

  She’d just started to get the hang of it when he shoved her away, and she glared up at him, wanting to keep on.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m too aroused; I can’t continue.”

  “You never let me have any fun,” she pouted.

  He was in agony, every muscle taut as a bowstring, and he urgently needed the male release that would bring him relief. She snuggled herself to him, assuming he would rub himself on her belly as he had during prior trysts, but he rolled them so that she was on the bottom and he was wedged between her thighs, his rod dropping to her center.

  “I want you so badly,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Then take me. I am yours.”

  “My God! Don’t give me permission.”

  “I want it to be you. I want to know what it’s like.”

  He nudged forward so that the end was inserted.

  “If I proceed,” he warned, “there is a thin piece of skin that’s called your maidenhead. I’ll tear it.”

  “Will it grow back?”

  “No. So your husband”—he could barely pronounce the loathsome word—“will know that you’ve been with another man.”

  She thought about Mr. Shelton, about her bitter, resentful mother, her foolish, preoccupied father. They were sacrificing her like an innocent maiden in a savage’s ritual. What loyalty was owed?

  “I don’t care if I’m discovered,” she insisted.

  “He could beat you for it, Caro. Or divorce you, or kill you, and he would suffer no punishment for his crime.”

  “I don’t care,” she repeated. “I really don’t.”

  She pressed herself to him, the crown lodged in even farther. He hung his head, his eyes closed, as if praying for strength.

  “I’m so hard for you,” he muttered.

  “Then take me! Don’t make me wait. Don’t leave me wondering.”

  For an eternity, he paused, perched on a cliff of indecision, so she raised the stakes.

  “I can’t be with you again,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “This is our only chance.”

  “I know that, too.” His expression changed, becoming more tender. “If we progress, there’s no fixing what we’ve done. I would hate it if you were sorry later on.”

  “I never will be.”

  He studied her, then nodded, and he clasped her flanks and braced himself.

  “No regrets, Caro.”

  “No, none.”

  He began driving into her, and at feeling him so intimately and unusually located, she had an attack of virginal nerves and tried to wiggle away, but he held her in place.

  “Ian, stop!”

  “No.”

  “Can we talk about this?”

  “No!”

  “Please.”

  “It has to conclude like this, Caro. Don’t you see? This is where we’ve been going all along.”

  He flexed and flexed, and he broke through, his cock fully impaled.

  “Oh, oh…” she breathed, arching up, tears stinging her eyes. “You didn’t tell me it would hurt.” She forced a chuckle, but it was a miserable sound.

  “I didn’t want to frighten you.”

  He kissed her, dawdling and delaying, and gradually, her anatomy adapted. As she relaxed, he commenced again, entering her over and over, and rapidly she was meeting him thrust for thrust.

  His passion increased, his penetrations more precise, more resolute, and finally he tensed and emptied himself against her womb. The sensation was magical, and she hugged him tight, wishing they could be together forever, that nothing from the outside world would ever intrude. Her heart was filled to bursting, and she roiled with emotion. She was so happy; she was so sad, and she was experiencing every wild swing of sentiment in between the two conditions.

/>   I love you!

  The phrase popped into her mind, and she didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her before. Of course she loved him. She always had and always would.

  He drew away, though he was still buried deep.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not made of glass.”

  “No, you’re not.” He kissed the center of her palm.

  “I’m so glad it was you.” She sighed, reflecting on what they’d done, where it would lead, how it would end. “I’m not a virgin anymore, am I?”

  “No.”

  “I’m glad about that, too.”

  The lazy night stretched in front of her. He was partially erect, his phallus unsated and ready for another go, and she was curious as to how much effort it would take to encourage him.

  “How soon will you be able to do it again?”

  “Not soon enough to suit you, you minx.”

  He laughed, a merry chortle she’d never previously heard from him, and he shifted them so they were snuggled on their sides and grinning like a pair of half-wits.

  She traced his lips with her tongue, as she took his hand and laid it on her breast.

  “I can only stay till dawn,” she reminded him, “so you’d best get busy.”

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  Ian stood by the window and stared out at the horizon that was swiftly growing brighter, the stars fading with the onset of morning. Caro was asleep in his bed, and he needed to wake her and see her safely home, but he couldn’t bear to rouse her.

  He rubbed a hand over the center of his chest. His heart was aching, and he didn’t care for the sensation. They’d rutted like wild animals, and on three separate occasions he’d spilled himself inside her. Throughout the passionate interlude, he’d been so overwhelmed that he hadn’t restrained himself, but with sanity and daylight creeping in, he was panicked.

  Oh, what was he to do? What if he’d planted a babe?

  He couldn’t send Caro back to her fiancé and her parents. Yet, how could he keep her with him? The only way would be to marry her. Was he prepared to propose? It was the appropriate remedy, but he couldn’t imagine asking her, nor could he envision her accepting.

  What had he to offer a woman like Caro?

  He had an income that was sufficient for a bachelor, but it couldn’t begin to compare to her father’s fortune. If she allied herself with him, her mode of living would fall substantially. Could she tolerate such a change? Plus, any union between them would cause a terrible scandal.

  He had no lofty acquaintances to stand with them during the tumult. She’d be shunned, cut off from all that was familiar, and the shame would kill her.

  Was he worth it? He didn’t have to pose the question, for he knew the answer: categorically not.

  He went to the bed and eased a hip onto the mattress. She stirred and smiled. She looked rumbled and adorable, smug with her seduction and pleased with what she’d wrought.

  “What time is it?” she inquired.

  “Almost five.”

  “I should be going,” but she didn’t make any move to rise.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I have to. You know that.”

  She sat up, the blankets clutched to her bosom, her hair spilling about her shoulders. She laid her palm on his cheek, and for a moment, they tarried, neither of them able to speak.

  Then she urged him aside and climbed to the floor. In silence, she strolled about, scooping up her clothes and tugging them on as he did the same. Eventually, they were dressed, her cloak fastened, the hood up. There was nothing left to do but escort her out, but they couldn’t seem to depart.

  He dawdled, awkward as an adolescent.

  For the prior twelve years, her presence in his world had been a constant, and he couldn’t let her walk away. Not without a fight. She’d come to mean too much to him, and he couldn’t picture a future without her in it.

  Did she feel any similar sentiment? Would she be willing to alter the course of her life for him?

  He had to know her opinion, and if he didn’t seek it now, when it was very likely the only chance he’d ever have, he’d forever wonder how she would have replied.

  If she laughed or scoffed, so be it. If she rejected him, so be it. But he had to be certain.

  Tentatively, he ventured, “I have something to discuss with you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t respond right away. You need to go home and think on it.”

  “Fine. Just tell me what it is.”

  “I want you to marry me.”

  “Marry you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, Ian…”

  She had the most peculiar expression on her face, and he couldn’t decide if she was surprised or aghast. She’d been raised to believe that class and status mattered above all else, so she was precisely the sort of female who would wed Edward Shelton simply because of his lineage and without regard to any other factor.

  “I can’t permit Shelton to have you. Not after last night. Not after how it’s been between us.”

  “But my father has promised me to him,” she stressed, as if he’d forgotten.

  “I understand that, Caro, but you’re no longer a virgin, and we might have made a babe together. When there’s a possibility you could be pregnant with my child, I can’t let you go.”

  Her eyes widened with dismay, the startling prospect not having occurred to her.

  She frowned. “I hadn’t thought about a babe.”

  “It’s my fault,” he insisted, refusing to have her feel that she was to blame. He was the one experienced in fornication, just as he was aware of the dire consequences that could result. “I shouldn’t have behaved so negligently, but the deed is done, and we have to carry on with circumstances as they’re now confronting us.”

  “I’d have to publicly cry off.”

  “Yes, but could you marry him, Caro? Could you cuckold him? If you’re pregnant with my son, you’d have to pass him off as his. I know you, Caro. You couldn’t do it. You’re not that kind of person.”

  “My parents would never agree.”

  “I’m not asking you to solicit their permission.”

  “Then what are you asking?”

  “I want you to elope with me. To Scotland. We’d have to lie and fabricate stories; then we’d sneak away without informing anyone. Not a maid. Not a friend.”

  “It sounds so tawdry.”

  “There’s no other way to pull it off.”

  “I don’t know, Ian.” As if her head had begun to pound, she rubbed her temples.

  “I realize it’s an outrageous request. That’s why you should reflect on it.”

  “There’d be a big scandal.”

  “Yes, there would.”

  “I’d be drummed out of society. From the instant we proceeded, every door would be shut to me.”

  “Yes,” he repeated.

  “My father would disown me. I’d have to relinquish all ties to my family.”

  “I’m absolutely sure of it.” He was being brutally frank, for he couldn’t have her harboring any silly, romantic notions about the implications of aligning herself with him.

  “The Earl would never release my dowry to you.”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t expected he would.”

  “You’d have to support me. Where would we live?”

  She glanced around his bedchamber, and he received the distinct impression that she judged it unbefitting of her elevated station. He tamped down his irritation.

  “We could return here,” he cautiously mentioned, “though we might have to stay away from London for a time.”

  “Stay away? Why?”

  “We’d wait for the gossip to die down—so it would be easier on you.”

  “Where would we wait?”

  “We could remain in Scotland, with one of my uncles.”

  “We’d leave England?” She was so shocked that he might
have suggested she journey with him to the moon.

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Forever?”

  “It would depend on how vicious the uproar. If it never abated, I can’t imagine that we’d care to come back.”

  She nodded, pensive, perplexed.

  He was demanding so much from her, was pressuring her to commit to decisions that were totally foreign to her character. No doubt, she’d be happy for a while, but ultimately, the rumors would settle, and she’d be stuck with him. Would she regret what she’d relinquished? If they had to stay in Scotland, cut off from civilization, ostracized by all, how would she survive it? Would she grow to hate him?

  “This is such a huge step,” she said. “Why would you take it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you, too, Ian. Though you work to hide it, you have a chivalrous heart beating in your chest.”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed.

  “But why would you assist me? Is it merely your generous nature surging to the fore? Or have you another reason?”

  This was the point where he was to declare himself, where he was to fall on bended knee and profess his devotion. It was on the tip of his tongue to claim that he loved her, but did he?

  He was suffering from the most insane impulses, his emotions careening between joy and dread. When he was with her, he felt grand, contented in a fashion he’d never been, but did it amount to love?

  He had no idea.

  If it was no more than heightened lust, it would flicker out quickly enough, and she wouldn’t be the only one miserable in her choice of a spouse.

  He wouldn’t lie and announce sentiment he didn’t feel, wouldn’t pretend an affection he couldn’t sustain.

  “We must wed, Caro. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “But you don’t wish to marry me. As far as I recollect, you’ve never wished to marry anyone.”

  “It’s the price I must pay for my carelessness.”

  The remark was jarring and cold, and it came out completely wrong. She jerked away as if he’d slapped her.

  “I see.”

  Outside, a bird peeped, the morning chorus of chirping about to commence.

  They stared and stared, a thousand unspoken comments swirling between them. He hadn’t said what he’d truly wanted to say, hadn’t explained very well or offered her any good incentives to agree. He could only hope that—once she had occasion to reflect—she would recognize the wisdom of his plan.