“Do you mind if I sit here with you a moment?”
“Not at all,” she was almost exasperated with him. Was there no man capable of doing something simply? Her husband had acted much the same way, doubtless if their marriage hadn’t been arranged by other people, then the proposal itself would have been inelegant and forced. As though the hardship of speaking was something he’d never gotten past as a child.
Or perhaps it was the hardship of thinking.
It was a wickedly cruel thought to have, she hadn’t thought herself capable of such a thought. But it was as though the thoughts she had never allowed to surface were slowly breaking free one at a time. Each one more forbidden than the last. They rose up unbidden like some long forgotten curse, and she found herself marveling at them instead of feeling repulsed by them like she should have been. She watched as he moved to sit next to her on the stone bench, barely straightening, so he had adequate space to take up. She was wracking her mind for something intelligent to say, to encourage him without encouraging him but he didn’t give her the opportunity to sit there long.
He wasn’t his brother.
That became apparent when he swept the hand he’d almost sat on up and then she found herself watching him… kiss it? They hadn’t really come into any physical contact on her wedding day, Harold had made sure of that. It was the first time he’d touched her, and the soft heat of his lips against her skin was surprising. It was obvious he thought he was being charming, the avid way he was watching her so intently made her realize he was waiting for her to pull her hand away in discomfort. But she didn’t, she left the wide-eyed surprise planted on her features and sat there like some trapped bird. He’d dared to touch her! He hadn’t simply stumbled over some inane reason for searching her out.
She could see it on his face, his intention, the longer the moment drew out and she sat there, her soft skin in his fingers. He didn’t let her go, didn’t seem like he could, and then he was pulling her closer, her hand moving as he used his hold on her to draw her nearer. Her heart pounded, and then their lips were touching, and that selfsame shock electrified every inch of her body. Was this really happening? She almost couldn’t fathom it. It felt like the sensation of the kiss was more potent than any medicinal drought she’d ever taken. The weight of it, the liberating thrill of it.
“I hate him.”
She almost didn’t recognize her own voice, didn’t realize that his lips had left hers, and he was searching her eyes, her features for why she wasn’t pushing him away. It was so vile a thing, so treasonous. For a moment she felt fear swell up in her, she didn’t try to fight it, she let it hitch up her breath and tremble into her fingertips. The intensity of it carrying her away, making her lightheaded and faint, tears swelling up in her pretty blue eyes until they were swimming with water. He was staring at her like he’d never seen her before like she was some fantastical oddity and she couldn’t help but agree, but his face didn’t twist into one of cunning or disgust. Instead, there was simply… lust?
He wanted her.
So much so that her admission wasn’t something he was judging, it was something that was an opportunity to him, she could see it, could see the wheels turning in his mind as he took the fervent helpless tone of her voice and came to terms with it. His lips caught at hers again, warm and inviting, causing tingles to scamper down her spine. The fact that they were outside still lost on the both of them for a moment.
Then there was a loud crash, the sound of wood splintering and thunder cracking as the sky darkened up. A beautiful, black stallion heard as its hooves crashed against the stone pathways and sank into the darkened, wet dirt. The sharp whinny it gave startling her and causing her to gasp in a breath. Her eyes blinked open, having fluttered closed, and she pulled away from him in the slightest to watch the beast rampage through the garden. Dirt flying up behind it as steam rose up from its skin, the water that had started to come down cool against the horse’s warm hide.
The sunlight was still striking down in half of the garden, catching against the horse’s back, but when she cast her gaze upward, the storm clouds were directly overhead, swirling angrily. The softest kiss of cold struck against her forehead as she glanced up and it drew a scandalized gasp out of her even as more droplets started to hit against her own warm skin.
“Jeffrey! The storm!”
To her surprise he reacted swiftly, fingers curling around her soft hand and tugging gently to get her to her feet even as he stood. She found herself stumbling after him, a slippered foot catching on an uneven stone before she could gather her skirts up with the other hand. Her own fingers clutched at the thick material, drawing it up away from her muddied shoes. Pulse fluttering against her skin as they all but ran for the arched doorway, her fingers curled tighter into his hand. She felt so light-hearted, like a child out playing in the fields and the shock of it poured through her system even as she gasped out, felt laughter tumbling out of her lips.
Her head ducked down as raindrops trickled into her hair and her shoulders hunched up, bare skin chilled by the damp feeling that was slowly suffusing her dress and making it cling to her legs. The heavy wooden doors groaned as Jeffrey pushed one of them open and tugged her into the dimly lit hallway, torches flickering in sconces at intervals down the length of it. She didn’t have time to see if anyone was there in the hall, though, as she found herself tugged through another arched doorway and down a set of stone steps that curled into the damp smelling dark of one of their food cellars.
There wasn’t time for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness before she found herself pushed up against a cold wall. Her semi-breathless giggles curtailed by the warm brush of lips against her own, the forbidden strike of contact shocking her all over again. Her body warmed, the feel of the cold wall fading, absorbed into her even as his body leaned heavily into her own, warmth eating away the cold of the chilled air outside. She didn’t have time to think about touching him because all she could feel was his hands on her. Each moment where she didn’t push him away seemed to embolden him. His fingers brushed up against her petite waist and skimmed up to where string drew the material of her dress taut. Fingers deftly loosened them and tugged, the sudden lack of pressure on her chest getting her to take in a full breath that lifted her bosom. The rest of the material seemed to relax and drape over her shoulders, sliding down so he could tug it down further and free her breasts.
A cinch at her waist kept the skirt of her dress from falling, but he didn't seem too concerned with it. Even if he did take a moment to let his hands skim over every inch of her chest and waist and over the curve of her butt. It was almost like he was drinking her in with touch alone. Like he was seeing her even in the deep dark of the cellar.
Shivering at the touch, she found air touching against her legs. The cool feel of it catching her up as he drew the material of her dress up around her waist, holding it against her and baring the most private places of her body that none had seen before, except perhaps nurse-maids, her mother, and Harold. It caused a blush to catch her cheeks, hidden in the dark thankfully. She was supposed to be the seductress… not a maiden. His hands were heavy on her, and he didn’t seem to be possessed of Harold’s hesitation. Instead, he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. A part of her admired that, and it made it easy to fall into character, easy to know what to do and not fumble it.
Every single glancing touch against bare skin drew a gasp out of her, because it was unexpected and in that unexpectedness, thrilling. Pleasure gained a new definition, it became attached to the forbidden, to the way his fingers played against her core and then pressed into her. The shock of it, it was so delectable, more so than he could ever hope to be himself. She had never felt her body respond to her husband, it had never dampened in welcome, she had never felt her stomach twist, and her knees weaken. She had never felt that electric thrill of anticipation. It wasn’t until after the deed was done that her body would respond, would keen for more, for more than he could ever
hope to provide. It would leave her listless and distraught, even if she disguised it.
Her voice caught against his lips in a way it never had for Harold, the very sob of her breath caught her body up around his fingers and had her body pressing into the pleasurable slide of them. Was it merely acting? She didn’t know. There was a small removed part of her that was separate from what was going on, that piece of her logically loathing the position she was in. But it kept her prisoner nonetheless, a slave to her burgeoning desires. Could Jeffrey give her more? Even if it wasn’t what she’d once dreamed intimacy could be?
In a way, he already was.
He was strong enough to lift her up against the wall, strong enough to pin her there even as he finally pressed his body tightly into hers. She was no virgin, and it showed with the easy way their bodies came together as he pushed inside, with the effortless shock of impact between them that had her moaning out like some two pence whore he’d just pulled in from the streets.
It felt so wonderful, though. The thick feel of him inside her.
Even if the self-derogatory thoughts churned in her heart and mind, a dissatisfied sort of greed catching at her. Her own fingers clutched at his shoulders desperately, sifting up into his hair, tugging and yanking at it. If only he feared her. If only she had more control. But she didn’t, all she had was this torpid manipulation. It wasn’t who she was, but in that moment it was everything. It crept into every thought she had, added to every sensation, and she never wanted it to stop. His hips rocked into her, and each hit of bare flesh against bare flesh had her entire body keening. A subtle pleasure spread in her gut, deep in her core, and clenched her insides to heat her skin up until she reveled in every bit of exposed shoulder and breast. In every bit of visible leg and the way her body so easily fell against his and impaled itself.
More, she needed more. It wasn’t enough, but she couldn’t do anything. All she could do was ride out the unsatisfying drag of him and burn, her body falling apart from the way it wept heated warmth each time his body pulled away from hers and left her bereft. His lips caught hers, busied them until each shaky breath she took and each sound became something intimately perfect between them. Each soft gasp and moan was something that was secretly divine.
He had more stamina than her husband, she could give him that. Harold would have paused for breath, would have been desperate at this point to reach his own climax before the exercise of it all wore him out completely. This… this did not end so quickly, and for that, she loved him in the most superficial flare of intensity possible. More than her crazed adoration of his expression of everything she couldn’t speak out, more than even his rivalry and potential ability to free her from her bondage to her husband.
Just another moment, it was a mantra in her mind. Please, just one more moment… please just a little more. She was so used to falling short every time, dreading the end of her partner’s stamina. The feel of Jeffrey inside of her made her squirrely, it pleasantly rippled through her inner muscles in a dancing squeeze of muscle that never quite intensified.
It made her want to cry.
Later in her room, she probably would. She would probably prostrate herself across her soft bed and bury her fingers in the comforters and just… let the warm tears pool in her eyes to drip down her cheeks into her feathered pillow... But not now, even if her heart constricted and ached in her chest and her eyes burned, a weight threatening to suffocate her she pushed past the emotion.
“Please…”
Her voice sounded desperate, broken. A plea drenched in the innocence of pure, unfettered need. It caught raggedly in her throat and tore free of her soft lips in a way that made her wonder how much of what she was doing was acting… and how much of it was just pent up desperation and need that was finally being grazed against. “Please Jeffrey…”
Her cries seemed to galvanize him. It had never done anything for her with her husband. Every pleading word she’d uttered in Harold’s presence had concluded with an excuse for why he couldn’t be bothered. Because he’d worked so hard to satisfy his urges, his strength was weakened, and his stamina was depleted and wouldn’t they rather just rest. Wouldn’t she rather just rest, she needed her rest, to remain as beautiful and as titillating as she could possibly hope to be so he could show her off and take his pleasure off of her like some aged rutting dog that was blind and deaf and weakened in the joints.
This was so much different than that. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought that Jeffrey actually cared whether she felt sated by the end of their little dalliance. Each thrust into her that had her entire body spasming against him only solidifying this thought, even as her thoughts were driven out of her head. The forefront of her mind occupied by how each move he made had her gasping for air and keening softly. Her gut tensing, chest heaving slightly as she fought to catch a full breath.
And then her head tipped back against the wall, “Please, please, please…” The words were soft as his lips trailed down her neck to nibble at her collarbone and she felt her entire body jump into a sensitized tangle of nerves. Her legs shook, her fingers trembled in his hair, and she could feel a smile against her skin. His lips grazing over sensitive flesh and teasing against it in a way that had her almost want to jump away from the electric touch, even if she wanted to push herself into it in the same moment.
With the next shuddered breath, his length pushing into her once more, she felt her entire body tense up. Her back arched up off of the wall, pushing her more into him, and she groaned softly. Voice soft and whimpered as she felt the delicious tightening of muscle around his next push into her. It nearly choked her, the noise caught up in her throat. She hardly heard herself panting and moaning for the fact that the entire world had dimmed out, all she knew was that the feeling that tangled up her insides was the most exquisite feeling she had ever felt in the hands of a man.
Entire body shaking, she rested against him as he pushed into her a couple times more before spending himself inside her. She couldn’t see the look on his face, her own eyes were bleary, and it was dark, but she could imagine it from the way he groaned out her name.
He leaned into her, skin damp with sweat and brushing against her own. Her breath panted past her lips, shifting past her dry throat. “You’re better… at that… than he is.”
“I’d like to think so…” The answer was breathless but still held all of the attitude of a younger sibling reveling in being better than the older one. It made her want to smile, so she did. A sweet sort of grateful smile. The adoration in her eyes for how affected he’d gotten her wholly genuine.
“Jeffrey…”
His name sighed free of her lips, almost like an invocation, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched at him. She felt it when his attention turned to her, when his focus diverted, his heavy breathing quieted. It encouraged her, had her fair trembling in his arms from the force of her emotions.
“What is it?”
He sounded, concerned. As though her well-being was important to him, when they didn’t even hardly know each other. But she didn’t care if he wanted to play into it like it mattered then she would take full advantage of that.
“I’m afraid.”
It was true, she was, she was petrified.
Terror clawed at her, shocked guilt for what she’d done lingered deep in the dulcet tones of her muted admission. “I wish…” Her voice hitched as the tears she’d held back finally pricked at her eyes and blinded her, fingers clinging tight to his shoulders. She hated crying. “I wish he would just go away.” It was girlish, childish, and undoubtedly a comically innocent statement of dislike and yet it was so much more at the same time.
Her breath hitched again softly, her bosom heaving for a moment and then silence choked the space between them. “I wish… he was dead.” There it was. It was the heavy statement that had weighed down her mind for the longest time, finally being voiced. A small, loyal part of her somewhere inside cried ‘treason’ at t
he admission, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, bring herself to care whatsoever. The fervent sort of breathy tone to her voice could not be matched, her utterance as hushed and as plaintive as it could possibly hope to be... And it wasn’t even a calculated tone.
It was possibly the truest statement she’d made since being married.
“And I’m so afraid he’ll look at me and know… Jeffrey he will know… There isn’t any possible way he couldn’t....” Her continuation wasn’t necessarily untrue either, but it was slightly more clouded than the crystalline purity of the first statement.
She felt his weight shift, her body falling a little so that her toes grazed the floor and then her feet touched down. The wood of the floor was cold, prickling into the toes of her right foot. A shoe had been lost at some point, she would have to track it down. Her skirt fell down around her legs, gravity dragging the heavy folds of cotton and silk down to the ground once again, the material brushing enticingly against bare skin in a way that had her shivering.
Her entire body still felt… alive. As though she had been struck by lightning and it had left her prickling with every touch.
“He won’t.” Jeffrey sounded so sure.
Her soft cry of dismay could be matched by none as she pushed lightly at him, “He will!” She had no strength to speak of, so he hadn’t budged an inch. In fact, she could have wondered if he even felt her pushing at him.
Fingers clutching at his shirt desperately, tears creating a glistening path down her cheeks in the darkness, she stared up into the shadowed color of his eyes. “He will know. The moment he looks at me, my hatred for him will be plain on my face… I am not such a trickster that I could school my expression so well?” So… the last bit might have been a lie. She had been smiling and nodding since she found out she would be marrying the King… and there was no reason she could not do so even then in the dark.
The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance Page 91
