by Jaide Fox
He caught her wrists, manacling them to the mattress as he continued to torment her with the heat and adhesion of his mouth, the faint abrasion of his tongue until she was gasping hoarsely, felt herself teetering on the verge of release.
She didn't know what was worse, the exquisite, piercing pleasure produced from the flicking of his tongue against that most sensitive nub, or when he alternated his attentions to her tight passage. The thrust of his tongue deep inside made her cry out hoarsely, had her squirming against his mouth, her feet moving restlessly against the mattress.
His tongue undulated, and his nose rubbed erotically against her clit, wringing whimpers from her throat.
"Darcy,” she cried, her hands clenching and unclenching, her hips bucking against him. “I am ... dying. Oh ... Darcy ... please!"
Abruptly, rapture exploded inside her, dragging a sharp, ragged cry from her throat. Her muscles flexed convulsively, and she nearly strangled on a whimper at the loss of his mouth upon her. He rose above her then, as a climax reared inside her. She spread her thighs as widely as possible, eager to be filled by his breadth and heat. His hips grazed the sensitive surface of her inner thighs as he pressed the head of his cock against her opening and thrust fully inside her, her womb's moisture easing his tight entrance but not nearly enough. She gasped as an abrasive but wholly welcome pain rippled along her inner muscles as he sank to the hilt. Bronte gripped his arms tightly, scarcely realizing she dug her nails into his biceps.
He groaned, long and loudly, eliciting a shiver of warmth throughout her insides.
Scooping her into his arms, he sat up, pressing upward steadily as he pushed down on her hips until he was so deep inside of her she could barely catch her breath. She sat astride his lap, gasping, feeling the muscles of her passage quaking around his hard length. He lifted her slightly away from him, then arched upward again, guiding her until she found the rhythm that pleased them both, clutching her tightly as she moved.
In this position, she could touch him as she longed to, watch his face, feel every tremor of his body. The intimacy warmed her, laid bare her soul in a way she never thought possible.
Looping her arms around his neck, she titled her face upward and tenderly kissed his jaw, nibbling at him as she caught his movement and began to move with more surety. She watched his face contort with quickening desire, drawing pleasure from that that she gave until she felt her body begin to quake once more with imminent release.
As abruptly as he'd pulled her upright, he twisted. Laying her back against the bed, he took control, began to thrust harder and deeper, faster. Culmination burst upon her explosively, harder than before. It radiated from that point of joining, deep inside, alighting nerve endings in an explosion of sensation. Lights flickered behind her closed lids, dancing like fireflies. Her blood thrummed, called to life by his rhythmic pounding. She called his name and he caught her cries of ecstasy with his mouth, groaning as his own body reached its peak and he found release with an explosion not unlike her own.
Gathering her tightly to him, he rolled onto his back. Bronte lay draped limply on top of him, struggling to catch her breath, listening to the comforting pounding of his heart beneath her cheek as she drifted away on a tide of expended bliss.
Chapter Twenty One
It had seemed to Bronte when she had told her coachman to return for her in a sennight that she was placing too much on faith, that the three of them could not share so small a space under such circumstances without falling afoul of one another's temper. She thought, perhaps, that she'd hoped to find that prolonged proximity would prove that they simply could not deal together well. She had thought that the inevitable quarrels and the competitiveness of Darcy and Nick would make leaving easier.
Instead, they spent their days going about the mundane chores necessary for a modicum of comfort—gathering firewood, or chopping it for the fireplaces; preparing meals; joking, playing pranks upon each other; walking in the woods ... making love.
Bronte didn't know whether to be grateful for the gift she'd received or not, for as each day passed, her dread of leaving grew. She did not want to go. She especially did not want to leave Nick and Darcy, but she knew she really had no choice. As wonderful as it had been to stay with them in the little hunting cabin in the woods, they could not stay forever. Each of them had responsibilities in the real world outside the woods—homes, estates, servants, business interests. These could not be neglected indefinitely and, unfortunately, there was no place in England that the three of them could be together.
She wasn't even certain if it was a thing to be desired. She loved them, but it was unfair to both of them to expect them to share her affections when each deserved the undivided, adoring attention of someone of their own.
As for herself, she hoped she could be content. The truth was, she would never have found true happiness without them, and the time she'd spent with them had not changed that. She might find passion. She might find contentment, but she didn't think she could ever find anyone that she could love as much as she did them.
When the day at last arrived for her departure, she packed her trunk and tried to fortify her spirits to take leave of them without regrets, without leaving them with regrets of their own.
Darcy and Nick were playing a hand of cards when she left the room in her traveling clothes. Darcy noticed her first, pausing as he tossed a card onto the table. “You're leaving?"
She managed a smile. “I've stayed far longer than I should have. I have to go."
Nick turned to survey her attire. “Returning to London?"
Her smile wavered. “I'm going home."
His brows rose. Something flickered in his eyes. “Your mother is still in London, is she not?"
Bronte realized that he'd misunderstood her. He thought she meant to return to her mother's home in the country. Resisting the urge to correct him, she managed a shrug. “I don't expect the scandal has died down much in so short a time. She'll probably be more comfortable if I don't return to London."
He tossed his cards on the table, rising as the sound of an arriving carriage was heard outside, and moved toward her. She went into his embrace readily, hugging him tightly. “I will miss you so dreadfully."
He chuckled. “But not for long."
She swallowed with an effort. “No."
Pulling a little away from him, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Darcy dragged her away from Nick, wrapping his arms around her tightly and rocking her slightly. “Will you miss me, too?"
"Infinitely,” she said with an effort, lifting her face to kiss him as well.
They walked her to the carriage and helped her inside while the footman stowed her trunk. She leaned out the window as the carriage pulled away, waving. “Tell Moreland that his wager is forfeit, for you are both the very best that England has to offer!” she called out to them.
Nick shook his head disapprovingly, but Darcy only laughed.
She allowed herself to cry then. It was a relief and long in coming. When she'd cried herself out, she dried her eyes and took the small lap desk from beneath the seat, penning a letter to her mother to say that she was sorry she hadn't had the chance to go to see her once more before she left.
When she'd finished it, she sealed it and drew more paper out. The letters to Darcy and Nick were harder, but after several failed attempts, she'd managed to write each of them a letter that she was reasonably satisfied with.
Despite the coachman's best efforts, it was nearing dusk when they arrived at last at the seaside town and Bronte had grown anxious that she would miss her ship. To her relief, when they pulled into the harbor, it still bobbed at the quay, though she could see from the activity aboard that they were readying to set sail.
It was just as well, she reflected. She wasn't at all certain her nerves could take a prolonged leave taking. She did not think it likely that Nick or Darcy would come to look for her, but she didn't think she could bear having to explain to them in person what
she'd taken so many hours to explain on paper.
Almost as soon as the carriage rolled to a halt, the footmen leapt down and began removing her trunks and carrying them aboard. Stiff from the long ride, Bronte alit slowly, gathered her few belongings from inside the carriage and handed the letters to the coachman along with instructions on delivering them.
"Ye nearly missed the tide,” the captain of the vessel barked at her as she climbed the gang plank and stepped onto the rolling deck at last.
Bronte gave him an apologetic look. “We were delayed along the road."
He shrugged. “Ye made it, and that's all that matters.” Turning, he yelled at one of the sailors. “Show the lady to her cabin."
Bronte jumped when he shouted but refused to be intimidated. “I'd prefer to stay on deck a while."
"Suit yerself,” he muttered, stalking away and shouting orders as the sailors rushed around the deck readying the ship.
Looking around a little uneasily, Bronte finally spied a relatively calm area of the deck and moved to the railing, clutching it tightly as the ship lurched and began to move away from the docks. There was no one to see her off, of course. The traveling carriage had already departed.
Still, she couldn't bring herself to go below until distance and failing light finally hid England from her view. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she turned finally and picked her way carefully over the coils of rope until she reached the gangway. Clutching the railing, she began her descent.
"Your cabin is the one at the end,” said a voice behind her.
Startled, she turned to look up at the captain in surprise. “At the end? But .. isn't that usually the captain's cabin?"
He smiled wryly. “Not this trip."
Bronte frowned when he turned and strode away. She'd paid for comfortable accommodations, but she had certainly not expected to get the captain's cabin.
Shrugging finally, she placed one hand on the wall to steady herself and traversed the length of the ship. A light was burning inside the cabin she saw as she reached it, lifted the latch, and stepped inside.
"The view from the deck must have been better than I'd thought,” Nick drawled, startling a squeak of surprise out of Bronte. He was sitting in the captain's chair, his shirt open, his bare feet crossed on the top of the desk. She put a hand over her wildly fluttering heart, staring at him in confusion. “Nick!” she gasped, stunned.
"It'll be a while before she sees England again. I was half tempted to go up for a last look myself,” Darcy said.
Turning, Bronte saw that Darcy, in a similar state of dishabille, was propped against the bulkhead, his long legs stretched out before him on the wide bed that took up much of the room.
"Darcy?"
He grinned, sliding off the bunk and starting toward her.
"You didn't really think we were going to let you slip through our fingers again, did you?” Nick drawled, dropping his feet to the floor and closing in on her from the other direction.
"I don't understand,” Bronte managed to get out as they stopped on either side of her.
Nick placed a finger beneath her chin. Tipping her face up, he smiled down at her. “You are a very difficult woman, Bronte, but the only woman in this world for me. If you won't choose, you'll have to take us both."
Bronte's eyes widened. She glanced from Nick to Darcy and back again. “But you said that I had to choose between you."
"I was hoping you would, darlin', but you didn't."
"So ... you're both—how did you get here before me?” she asked suddenly.
Nick caught her arms and pulled her toward him. She looked up at him in surprise, and then over her shoulder as she felt a tug at the lacings of her dress. Darcy, in the process of unlacing her gown, winked at her.
Bronte's stomach curled into a heated knot of anticipation. Her mouth went dry.
She looked at Nick again. He was smiling faintly. “I paid your servants. You'll have to tell me what the coachman did to get you here precisely at the specified time. I only suggested that he use his imagination."
Bronte frowned, struggling with the comments. “You bribed my servants? How? When?"
His brows drew together thoughtfully. “Let me see ... two months ago?"
He was looking at Darcy questioningly and Bronte glanced at Darcy. “Sounds about right. Maybe two and half. It was right after the Sheffield's shindig."
"But ... you're not serious?"
Nick's dark brows rose. “Why would you think I am not perfectly serious?"
"But ... that was right after ... that was.... I had scarcely even arrived in London then."
"But,” Nick said pensively, “you were thoughtful enough to tell Darcy your plans and you'd already reminded us of how quickly you could retreat if things seemed to be getting out hand.” He shrugged. “We thought it best to hedge our bets,” he added, frowning in concentration as he pulled her gown from her shoulders. “Up or down?"
"What?"
"The gown. You remove it over the head? Or push it down?"
"Up,” Bronte responded instinctively.
He caught hold of the skirt, separated it from the underskirt, and tugged it off over her head. It caught on her bonnet. He disentangled the dress from the bonnet and tossed it aside. “This is a bit more complicated than I'd anticipated. We shall have to practice. Remember, Darcy. Bonnet first."
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Bronte bit her lip.
Responsive amusement gleamed in his eyes. “We thought it best not to bring the maid, but don't concern yourself. We'll get the hang of it."
Bronte frowned, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation of before as Nick looked her over and found the ties of her underskirts, loosing the ties and allowing them to drop around her ankles. “How did you know what ship I'd be sailing on? I didn't even know that myself until I had booked passage."
"It's our ship,” Darcy said absently.
Bronte glanced at him. He was frowning in concentration as he worked at the lacings of her corset. “Our?"
"One of mine and Nick's. We have four now."
Bronte was stunned. “Four? But, still, how could you know I would book passage on one of yours?"
Nick stroked her cheek affectionately, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “We didn't have to, sweetheart. I paid your coachman to bring you to this ship."
"Oh.” She looked down as Darcy tugged her corset down her hips, taking her pantaloons with it, and discovered that she was down to shoes, stockings and chemise.
Nick caught the bottom of the chemise and tugged it up. She lifted her arms, allowing him to pull it over her head. She felt the heat of Darcy's body as he moved closer, skating his hands down her back to her buttocks and a shiver of sensation went through her.
Nick stepped closer, grasping a breast in each hand and kneading them. Leaning down, he plucked at first one nipple and then the other, until they were both standing rigidly erect. He covered the engorged peaks one at the time, sucking on them in an unhurried fashion that made her knees go weak, made her breath catch in her throat.
Behind her, she felt Darcy's faintly abrasive cheeks as he nuzzled his face over her buttocks, kneading them as Nick had her breasts, placing nibbling kisses over the tender surfaces.
After a moment, they ceased to tease her, led her to the bed and urged her to sit. Kneeling, each of them took one foot and lifted it to remove the shoe. Bronte placed her hands behind her, propping herself on her arms, watching them as they massaged her feet briefly and their gazes, almost as one, moved along her legs to the apex of her thighs. Her belly clenched. After a long moment, Nick reached for a garter and removed it. Darcy slid his hand down her leg to her mound, carefully smoothing the damp tangle of curls back, parting her nether lips.
She gasped as she felt his fingers slip in the moisture along her cleft, her eyes slid closed, but he removed his hand after only a moment. Pulling her leg wider, he removed the other garter and began rolling the stocking down as Nick remove
d her other stocking from her foot, massaged it briefly, and leaned down to suck her toes. Her belly clenched, jumped with delighted shock.
After a moment, he lowered her leg and stood up, shrugging out of his shirt. When Darcy released her other leg and stood, she scooted back on the bed, watching them as they undressed, marveling at how absolutely magnificent their bodies were.
When Nick had stepped out of his breeches, he climbed onto the bed beside her, skating a hand over her body from the thatch of curls that covered her mound to her breasts. Leaning down, he covered the tip of one breast with his mouth, massaging her other breast and teasing the nipple with his fingers.
Bronte uttered a sound of pleasure as the heat of his mouth covered the achingly sensitive bud. She felt Darcy's hands on her thighs. Pushing them apart, he worked a trail of love bites along the inside of one thigh, nuzzled his face against her mound and then parted her nether lips with one hand and dragged his tongue along her cleft to her clit. She lost her breath as his tongue moved over her it teasingly, building the moisture that seeped from her lips until she could feel it slip in a tickling trail down her cleft to her buttocks.
Wrapping one arm around Nick, she reached blindly for Darcy, stroking his shoulder as he stroked her clit with his tongue, sucked it, sending keen jolts of pleasure through her to join the fiery waves of pleasure coursing through her at Nick's attentive caresses. Within moments, she felt her body racing toward climax. She fought it, trying to hold on to the pleasurable sensations a little longer.
She found she could not hold it at bay. The muscles along her passage began to quake and spasm, spreading a tide of hot ecstasy through her body and dragging cries of release from her. She went perfectly limp when the echoes began to die away, hardly even aware of Darcy as he moved up the bed to lie beside her.
She tasted herself on his lips as he kissed her, felt her belly tighten in response, already warming, wanting more.
