Secret Pleasures

by Cheryl Howe

  “I never stopped craving you, Darien.” She pressed her hand over his and guided his long fingers in between her thighs, her heat apparent. She could feel the cloth growing damp.

  “Show me what you like.” He nibbled on her ear.

  With her hand on top of his, she guided his long finger to touch her wet heat, penetrate her swollen lips. She leaned her head on his shoulders, springing to her toes to help him move in and out with testing thrusts. Her inner muscles tensed to grasp his shallow strokes.

  Ivy had always imagined Darien’s amorous experimentation over the years had been less than her own. When with the duke, he had always done everything in a rational, intellectual way. There wasn’t a noted book on the art of sexual pleasure Ivy had not read, and few experiences she had not tried. Darien had always been blatantly sexual, the way she remembered, but too loyal to have trifled with many women. If he had a woman of his own over these years, he’d no doubt have married her.

  Ivy warned her mind not to think and just allow this to…Then Darien touched a sensitive spot on the front of her pelvis that even Ivy had trouble finding, and she exploded around his fingers in a thousand convulsions. She gasped against the intense pleasure, only just swallowing a harsh cry of release. Darien held her while she trembled and slowly returned to her tingling senses. He eased his grip from around her waist and drew his wet fingers from her body, setting her on her feet. As she recovered from her shocking and unexpected undoing, he at least had the good grace to wait, breathing heavily against her neck.

  “I want to look into your eyes,” he said, his husky breath filling the quiet room. The fire crackled and if she tried hard enough, Ivy could hear Melody sleeping soundly in the corner.

  Ivy tried to stand under her own power, her legs still trembling from her shockingly unexpected and intense orgasm. Nothing of her relationship with Darien had ever gone as expected. She turned to face him and tried to sound cavalier.

  “And I want to see you. All of you. I never have.”

  “I know.” He stepped back, putting some space between them and rid himself of his pants, underclothes and wool socks.

  Darien was lean but well muscled. Perhaps that might be why he seemed abnormally endowed. Ivy stared directly at his cock and was shocked by the new swarm of lust that tightened her satiated body to an unbearable throb. It was as if she had not experienced release at all. His cock stood out thick and large, perhaps looking all the more solid because of his flat stomach and slim hips.

  He stood before Ivy without moving. She cautiously approached him, touched his shoulders. She ran her hand over the dark line of hair that ran down his chest, and when he did not stop her, she wrapped her hand around his thick base. Pure heat surged his length, making him undoubtedly painfully full. His balls were so tight they grazed her knuckles.

  He gasped then grasped her hand. Instead of moving her away, he moved her hand to cup his balls. He closed her hand firmly around them.

  “That was nice, but I like this more.”

  Ivy followed his guidance and massaged him while she kissed his neck, then his nipples. He moaned, his hips swaying to the rhythm of her caressing grip.

  “This would be even better with my mouth around your cock.” And if she dare accuse him of pandering, she would remind him of his adept fingers. She wanted to see him lose control as thoroughly as she had.

  “Later maybe,” he said so calmly it gave Ivy a moment to pause and not expect her chemise to be yanked over her head. She wore only white stockings with pink lace garters and her sturdy ankle boots she preferred for travel.

  Darien wrapped his hand around her waist.

  “Let’s dance,” he said and grabbed her hand. “I dearly wanted to at the ball.” To her shock he jaunted off in a bit of a jig, ending with twirling her around. The freedom of movement, dancing stark naked, stole her breath. He twirled her a second time and she had to suppress her laughter, fearing she would wake Melody. When he faced her again, he clamped her against him. He pressed his fierce erection into the soft skin of her belly.

  “Ahh,” he sighed. “If only society allowed this dance, formal social gatherings would be so much more interesting.”

  “Oh, they had it at the masquerade ball. Did you miss it? I believe on that particular evening, I last saw you kissing a voluptuous dairymaid?” She didn’t bother to hide her sneer of jealousy. Her imaginary Darien who had lived like a monk since their parting was merely that, imaginary. He had allowed the woman at the masquerade to entice him to join the fray, had he not? Over his head, indeed.

  He smiled and danced her backwards, rubbing his cock against her in a smooth rhythm that had to be driving him mad with lust.

  He pushed her backwards onto the bed, then dropped to his knees while yanking her forward with a firm grip on her thighs. Ivy’s shocked gasps turned into giggles when he swirled his tongue in her belly button. She shoved at his shoulders, but he had already moved on to removing her shoes and stockings. Once he had her completely naked, he slipped his hands under her thighs and drug her down to the end of the bed. He knelt on the floor and parted her swollen lips. Ivy glanced at Melody sleeping peacefully in her crib then tried to remember not to scream before she surrendered to the pleasure Darien eagerly offered.

  Darien kissed her then flicked the tip of his tongue over her still swollen clitoris. He draped her legs over his shoulders, opening her for his onslaught. Ivy lay back and massaged her breasts, needing her own touch to ease the sensual ache Darien was creating.

  “This isn’t exactly fair, you know. Ahh.”

  He worked his tongue rhythmically over her painful aroused flesh, intense erotic heat flooding her limbs, making her light-headed. Her body tightened and Ivy feared she would come in short order. For the second time.

  “You are going to actually make love to me, aren’t you?” She tried to hold back the wave of uncontrollable pleasure that pulsed through her body.

  He slipped a finger inside and rode her until she was gasping. She tightened around him and could not stop her wail of release. This must be how a callow boy would feel at his first experience with the opposite sex. Darien had never once been a callow lad with her, and she felt slightly intimidated by how quickly he’d taken complete control of their encounter. She slowly opened her eyes. He was still on his knees kissing the inside of her thighs, her hips.

  “You certainly seem to know your way around the female anatomy, Lord Blackmore,” she said, slightly embarrassed by her abandon.

  “I think you just enjoy a talented tongue,” he said with a satisfied grin.

  She struggled to her elbows, painfully aware that she did, but never ever with the absolute abandon she had just experienced with Darien. No, this was different.

  “I want to check on Melody one more time.”

  “She’s fine. I’m sure she’ll let us know when she’s awake.” Darien crawled over her. “Lay back down.”

  He slid her across the bed and covered her body with his. His chest brushed her nipples and her body reacted with pure carnal longing. She would finally feel Darien moving inside her. He kissed her deeply, braced his hands on the sides of her head, poised above her. She spread her thighs and he took full advantage of the invitation, parting her sensitive lips with his unyielding cock. He gripped beneath the knees, spreading her, and holding her in place.

  Darien rocked against her, taking her in agonizing quarter inches. She longed to surge against him, but he held her trapped and vulnerable to his erotic torture. He hovered above her, watching her face while he moved his body in a slow incremental rhythm, never fully penetrating her.

  The anticipation of having him solidly inside her tightened Ivy’s pelvis all over again. She tried to grip each of his shallow thrusts, urging him deeper, to end the anticipation that had been dragged out for an eternity. Delicious torture.

  He closed his eyes and his breathing increased. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. Still he kept the pace of his rhythmic shallow thrusts.
A sheen of sweat formed on his chest, on his tense forearms.

  She touched his face and he turned his head and sucked a finger into her mouth.

  “Hold my hands.” He shifted positions, entwined his fingers in hers then thrust forward as he pulled her down, burying his cock to the hilt. He had adjusted his weight to his knees so he had the power of his bent legs to ride her hard and deep.

  Her hands slipped from his slick grip. He grabbed her wrists, tightening his grip with each of his powerful thrusts. His movements quickened and Ivy felt her body teeter on the brink again.

  Abruptly he slowed, returning to a teasing shallow thrust, keeping Ivy on the edge of release.

  “Let me up. It’s your turn.” If she could reach his balls or use her mouth on him, they would turn the tables and he would be the one screaming for mercy.

  He pulled out and let her lower her legs. He was breathing heavily and his cock was still fiercely aroused. She cupped him and his balls were tight against his body.

  She gripped him as he showed her before.

  “Like this,” she said, and licked her lips, knowing the very idea of what she was about to do would surely put him over the edge.

  “Not yet, Ivy.” He shifted them both so Ivy was lying lengthwise on the bed, with her head on the pillow. He rolled her, pulled back the sheets as if he intended to tuck her in for the night. “I haven’t even begun to take my fill of you. Get comfortable.”

  Before she could rearrange the pillow, he crawled on top of her, kissed her deeply, then entered her with short testing thrusts. And their dance began again.

  ***

  Ivy gripped the bedpost for support. Darien cupped her breast and thrust gently from behind.

  “How’s that?” he said into her hair. “Too deep still?”

  “I won’t be able to walk today,” she said, her body languidly satisfied and sticky.

  Her heavy lids lowered but the light-blue mist creeping in the window brought her instantly awake.

  “Darien, it’s almost dawn. Melody will be up soon. She should have been up already.”

  He lowered his hand and massaged the overly sensitive nub between her swollen folds.

  “You are wasting your time. I can only come so many times.” His persistence and stamina through the night had shocked her.

  “But it feels good, doesn’t it? This. Me.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, not willing to give up the sensation of Darien buried inside her, moving slowly, gently, unable to get enough of her though he had already had three orgasms himself.

  She heard a gurgle from the crib.

  “Darien.” Ivy tried to break away before Melody’s warning whimper turned into full fledged screams. “She’ll be hungry.”

  He rocked against her, lifting up on each little thrust to get deeper inside her. The head of his cock rubbed against the inner walls of her pelvis, hitting an erotic spot he’d helped her discover tonight. She shivered and her body tightened. Oh, no. “Darien. Please.”

  “I fed her last night.” His voice grew more hoarse, one of the few signs he gave that he was about to come. Again.

  “You fed her last night? When?” Darien’s rhythmic rocking was making Ivy’s thigh’s tingle.

  “When you fell asleep.” Darien kissed her neck, the curve of her shoulder, his breathing ragged against her raw skin. Every inch of her was chapped from Darien’s thorough lovemaking. “When I carried up the bread and cheese. You dozed off.”

  Melody’s gurgling began to increase to a series of short shrill complaints. Not cries, but warning, searching shots.

  “Darien.” Ivy tensed.

  “One minute and I’ll get some fresh sheep’s milk for her.”

  Darien wrapped the hand he’d been using to massage her soft folds around her waist and plunged deeply into her. Ivy’s body coiled around him on the brink herself, but only teased by his gentle earlier probe. He pulled out and plunged again, pressing Ivy against the bed post. Melody let out her first serious scream, covering Darien’s nearly soundless moan into her hair. She felt his body shudder and his hot seed filled her, teasing her with barely eluded release.

  He withdrew and jumped off the bed. Ivy didn’t move nearly as quickly. She caught her breath and slid down onto the tangled sheets.

  Darien scooped up Melody, who miraculously hushed. The man definitely had a way with women. After thoroughly making love to her all night long, he left her still wanting him.

  He laid Melody in her arms then kissed the top of Ivy’s head. “I’ll heat some milk for chocolate. You still like that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. But, I’ll get up.” Ivy eased out of bed, every muscle aching. She maneuvered into a silk robe, Melody blinking happily in the crook of her arm. Though she would love nothing more than to lie about in bed all day, be served fresh baked scones with orange marmalade and rich hot chocolate, Melody needed to be fed and changed.

  Darien pulled on his clothes. “Evelyn and her daughters will be over today to help you stock the kitchen. She’ll be glad to fetch you anything you need from the village. I need to check on my herds.”

  Ivy gravitated to the window, the sky a soft pink. She had not been up this early in…ever, actually.

  Darien yanked on his boots and strolled to Ivy, who bounced Melody in her arms. “You get some rest today, hmm? Both of you.” He hugged her and Melody, wrapping them both in his strong arms. “Ivy, know one thing. Last night was worth the wait.”

  A flood of happiness Ivy could not ever imagine experiencing rushed through her. She glanced down at Melody, and for the first time thought that perhaps all those years apart from Darien, all her crushed dreams, had been worth something: This one single moment.

  …convinced as I was that I would never share that type of bond with my betrothed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ivy wiped her hands on the white apron Evelyn had loaned her while they all scrubbed Darien’s neglected house. Though the idea had crossed Ivy’s mind that she could afford to hire help, even if Darien could not, she knew to even mention such a thing might offend these kind people. Evelyn and Hank, and the other Westhaven tenants, had been Darien’s extended family these past years.

  Darien sat outside with Hank in two straight-backed chairs eating homemade pasties stuffed with mincemeat and onions. The scent of their freshly baked lunch wafted through the open door.

  “Look, she’s trying to smile,” cried Hannah, who sat at the kitchen table, bouncing Melody on her lap.

  Ivy turned from the stone sink where she rinsed dust from her hands before digging into her own awaiting meat pasty. One corner of Melody’s mouth lifted a bit, and then she seemed startled, obviously unsure of the sensation. She kicked her feet and legs, squealing happily.

  “What a girl she is.” Evelyn popped her head behind her daughter’s shoulder, coaxing Melody to take another try at a grin.

  In the last three days, they had turned Darien’s little house into a home. Ivy had pitched in learning to warm meals in the open brick stove and to care for Melody, who grew stronger every day. Evelyn asked few questions about Ivy’s circumstance. If Evelyn wondered why someone who had hardly heated tea in the last decade had suddenly decided to live like a farmer’s wife, she hid her curiosity behind her patient instructions. Of course, they all assumed Melody was Darien’s daughter.

  “When was she born?” Hannah asked innocently enough.

  “A couple of months ago,” Ivy said too quickly. She had never even considered the date of Melody’s birth. Ivy’s answer was entirely too vague for such a momentous occasion in a woman’s life.

  “No, what day of the week?” Hannah laughed as if Ivy’s answer was just another ridiculous aristocratic blunder. Hannah especially had good-naturedly enjoyed Ivy’s lack of practical household skills.

  “Monday.” Ivy must consult an almanac and pick an actual day for future predicaments. And now she must make it a Monday.

  “Monday’s child is fair of
face.” Evelyn returned to cutting potatoes for the stew she was making for their dinner.

  “She must take after you, Miss Ivy,” Hannah grinned. “Though she does have Lord Blackmore’s eyes.

  “Why don’t you take the men some more ale, Ivy?” Evelyn hung a heavy kettle of stew from the iron hook in the stone fireplace.

  Ivy retrieved the pitcher, thankful for Evelyn’s rescue. Evelyn had also kindly skirted around the nature of her relationship with Darien. Though from what Evelyn didn’t say, Ivy suspected Evelyn was very aware of Ivy and Darien’s past. She would have to concoct a proper story before she arrived in Italy.

  Ivy forced those thoughts away. The day was wonderfully warm with a soft breeze rustling the trees. When Ivy did not find Darien and Hank in the chairs by the creek, she wandered around the cottage, sure they hadn’t gone far. Their half-eaten lunch remained on their empty seats.

  A gleaming mahogany carriage pulled by six fine, well-groomed horses dominated Darien’s dusty drive. Hank stood back, admiring the handsome animals more than the expensive carriage. Darien braced his hands on the polished wood and chatted casually with the occupant. His smile proved that at least the intruder was not his father. In any event, she wondered if their illusions of the quiet country life were about to be shattered.

  Darien spotted Ivy and waved her over. She set the crockery pitcher on the porch and took off her apron. Her hunter green day dress sported a large encrusted stain. To her dismay, two of the onyx buttons that lined the gown’s front were missing. Ivy tried to tuck a few stray tangles into her hastily rolled twist. Her hair had not been arranged properly since she’d left London. Without her mantle of coifed elegance, she felt vulnerable, like the young girl she had been, invited to the earl’s estate for the first time.

  A woman leaned out the carriage window and Ivy’s breakfast of porridge almost came up. Darien’s sister had aged in the last twenty or so years, but if anything, she looked more like Darien’s mother. Not that Ivy had ever met Lilian Blackmore Fitzgerald. Ivy had only seen her solitary portrait hanging in a cool marble hall flanked by Grecian statues. Darien’s sister had been the first Blackmore offspring to be banished from the estate.