The Rake to Ruin Her

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Not a bit. I can’t get enough of touching you.’

  * * *

  They had repaired to their separate chambers while water was fetched. A few minutes later, she responded to his knock, bidding him to enter. He found her wrapped in a dressing gown, standing beside a steaming tub.

  ‘I was waiting for you to help me in.’ She surveyed his coat and breeches with a frown. ‘But you’re not ready.’

  ‘Did you plan to wash me, too?’

  ‘If you like.’

  He imagined warm, wet silky skin, with her touching him all over. Hardening immediately, he said, ‘I should like it very much.’

  ‘Let me act as your valet, then.’

  And so she did...nearly driving him mad in the process. After peeling off his coat and waistcoat she took her time removing the remaining clothing, rubbing and stroking each new area of skin uncovered. His wrists and forearms, biceps and shoulders, chest and flat nipples that puckered under her touch as she removed his shirt. She pulled his breeches down over his bottom, opened her dressing gown and wrapped it around the two of them, hugging him close, rubbing her belly against his erection and the soft rounds of her breasts against his chest.

  After pulling his head down for an urgent kiss, she said, ‘We must climb in before the water gets too cold.’

  He helped her in and followed, sinking into the blessed heat. But before she could turn to face him, he lifted her to sit on his lap, facing away from him. Pulling her against him, he kissed and licked her neck, cupping her breasts to hold her against him in the gentle ebb and flow of the water.

  He found it delicious, exciting, and soon they were both panting with arousal. He lifted her, guided himself between her legs and anchored her against him with one hand cupping her mound, the other parting her curls to caress the little nub.

  ‘Please,’ she gasped. ‘This time, I want to feel you inside me.’

  ‘No, sweeting, we don’t need to take the risk. I can show you other ways to pleasure that will not endanger you.’

  In one swift motion, she levered herself off his lap, turned to straddle him and, before he realised what she was doing, thrust down hard, taking him deep within. He cried out as a wave of heated sensation engulfed him—the warmth of her body, her scent, the hot sweet tightness of her passage embracing him, rocking against him in the semi-weightlessness of the water. Taking his hand, she touched it to where their bodies joined.

  ‘See,’ she gasped. ‘Is this not...better still?’

  In the tiny part of his brain not overwhelmed with sensation, he knew he should push away and withdraw. But then she kissed him, her tongue ravishing his mouth as she wrapped her legs around his back and thrust against him again and again, rocking into him with the ebb and flow of the heated water.

  And then there was nothing but wetness and heat and ever-higher waves of sensation as the tension built and built until all he could do was kiss her back and clutch her to

  him and ride out the pleasure. Finally, she cried out and writhed against him while he pulsed and emptied himself deep within her.

  She sank back against him limply. Cradling her to his chest, he leaned back against the side of the tub, resting his head on the edge, his soul filled with a deep sense of peace.

  He had come home, he realised. There was nowhere else he’d rather be than right here, a wonderfully passionate Caro naked in his arms, his member sheathed in her.

  But no...he should not be sheathed in her! Conscious thought returning in a rush, he sat up straight. ‘Caro, sweeting, we mustn’t do this. I didn’t come back to place you at risk, but to—’

  ‘Hush,’ she said, putting a finger to his lips. ‘You don’t have to worry about that any more.’

  His nascent guilt subsiding, he relaxed back into the tub. ‘You’ve discovered the Curse is an illusion?’

  ‘No, I still believe it. But there’s no longer any reason for me to fear intimacy because...because I’m already with child.’

  His sleepy languor dispelling as effectively as if the bathwater had suddenly turned to ice, he cried, ‘With child! Caro, are you sure?’

  ‘Almost positive. I have all the signs and I’ve twice missed my courses.’

  Consternation displaced the sense of peace and well-

  being. ‘Devil take it, Caro, what are we to do?’

  ‘Nothing. There’s nothing that can be done now. Except, I hope, more of this.’ She rocked against him.

  Despite his dismay, a pulse of sensation throbbed through him, stiffening his member. Before he could form some response, she pressed a long soft kiss on his lips.

  ‘My dear Max, what happens now is in God’s hands. But if something untoward should transpire—’

  ‘Don’t even think it!’ he interrupted.

  ‘—then I should like to know that I had tasted all the sweetness life can offer. And nothing I have ever tasted is sweeter than this. Did you not find it wonderful, too?’

  ‘Yes,’ he affirmed. ‘It is indeed wonderful. But, Caro, shouldn’t you see a doctor? Let me take you to London with me when I go to meet with Colonel Brandon. Surely there’s a specialist there who could examine you and determine—’

  ‘No, Max. My cousin Anne consulted the best physician in London. He checked her carefully, laughed at her fears and told her there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. But there is some good news in all this; those few who do not succumb to the Curse seem to have no difficulty with subsequent births.’

  A frisson of hope lightened the weight of guilt and apprehension. ‘That is good news. We shall just assume that you will fall in that group.’ And so he would maintain, to ease her fears, if nothing else.

  She nodded. ‘I’m not going to spend the next few months looking over my shoulder for the Grim Reaper, but savouring every bit of enjoyment life has to offer. Won’t you help me?’

  What else could he do, but try to make these next months happy for her? Though he would never have knowingly put her at risk, if he had not called up every charm and trick he knew to seduce her that long-ago night at Denby, she might have resisted him...and not now be facing this test. ‘Of course.’

  ‘And, Max...I know you have no desire to be a father. I’ll try to make sure that the child isn’t a burden to you.’

  Another little shock zinged him. In his concern for Caro’s health, it hadn’t really registered that, at the end of it all, he would be a father. He could hardly think of anyone less suited, he thought, his dismay and apprehension deepening.

  Those emotions must have been writ clear on his face, for Caro laughed softly. ‘It won’t be as bad as all that. The farm is a wonderful place for a child to grow up. Don’t worry; on your visits, he will only be presented to you when he’s on his best behaviour, his face freshly washed and his nankeens clean.’

  Her eyes glowed as she spoke about the child...his son. ‘You are happy about the prospect?’

  ‘I love it,’ she said simply.

  He wished he could avow some excitement of his own...but his tongue seemed stuck to his teeth. He realised it probably hurt Caro that he was unable to respond with enthusiasm about the child she now seemed eager to bear, but he’d never dissembled to her.

  He’d concentrate on handling one challenge at a time. While he tried to dredge up some anticipation for being a father, he’d work to keep Caro’s spirits cheerful...and try to persuade her to see that London physician.

  Suddenly he was conscious of how cold the bathwater had become. ‘Come, we’d better get you out before you catch a chill.’

  She let him help her out. After they’d both wrapped up in thick robes, she said, her tone wistful, ‘Could I ask a favour?’

  Ignoring a stab of alarm, he said, ‘What would my lady have of me?’

  ‘Sleep in my bed tonight. Let me touch you, taste you...everywhere.’

  Max blew out a relieved breath. ‘Willingly. Though I suppose we must dress and dine first.’

  ‘I’ll order a tray. I want to di
ne with you clad only in your dressing gown, knowing there is nothing beneath it but skin, every inch of which you are going to allow me to explore.’

  Amazingly, he felt desire rising again at the thought of Caro touching him, tasting him.

  ‘Then I am at your service.’

  So, wrapped in dressing gowns—he imagining as eagerly as Caro her dining with nothing but bare skin beneath the soft covering of her robe—they huddled together on the sofa in her sitting room. Once the food arrived, Max discovered he was starving and fell upon the cold ham, cheese, biscuits and ale with enthusiasm.

  They talked of the investigation in Vienna, the success of Caro’s sale at Denby Lodge, the pedigrees of the new mares she’d just purchased and the prospects for the foaling season to come.

  Finally, replete, he took Caro’s hand and kissed the fingertips. ‘Now, my dear wife, to bed.’

  ‘Finished at last, my lord glutton?’ she teased. ‘I hope your appetite for other pleasures is equally robust.’

  ‘I shall be delighted to demonstrate just how insatiable I can be,’ he promised.

  ‘Good.’ Taking his hand, she led him through the door into the bedchamber. Slipping beside him on the bed, she guided him back against the pillows and tugged his robe open. ‘Now, it is my turn to gorge myself.’

  And she did, beginning at his toes, stroking, nipping, suckling and tasting, in a long slow assault that had him breathing hard by the time she reached his ankles and gasping by the time she reached his knees. His fingers clutched the linens as she worked his thighs, parting them, stroking, kneading them with her fingers. His aching member jutted up proudly when she reached it, his body already dewed in perspiration at the thought of what she might do there.

  She rubbed her face against him, wrapped his hardness in the silk of her hair up to the smooth tip, then traced the tiny opening with her fingertip and her tongue, caressing the sacs beneath with a silken brush of strands, before taking him in her mouth.

  His hands splayed on the bed, his back arched, he moaned and cried out as she explored him, tasted him, devoured him. Just when he felt he couldn’t hold on another second, she climbed up and straddled him, thrust him deep inside and rode him, her beautiful full breasts jutting above him.

  Afterward, he pulled up the bed linens and wrapped her in his arms, too full of awe to speak. What a wonder she was, shy yet brazen, calm and patient with her horses, yet sensual and demanding. Intelligent, inquisitive, thoughtful, an expert in her realm, though she focused on pursuits unlike those of any woman he’d ever known.

  Uniquely Caro. His Caro.

  * * *

  Max woke several times in the night, to find Caro touching him—her lips to his, or her hands tracing the muscles of his chest, or her fingers exploring the contours of his manhood, nuzzling his chest as it swelled at her caress. He showed her how he could pleasure her as she lay on her side with him behind her, stroking into her while her tender nub and breasts lay open to his touch. In the dark of early morning, he kissed her from sleep and cradled her beneath him, her legs wrapped around his back as he thrust deep and hard, driving her into the softness of the mattress.

  Finally, one last time as dawn began to light the sky, he insisted it was his turn to taste and explore her. He began at her temples, licking and sampling, moving down to

  her chin, the hollow of her throat, the tender skin beneath her ears. While he kissed her, he slid his hand down to cup her mound, parted her moist folds to caress the plump nub within, slipped a finger inside and back out, massaging mound and nub and passage. Continuing his gentle efforts there, while she gasped and murmured, he moved lower to lick her shoulders, her collarbone, her elbows, her wrists. After tasting her breasts again, he proceeded to her belly, nibbling on her hip bones, licking the deep recess of her belly button until she shattered against his fingers.

  Giving her a few moments for her ragged breath to steady, he set off again, this time to the silk of her inner thigh. He revelled in the warmth and scent of her, his goal almost within reach. Finally finding what he craved, he circled her nub with his tongue, suckled it, raked his teeth over it.

  By now, she was gasping and straining against him, but he refused to hurry. Wanting to inflame her by gradual degrees, he slowed the rhythm as he licked and stroked her passage, intoxicated by the taste of her, almost painfully aroused by the thought of being embraced within her heat as she reached her climax.

  But before he could tease her over the edge, she pushed at his shoulders, urging him back. ‘Go with me,’ she pleaded.

  Drawing himself up, he entered her as she wrapped her legs around him to hold him deep. For sweet exquisite moments, they moved together, one flesh, one purpose, one goal. At last, she cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders, as his seed burst within her.

  Exhausted now, they lay spent in each other’s arms and slept.

  * * *

  It was nearly noon when they finally woke. Looking out of the window at the full daylight, Caro groaned. ‘I must do some work, I fear. Though with you here, I wish never to leave my bed!’

  ‘It will still be here later...and so will I,’ he assured her.

  To his delight, she asked him shyly if he’d like to accompany her to the stables. He quickly agreed, marvelling how she could be so reticent about that when she seemed not at all embarrassed to descend the stairs with him at nearly noon and demand a plate of bread and cheese from servants who must know what they’d been doing abed all those hours.

  * * *

  Content to stand at the rail and observe Caro’s expertise, he found the routine of training as fascinating as ever. When he complimented her on her skill in soothing the skittish young mare she’d been working, she said, ‘It’s easy, really. You just have to observe what she’s telling you with her neck and ears and haunches, and move at her pace. Would you like to try?’

  ‘I’m a rank novice,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want to make a mistake and set back her training.’

  ‘You won’t. Horses are very forgiving, if they sense you mean them well. I’ll show you what to do.’

  And so he proceeded to the centre of the paddock, where she taught him how to hold the lead rein, how much pressure to apply from it to the mare’s halter, what verbal commands to use.

  Then she had him stand behind her, his hands on the reins along with hers, while he tested and mastered the touch. After several circuits around the ring, she removed her hands, letting him do it on his own.

  The mare continued to circle on command, just as she had for Caro.

  ‘Excellent,’ she told him. ‘See, you do have the touch.’

  He felt a glow of pride at her praise, even though, with her standing before him, her warm round bottom rubbing against his legs, he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on technique.

  Finally he abandoned the attempt altogether, dropping the reins and wrapping her in his arms. Murmuring, she leaned into him and pulled one of his hands down to cup her breeches.

  Amused and tantalised by her boldness, he caressed her, his member leaping when she shivered under his touch. Whirling her around, he gave her an open-mouthed kiss, his heart exulting.

  Who could have imagined he would find Venus in an old pair of breeches and her father’s worn riding boots? The angle of her cheekbones, the contour of her lips, the sleek curve of her hips and roundness of bosom; the scent of her hair and skin, the taste of her mouth; everything about her intoxicated him. He wanted to inhale and devour and savour.

  Breaking free with a mischievous glance, she snatched up the lead rein. ‘We’ll set her free in the meadow and take the tack back to the barn.’

  After turning the mare loose, they walked inside to hang up the reins, leads and halter. Caro looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked.

  ‘Bed,’ he answered promptly. ‘Or tea, like yesterday’s.’

  ‘Beds are very nice,’ she agreed. ‘But I’ve alw
ays loved the scent of the barn...all that sweet, fresh hay, forked into mounds as soft as a feather mattress.’ Slowly she wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

  His body responded instantly. He couldn’t banish the threat of what might happen in seven months. But he would willingly give her all the pleasure she wished for now.

  ‘Soft as a feather mattress?’ he repeated, pulling her into the nearest box stall, empty now that all the horses had been loosed in the pastures. Turning to face him, she plucked open the buttons of jacket and blouse and bared her breasts. ‘Are you thinking of these?’ she murmured.

  With an incoherent growl, he bent and drew one taut nipple into his mouth, raking it with his teeth, while she arched her neck, gasping. Her fingers fumbled for the buttons of his trouser flap, wrenched them open, found him hard and eager.

  His breathing grew ragged and his pulse accelerated as she stroked him while he suckled her. Finally, lifting his head to kiss her lips urgently, he half-walked, half-stumbled with her to the mound of hay in the corner of the box. After pulling off her boots, he settled himself into the fragrant cushion. With hands now trembling with eagerness, he pulled down her breeches while she unbuttoned his trouser flap, then lifted her to straddle him and guided her on to his lap. They both gasped as his hot, hard member touched her moist folds. Seizing his shoulders, she kissed him and thrust down hard, taking him deep.

  His breath coming fast and hard, he cradled her soft bottom, pulling her tightly against him as he moved slowly within her. Whimpering, she tried to speed the pace, but he wouldn’t let her, maintaining instead a steady, barely quickening rhythm that soon had her crying out with every thrust, until she spasmed around him and he followed her over the brink.

  For a few moments, Max lay back, lazy and replete, twining her braids around the fingers of one hand while he trailed the fingers of the other over her breasts, admiring their voluptuous fullness, the nipples cherry-red from his teeth and tongue.

  ‘You continue to amaze me,’ he murmured.

  ‘I can’t seem to help myself. It’s no wonder full knowledge of lovemaking is kept from maidens. If they knew it could be like this, there would never be another virgin bride.’