The Coachman's Daughter

by Gayle Eden

“You did that once, with your father?”

  “Yes. He made sure I was familiar with the workings of the estate. I used to—”

  “Enjoy it?”

  “Umm.”

  She raised her head to see him slumped in the corner, comfortable with his head cushioned by his coat, arms crossed and one leg in the seat, his other foot braced on the floor.

  His legs were long and well-muscled. His trousers were snug and she allowed her gaze to move up to where his silk shirt was tucked into the waistband.

  “Did you really hold my cock?”

  She jerked her eyes to his face. His lashes were just barely open.

  “No. But I have seen you necked.”

  In seductive tones, he whispered, “And does it please you, my body?”

  “Are you feeding your vanity?”

  “No.” He moistened his lips. The action captured her attention. “Yours pleases me. I liked the way you touched me too.”

  “You’re a beautiful man with a beautiful body.” She admitted in a low tone. “You know that.”

  He unfolded his arms and one hand went down to casually lay over his groin. His black hair was a mess, tumbling over his brows. He looked very much the decadent rake. “I’m glad you’re not shy”

  “I may be.”

  He smiled. It was maddeningly sensual. “You are attracted to me. You called my body beautiful. That tells me any boldness on my part will please you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Deme rubbed his hand over his groin slowly, his gaze still on her. “I’m not shy.”

  Tingles spread over her. Her skin flushed. She glanced from his hand to his face.

  His knee rocked outward, spreading his thighs a bit. It was obvious his sex was hard and outlined under his palm.

  She wet her lips, “When will we reach the first manor.”

  “About three more hours.” He spoke lazily. “Why?”

  “I was just—making conversation.”

  His white grin was knowing.

  Haven rolled her head back a moment and then regarded him under her lashes. He was all rake sprawled like that, clothing and hair in dishevel and hand over his sex, rubbing it.

  He said, “You won’t be shy by the time you’re ready to be my lover.”

  Grunting Haven murmured, “Have you any idea how arrogant you sound when you say it like that.” She blew out a breath. He was making the coach hot. Making her body hot. And, he knew it.

  His low laugh rumbled. “Not arrogant. Hopeful.” He brushed his free hand over his silk shirt and let it rest on the flat of his stomach. “Am I tempting you?”

  “Seducing.”

  “Am I?” that grin was wicked. “That excites me Mulhern.”

  “I can see it does.” Her gaze went to that t hand meaningfully.

  He made a little mmm sound and husked, “You do.”

  The churn of hooves sounded and the coach still rocked, but Haven thought, they might as well be anywhere. He was close enough so that she could look at him at leisure. He was inviting her to—teasing her, and the sound of his lazy voice went down her spine like fire.

  “Why don’t you unbutton your jacket?”

  Surprising herself, caught up in his seduction, she did, unlatching it.

  “And that pretty lace blouse,” he coaxed when she had done so.

  It had a dozen tiny buttons. As her fingers undid them, his eyes were focused there. Hers moved from his face to that hand cupping lightly between his powerful legs.

  She wore a camisole. When the silk of it showed he murmured, “Very pretty, but I would see your skin Haven.”

  The chemise laced up with a ribbon. She heard the slick sound of it when she undid the bow. Air wafted her skin when she held the thing in her hand. Looking down, between the jacket and her open shirt, her ribs and breasts were exposed, her nipples were aroused, hard and distended.

  Glancing over at Deme, she saw him wet his lips. His hand was moving again.

  “Touch them.”

  She flushed.

  He encouraged in a whisper, “Feel how lovely they are.”

  Tentatively at first, looking down, watching herself, she touched the shallow mounds. The skin was silken, warm but chills came from the sensitivity of her skin. When her fingertips touched her nipples, she heard him groan and glanced over at him.

  He had undone the latches on his trousers. She felt saliva rush to her mouth, felt her pulse pound at the sight of his hand around his exposed and fully erect cock. She watched him stroke it a few times, before he set up and urged, “Come here.”

  Steadying herself, she transferred to his seat.

  He helped her remove the jacket and blouse, leaving the ribbon strap camisole on her and open. Deme cupped her chin and then kissed her, his warm palm landing on her breast.

  Harsh, hard breathing sounded while he ravished her inner mouth.

  Haven did her own tasting of him.

  When lifted from it, breathing darkly, he took her hand and put it on him.

  She immediately felt the heat, pulse, the utter silkiness of his skin.

  Haven did not get to watch much because he arched her head back and was biting and laving her throat, while massaging her breasts. He moved his head down, sucking them. Not easy, not hesitant—but suckling in a way that made her moan and made her hand flex on him.

  When he ceased, they were both panting. Her lashes lifted to meet his burning green gaze. Reading her face before kissing her a dozen soft and clinging times, he moved back and slumped his spine, now giving her a full view. She turned slightly toward him. One masculine hand covered hers and stroked up and down on his sex, the other teased her beasts.

  Looking from their hands to his face, she thought he looked incredibly beautiful. Tense with arousal, slightly heavy lids shielding glittering green eyes. Haven leaned in and kissed him, surprised when he moaned in her mouth before he made a sound of delicious satisfaction.

  She treated his sensual lips to nibbles and a tease along the seam with the tip of her tongue, before lifting her head.

  He murmured, “I’m going to climax.”

  Haven leaned back. He moved her hand long enough to take a cloth out of his coat pocket. She visually traced the shape of his cock while he sat back against the corner again, the breadth, the peach head and veins, the dusky hue of the shaft. It aroused her just looking at it, so potent, virile, and so erotic.

  She watched his fingers wrap around it again, When he fisted and squeezed, stroked it, her whole body went hot and her breathing grew as heavy as his. Then, it came, a sound deep in his throat, a quiver that racked him. The seed was pumping, sliding over the head until he covered it with the cloth in his other hand. She raised her eyes to his face. The pleasure in every line was almost enviable.

  After a bit, Haven moved and relaxed, watching him repair and adjust his clothing. When he was done, Deme slumped heavily back and raked his hands though his hair.

  She closed her eyes, breathed slow and controlled, just realizing she had tensed with him. She remained that way when a waft of air announced he had raised the flap. He lit a cheroot soon after. Haven did not open her eye s until the window was down and she heard a chink sound. He was sipping from a flask.

  “No.” He shook his head when she started to reach for her blouse. He capped the flask and moved across from her, reaching for her skirts and slowly easing them up her silk stocking’d limbs.

  It occurred to haven how at ease he was finding the tab of her bloomers and easing them off. That was soon forgotten.

  Slowly pushing her thighs open, he murmured, “Slide down.”

  She did so, somewhat enthralled by the sight of her own decadent image, the black garters at the top of her knees, the smooth skin of her thighs, and the sexual curls exposed, the abandoned way her limbs were spread.

  He leaned in and kissed her mouth, then dipping to her nipples before smoothing his hands up her thighs. Deme tucked the skirt higher. He leaned down; his lips kissing
her skin brought a hiss of pleasure from her.

  Haven chewed her lip, moaned, watching him, watching that curly hair skim her flesh when he dragged his tongue above the garter and higher still. Straightening, he caught her gaze, his timbre deep. “Beautiful.”

  “I’m trembling.” She was amazed that she was.

  He merely winked while his fingers were finding her sex and giving it ultra-soft strokes. They were arousing, so pleasurable that she coiled, tense watching him do it. When he used his thumbs to part the lips of her sex and expose the most sensitive, moistened, inner petals, she finally knew what erotic was. It was Deme, and herself, like this. It was his leaning his head down and first teasing that place with his tongue, letting her see it licking at her, before he gave the nub a gentle suckle.

  In the next moments, she heard her moans. Her hands found his hair, fingers tangling in them. She was not shy—rather she was shameless, spreading her legs wider, holding him closer, moving her hips to take every sensation to the fullest.

  The coach filled of her half caught breaths. She arched. He lifted his head, his mouth touched her parted one and they shared a kiss that was loose and sexual. His knowingly gave her a taste of her passion, and Haven knowingly took it. She felt his finger enter her, welcomed it, and moaned blatantly when it was sunk deep inside.

  Muscles contracted. She jerked her head away, grappling for a hold on something when he pulled it out and thrust back in. feeling a sensation of that pleasure coiled tighter, ready to drop her into a free fall.

  Finally, cupping her hands on the edge of the seat by her buttocks, she looked at him rather wildly, seeing him through a haze. “Deme…” it was a half cry, half moan. She was slick, very wet on his fingers.

  “Too fast?”

  “No.” she wet her lips, eyes widening when he thrust several times.

  He said terse, holding her gaze. “You are a virgin.”

  “Yes.”

  Deme slowed his touch and reached up, cupping her face a moment, his eyes searching hers. “Do you agree we are lovers?”

  “Yes.”

  “And my cock will be doing what my finger now is.”

  “Mmm.” She nodded. Just the thought of it sent her inner muscles rippling.

  He kissed her harder. Haven was lost in that, until she felt the tension below and realized he had two fingers inside her. At some moment she felt it burn, his teeth had her lower lip. He was breathing fast. There were three thrusts that were uncomfortable before he drew his fingers out.

  Still in the grip of the pleasure, the hungers, she blinked and was confused when he was not touching her.

  In what she realized was an almost nervous whisper, he asked, “Have you a handkerchief.”

  “In my cape—”

  Then he was cleaning her.

  “I don’t understand, I thought…”

  “It’s all right.” He poured a bit brandy on it and wiped his hands and then was there, back where he started. Cupping her face a moment, he confessed. “I’ve never had virgin. I have no idea if that will help that I breached you, when we fully lie together, but I have heard so.”

  He kissed her and then was petting her there again, saying. “You’re so soft, so sleek and lovely here.” This time when he leaned down, he lifted her legs higher and his tongue was more aggressive, actually trusting inside her sex between his suckles higher up. He moved his head, worried that nub and the suckling sound aroused her even further.

  Haven felt the climax building. It was wild, excited, and tense. She found herself reaching for it, her body craving it beyond all else. Her heart roared, blood pounding. His finger entered her while he sucked that spot. There it was….the world exploded, melted, along with her body, wonderfully, exquisitely. Moaning, arching she took it and let it take her out of the universe.

  When it faded, Deme kissed her and murmured sweetly and held her.

  Once dressed, they both slept until they were awakened by the halt of the coach.

  Chapter Seven

  Her impression of the first manor was that it was drafty and damp. With only a small staff in residence, they were let in by the housekeeper and shown above to adjoining quarters, without Haven even thinking much of it. A square 4-story manor, it had lush acreage she would learn, and all of it dotted with sheep.

  The night wind seemed to seep right through the shuttered windows. She was undressing in the room shown her, telling the maid that she would see to herself after the bed was turned down, Haven tried to maneuver in the room with only a fat tallow candle to see by. She washed from a pan provided, scrubbing her body while having her plaid robe draped over her shoulders.

  Seeing her breath in the room, she knew the first thing she would do was get lamps up here and carpets—and for God sakes, some firewood.

  The door opened. The woman entered who greeted them below. “Milk and a bit of supper.”

  “Thank you.” Haven kept the robe tight around her while the plump woman set it on a small table. “

  Afterwards the woman headed for the door. “We’ll have better in the morning, my lady. We weren’t expecting his Lordship this early and Tom just got half the hearths clean…”

  Not correcting the, my lady part, Haven said, “It’s quite all right. I will be fine with this for now.”

  The door closed. Haven hurriedly dried any damp spots before carrying the tray over to the bed. Half covered up; she ate and drank, then set the tray down hearing the wind gusting outside.

  The door opened again. Deme was there. He took three strides and threw himself on her bed.

  “What are you doing?” She laughed though trying to whisper.

  “Brrr.” He scrambled under the covers. She realized his feet were bare. “My sheets are damp and cold. Have mercy. I will like as freeze to death come morning.” He gathered her to him under the covers, snuggling her back to his front. They both were trembling.

  Whispering but still amused she said, “This bed is no better.” His leg was across hers, and he had his arms around her, his nose buried in her neck. It was a cold nose. “And you’re not making much body heat, my lord.”

  He laughed, groaned and then shivered. “We will eventually. God. I will pick another time of year to visit next time, and give a month’s notice.”

  “I don’t blame you.” She rubbed her feet on the sheets trying to make friction.

  For a while, it was that, them trying to get warm. He turned her to face him. They laughed rather long and loud at her curling up in a ball and him curling around her.

  “I can’t even fuck in this block of ice.”

  “Deme! She laughed.

  He had a chuckle in his voice when he moaned, “He’s hiding, trying to stay warm.”

  She slapped his arm, but soon put her hand back under the covers.

  “Let’s just try to survive.” He grunted and they adjusted as close as they could.

  Sometime in the late hours, they found sleep, but it was only because their bodies were plastered together .her face was buried in his chest, his in her hair, and his arms were around her snugly, and their legs were tangled.

  * * * *

  Morning came. Neither of them felt rested but Deme was up before her so Haven donned a warm flannel skirt and practical blouse, her boots, and set to making sure the rest of their stay was not as miserable.

  The staff was small indeed, only four. A temporary cook had been found. Deme was out with the steward. After their baggage was brought in, she saw to getting the hearths cleaned.

  The day passed quickly afterwards, with the beds being stripped and linens washed. The sun was out but weak and once the hearths were lit, she had the sheets dried in front of them. A tour of the manor showed it had only the minim of furnishings, but since Deme seemed to be concerned more with the stock and barns, she did not worry about that, but set to having the main rooms made comfortable, his chambers cleaned, and more light supplied for both.

  She did see him once when she was dumping water out the
back door, he was striding down a path with a man in wool short trousers, high black boots, and wool coat and cap. He grinned at her. She smiled, thinking he looked no better than she. He was dirty and dusty; his boots caked with mud, and the ironic grin she presumed was because he was having as much trouble deciphering the steward’s broad accent, as she was the housekeeper and maids.

  Dinner was an improvement over breakfast, and since Deme worked late in the study after eating and a bath, she took her coffee and cream to her chambers and read. Haven slept, though was aware that at some point he climbed into her bed despite the clean, warm sheets on his own. He was up early again the following morning, and so it went for the next week.

  There was plenty to keep her busy. The weather cleared for the most part, giving Haven a chance to don her coat and walk a bit of the grounds. Autumn painted it quiet lovely. There was a noon she spent sitting on a null with a basket of food watching the sheep below and finally having a chance to replay what took place in that coach.

  It still excited her. It flushed her, and remembering Deme’s expressions and actions, his breathing, brought back the same stirrings in her body.

  However, they did not get to repeat the intimacy, and were soon packing up and waving to the staff, continuing their journey northward.

  He said once the coach pulled out, “I am impressed with you, Mulhern.”

  “Me?’ Her brows rose.

  “There was only the minimum comforts, the house was barely livable, and the food—”

  She chuckled. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad.”

  His grin lingered. “It was. But you made it tolerable.”

  “Careful.” She grinned back, “We might start to like each other.”

  “Never.” He winked and then slumped in the seat. “I will be sick of sheep when this journey is done.”

  She laughed, knowing he was falling asleep. He had walked miles through muck, mire, and spent long nights pouring over accounts.

  Who would have thought it? He did not don the first silk shirt but wore comfortable old clothing. He had drank no more than mead or a nightly brandy to her knowledge.

  * * * *

  Though colder the further north they went, Deme had the trip broken up by stopping in a village or at an Inn. It was occurring to him, and to Haven, as they spent time together, they were laughing often, and talking more than they had in all the years they had lived within walking distance.