Miss Foster’s Folly

by Alice Gaines

  He seemed as moved as she was. He’d rested his head against the side of hers as his hips pumped his hardness into her. His voice had gone soft. Moans and whispers. Mostly her name. “Juliet,” over and over.

  She held him tight against her, not to keep him from pulling away but merely to feel him. The muscles in his back and shoulders bunched with the exertion of holding his weight off her. Such gentleness and concern—as if she wouldn’t welcome the burden.

  Who knew that a man would think of such things when at the mercy of his lust? Why, of all sounds, would he repeat her name? And how could she have guessed that her heart would want to burst at the knowledge? He was lethal, and beautiful, and precious.

  He thrust faster now. Harder. Pressing her into the mattress with every forward movement. Her sex welcomed that, too. She’d become so wet, their bodies made slapping sounds as he plunged into her. And the feel of his body against hers! His chest grazed her breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks. His pelvis connected with hers over and over.

  And…oh!…he hit that spot between her thighs with each plunge, too. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled her hips up to meet him, and the effect intensified.

  He opened his eyes and looked down at her, his eyes feverish. “Juliet…I won’t last.”

  “Don’t stop, please.”

  “You’re gripping me so hard.”

  “I need you,” she cried.

  He gritted his teeth, and his eyes went out of focus, but he didn’t end the deep stroke, stroke, stroke inside her. Still, he rubbed against her pearl, sending her back into that altered state that would lead to the peak. This time when she came, her sex would have his cock to embrace.

  “Can’t hold off,” he said. “Make it up to you. Promise.”

  “Yes, David.”

  “Oh, God,” he moaned. “Oh, God.”

  He went truly wild then, slamming into her with enough force to make the bed creak. The intensity might have frightened her, but she caught his madness. Every time he moved, he rubbed her harder. Her body started the upward spiral.

  Each breath came as a cry as she approached the ultimate, each cry louder than the last. They strained at each other, grasping desperately. They shared each other’s need, feeding on each other as they rose together toward the ultimate.

  She climaxed first, her head falling backward as a shout burst from her lungs. Her sex clamped down on his for a long moment and then erupted into spasms.

  He came right after, howling as his body went rigid. He slammed into her a few more times and then held himself still, his body vibrating in her arms.

  Though the moment only lasted a few seconds, it held eternity within it. When it finally ended, oxygen returned to her lungs. She drank it in as if she’d been drowning and then dissolved into a puddle of flesh against the bed.

  He collapsed finally, letting her take his full weight. She savored it, loving the pressure everywhere. He sucked in deep breaths and let them out as moans.

  “Juliet,” he whispered finally. “Oh, my darling.”

  “David,” she whispered back.

  He rolled off her, and his cock slipped out of her. He didn’t release her from his embrace, though, but pulled her into his arms, pressing kisses over her cheeks and mouth.

  “Do you have any idea what just happened?” he said.

  “I think so. I was here.”

  “I think not. It was your first time. You have nothing to compare it to.”

  She stretched and then sagged back against the mattress, a heap of sated flesh. He’d turned everything inside her liquid—bones included. She couldn’t have risen from the spot if a Mongol horde were after her. And why try? Surely, no other place could offer so sublime a shelter than his body, his arms holding her against him.

  He heaved a sigh. “No, I don’t think you do understand.”

  “I can’t. My brain won’t work, thanks to you.” Right this moment, her mind could hold nothing but what had just happened to her body. His touches, his kisses, the feel of him penetrating her. How he’d moved. The sounds he’d made. The power of her release. Her sex fluttered in sweet aftermath a few more times at the memories.

  He guided her head to his shoulder and pulled the covers up over them, tucking the ends under her chin.

  “So you’ll stay with me tonight?” she asked.

  “Tonight, and every other night you’ll have me.” His words held a promise, but the timbre of his voice spoke more loudly. Dark and rich, rumbling through his chest. It spoke of possession and desire. Lust quieted for now, but still simmering below the surface and ready to come alive again at the right signal.

  “Marry me, Juliet,” he whispered.

  Somehow, that didn’t sound as insane as it had the last time he’d said it. He’d cast a spell over her with his lovemaking. She’d need to keep her wits about her, or he’d conquer her heart by enchanting her body.

  “Hmm?” he prompted. “Are you thinking about it?”

  “Don’t press me,” she said. “Not now.”

  “Now’s the perfect time.”

  “If you ask again, you’ll be breaking your promise.” She stretched again and yawned.

  “Don’t fall asleep before you’ve given me an answer.”

  Good idea. She’d either drift off or pretend to. “It’s been a very long day.”

  “Juliet—”

  “Good night, David.” She closed her eyes and let her body go limp. Sure enough, the comforting darkness closed in around her mind.

  “Damn.” His voice. The last sound she heard.

  ***

  When Derrington next opened his eyes, he found a vision on the pillow next to his. Juliet Foster, her face at rest in sleep. Dark auburn hair fell over her naked shoulders, making a striking contrast to the china-pale skin of her shoulders. Her eyelashes fanned out over her cheeks, emphasizing the healthy glow of her skin. She could have been a painter’s idea of a cherub except for the pout to her lips. No matter how innocent the rest of her might appear, that mouth offered sin even in repose. And then, she’d curled one hand into a soft fist and held it beneath her chin. Ready to do battle the moment she awoke.

  She was, indeed, the woman Harry’d sent him searching for. If only he could convince her they belonged together.

  Oh well, for now, she’d given him her body. He’d win her heart somehow or die trying.

  Sometime in the night, he’d faced the truth. He loved her. He’d roused from his sleep. Still groggy, he’d had to grasp at the memory of why he felt so insanely happy. It had all come back to him in a flash—her bath, the sweet yielding of her body, how he’d come inside her with a force and a finality he’d never shared with another woman. And then, as his mind had cleared, he noticed her absence. He’d shot upward in bed, only to discover that he’d gotten himself to one edge and she lay only inches away. Sighing with contentment, he’d embraced her again and held her as he nodded off to dream of her again.

  Yes, he loved her. With all his heart. If the Almighty cared about justice at all, he’d convince her of his devotion, and she’d stay with him forever.

  She stirred but didn’t wake. She pursed her lips together in a way that would make a marble statue weep for wanting them. He wasn’t made of stone. Though he should have granted her her rest, he leaned toward her and kissed her. Just a whisper of a caress, no more than a breath against her mouth. It wasn’t enough, of course. So, he did it again. This time, he took a deeper taste, sipping slowly.

  Still, not enough. Before he could stop himself, he’d claimed her mouth, parting her lips with his, and tasting her with his tongue. His blood heated in his veins, and what had started with a morning stiffness to his member became a fully erect cock, pressing against the flesh of her thigh.

  Through the haze of his deepening arousal, came the sense of hands moving over his shoulders and chest. Her breath mingled with his own as she kissed him back. She made soft hungry sounds in the back of her throat, as if her excitement had grown as i
nsistent as his. Impossible. She’d been an innocent only hours earlier. He’d taken her—and none too gently. She had to feel sore.

  Still, some devil made him roll her onto her back and come down on top of her, never breaking the kiss, never stopping the explorations of her palms over his torso. He held her face in his hands and kissed her savagely. Nipping, sucking, devouring her.

  Her hands slipped against his ribs and then upward to his back—fingers massaging his flesh and digging into his muscles. She moaned and moved so that her breasts rubbed against his chest, the nipples stiffening into points that pressed against his skin.

  He broke off the kiss and looked down at her. “You have to end this. God help me, I can’t stop myself.”

  She stared up at him out of lust-glazed eyes. Her lips seemed puffy and bruised. “Why would I want you to stop?”

  “It’s too soon after last night,” he said. “I’ll hurt you.”

  “Would you please stop worrying about hurting me?” she said.

  “A gentleman—”

  “Oh, for the love of God. What in hell good is a gentleman to me?”

  Such language. He could only gape at her in astonishment. Priapus didn’t find her little speech odd. He stiffened further, as if he’d bust out of his own skin.

  “I want to be frigged,” she said. “Would a gentleman do that?”

  “Possibly not.”

  “Then, curse all gentlemen. I want a scoundrel’s cock inside me, stretching the walls of my cunny until I spend copiously around it.” She thumped his back. “You can do that, can’t you?”

  “Don’t you ever let another man try,” he said. “I’m warning you.”

  A gleam of challenge entered her eyes. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

  “You should be.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’ll make the demands here, and I demand you frig me.”

  “I don’t obey you,” he answered. “Instead, I demand you frig me.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Tell me how.”

  “I’ll show you.” He rolled onto his back and threw off what few covers still remained on their bodies. His cock made a solid thwap against his belly as he did. Fully engorged and throbbing, it had turned the ruddy color that showed the height of his arousal.

  She stared at his member for a moment and then reached to circle her fingers around the shaft. “I was right about its size.”

  “And how much it wants you.”

  “So how do I frig it?”

  “Sit up and swing a leg over,” he said. “Then lower yourself onto me.”

  “Oh, yes.” She moved quickly, scrambling up beside him and then straddling him. He held his rigid cock straight up for her. With one hand, she parted the lips of her sex, while with the other, she guided the head of his sex between them. Briefly, their hands met on his aching cock. His large and dark, hers pale and with slender fingers. It seemed the most erotic sight in the world until she released him and her pussy slid along his shaft as she lowered herself to take him inside her.

  Lord, what an image. He caught her hips to slow her descent so he could watch each inch push into her sheath. She’d grown wet, but still, she gripped him with a virgin’s tightness. He bit the inside of his cheek for control as she took more and more of him, finally settling against his pelvis, impaled all the way to his root.

  She hissed, like steam escaping. “What a feeling. I couldn’t have imagined.”

  “I please you?”

  “Oh, David.” She moved, just a small rocking back and then forward again. She gasped with pleasure and did it again, her eyes half-closed in bliss.

  Still holding her hips, he guided her upward on his shaft. When he brought her down again, he added his own thrust into her.

  “So that’s how I do it,” she cried. This time, she rested her hands on his belly and pushed herself up. All her muscles tensed with the effort—her thighs against his, her sheath tightening around his cock. This time when she slid down around him, his hips went upward on their own. His body would take over now if he didn’t control himself. As her pussy held him in a tight caress, he could lose himself in the thrusting and stroking. Already, he’d neared his breaking point, and as she continued the grasping on the upward stroke and the moisture coating him on her return, each knot that held him together threatened to unravel.

  He’d never been this way with a lover before. He’d always remained the cool one. Detached, restrained until he’d satisfied his partner and only then taking his own pleasure. In a few hours, she’d undone all that. He’d never have that reserve again, because he’d never make love to another woman for as long as he lived.

  Her movements became more frantic as her own arousal approached its peak. Up, down. Grip, slide. Surely, in another moment, she’d unman him. Already, he felt it in his balls, and soon it would spread to engulf all of him. Her orgasm had to come soon.

  He reached between their bodies, parted the lips of her sex, and stroked her pearl. It was swollen and stiff, and the moment his finger brushed the tip, she let out a lustful cry. He kept up the pressure, and she straightened, throwing her head back. Her hands went to her breasts, and she squeezed the flesh with her palms while using her fingers to toy with the nipples.

  Aphrodite could never have looked like this. Pure carnality as she rode him.

  His lust took control, and he had no choice but to thrust up into her hard enough to throw her off. She stayed with him, though, despite the savagery of his movement. In fact, his wildness created a similar response in her. Her cries came louder now, building with each slam of his cock in her pussy. He never stopped the friction against her nubbin. If he could hang onto one scrap of sanity, he’d manage this one thing. Somehow, when he could no longer fight off the climax, he had to take her with him.

  As if she’d read his mind, she stiffened, her whole body flushing. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh, God! Don’t…stop.”

  Her orgasm washed over her. Hell, he could feel it as it coiled in her womb. Her sex clamped down on him before exploding into spasms that gripped him over and over.

  Now, he could let loose, and he surrendered to his own climax. He came with a force that rattled his teeth, his cock shooting his lust into her in searing waves. Her sheath continued to squeeze his member, milking him, until he’d given her every drop his body could manage.

  The madness now over, she collapsed against his chest, breathing as hard as if she’d run a mile. His own breath came raggedly as he struggled to get air into his lungs, but he held her against him and kissed her hair.

  “Now, I know you’ll be sore,” he said.

  “It was worth it.”

  “I’ll have to find some way of keeping my hands off you so you can heal.” The moment those words left his mouth, they registered in his brain for what they were—a lie. No power on Earth, least of all his puny will, could keep him from making love with this woman over and over.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “And I’ll expect you in this bed every night.”

  He chuckled. “And if I don’t appear?”

  “I’ll hunt you down.” She poked his chest with a finger. “You know I can do it.”

  “I know that all too well.”

  She looked up at him out of her clear, dark eyes. “You don’t mind too much, do you?”

  “Mind?”

  “That I forced you to make love to you without marrying you?”

  He had to laugh at that. “That’s what some men dream of. Especially a dreadful rake like me.”

  “But it isn’t what you wanted.”

  “My dear Miss Foster, my cock is still buried inside you,” he said. “Do you think I mind?”

  She squeezed the walls of her sex around him. “I think it’s getting hard again.”

  “Then you’d better release me before I lose my head and take you all over again.”

  “What if I want you to?” She clamped down on his cock for a second and then a third time, and—miracle of mirac
les—it came to life inside her, growing fully erect.

  She groaned and moved to sit up so she could ride him. “Yes, I want it.”

  “Then you shall have it.” Never breaking their connection, he rolled her onto her back and gave her everything she’d asked for.

  Chapter Eleven

  Weeks later

  No matter how many times they strolled through the Mediterranean garden, Juliet couldn’t get enough of the place. Derrington hadn’t lied about the statues. They were nudes, male and female. Probably shocking to the modern sensibility that frowned on anything so sinful. But each had a classical beauty that raised all of them above the sensational to timeless.

  She stopped in front of her favorite—Apollo, with his winged sandals and the laurel wreath that circled his head. She let her fingers trail over the marble muscle of his upper arm. Not cool, but warmed by the sun. He might have been a flesh-and-blood man except for his sightless eyes.

  “I think I might be jealous of that one,” Derrington said. He stood beside her, close enough that their elbows bumped as they walked along. He never got much farther from her than that, whether awake or asleep. She couldn’t get enough of that, either.

  “I don’t know what you could be jealous of,” she said. “You’re much better endowed than he is.”

  “Well done, Miss Foster,” he said. “It seems you’ve learned the most effective way to flatter a man.”

  “I thought complimenting a man on his sensual skills was the best flattery,” she said.

  “I stand corrected,” he said. “The two best ways to flatter a man.”

  “You’re unequalled at both,” she said. “Not flattery, but truth.”

  He laughed—a warm, rich sound that always sent a little thrill through her. “So, have you made a study of men and their endowments? I rather thought I was the only one.”

  “True, but I’ve heard other women talk,” she said. “My sister’s married, and I managed to wrangle some information from her.”

  “I’m sure it was very educational.”

  “Not as much as my time here.” She took his hands and gazed up into his face. “It should be ending. When can I go back?”