The timer on the counter pinged, and Emily got up to check her cakes. They were perfect. Turning off the oven, she drew each pan from inside, carefully setting them on her counter to cool before turning them out onto her cake racks.
"Smells good. What kind of cake is it going to be?" he asked her.
"Just an old-fashioned kind my grans taught me. Raspberry jam between the layers, and powdered sugar on top," Emily explained.
"My gran in Ireland used to make that," he said. "It was always my favorite."
"I think everything is your favorite." She laughed. "There isn't anything I've cooked so far that you haven't scarfed up like a starving man, Devlin. I think you have a tapeworm," Emily teased him.
"Roast beef, chocolate trifle, cake with jam," he replied. "What isn't to like?"
She laughed again. "I like you, Devlin," she told him. "I was really upset when I learned Rachel had gone, but I'm not as upset now."
"I haven't edited your manuscript yet," he said with a small grin. Then he said, "I think turnabout is fair play, Emily Shanski. I'm going to make you lunch. I'll need bread, rat cheese, honey mustard, and olive oil or butter. And a cast-iron frying pan."
"Grilled cheese sandwiches!" she said. "Now, those are my favorites."
"Get going, woman, and fetch me my supplies." He chuckled, giving her bottom a small smack.
"Yes, sir!" Emily replied, and she bustled off to find what he needed. "And I want you to know I'm a connoisseur of grilled cheese. These had better be good."
"I'm good at everything I do, Emily, as you are about to discover," he said.
And she laughed. "I'll be the judge of that," she told him.
He grinned, suddenly realizing that he was happy. And Michael Devlin couldn't remember the last time he had been really happy.
Chapter 4
Emily hurried downstairs. Devlin was waiting for her in Gran's old-fashioned parlor, which was across from the more modern living room. It was filled with the furniture that had been in the house when Gran was a girl. "How do I look?" she asked as she came into the parlor. She was wearing a violet-sprigged cream-colored dress with a fitted bodice, and a flirty, floaty skirt with a scalloped hemline. She twirled to give him the full effect. He had made love to her a second time this afternoon, and then they had napped together in his bed. It had been even better the second time, and Emily was feeling more relaxed than she had ever felt in her life. Making love was quite a revelation, yet she couldn't help but wonder if it would have been different with another man. Better, or worse?
The green eyes looked her over admiringly. Then he said, "Are you wearing panties and a bra, Emily?"
"Of course. We're going out," she replied.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I thought I made myself clear this morning. When you are with me you do not wear undergarments. Take them off."
"We're going to be in a public place, Devlin," she protested.
"What if I want to pull over on our way home to make love to you in the car?" he asked. "If you want to question me, Emily, then perhaps you should find another lover."
"Damn it, Devlin, I don't want another lover! Where would I find one in this town? And I most certainly don't want people gossiping about me and some local. You're the perfect lover. You live in the city. Besides, you understand my dilemma and the reason I've taken you for a lover. You're not going to go all postal on me when I say I've learned enough from you and tell you to go away," Emily said.
"Then trust me enough to do what I say," he told her. "If you want me for your teacher then you have to obey me. I will never harm you, angel face. In fact, I'm going to teach you something right now about passion. Take off the panties and bra, Emily."
Reaching up, she unhooked the bra through her dress, sliding one strap off under the fabric, then the other, and drawing it out through the short sleeve, laying it aside on a balloon-backed burgundy-colored velvet chair.
"You do that like you've done it before," he told her with a grin.
"Shut up," she said. "It's the quickest way to take a bra off when you get home, and every woman in the world knows that." She reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties off, flipping them onto the chair next to the bra. "Satisfied? God, I hope no one can see through this dress," Emily muttered nervously. "Can you?"
"No," he said, but he lied. The faint shadow of her slender legs was very visible.
"Can we go now?" she asked him.
"Nope," he replied. "Pull up your skirt and let me see your pussy."
"Devlin!" Her tone was shocked.
"Pull up your skirt," he ordered her in a hard tone.
"It's vulgar," Emily said, and then she squealed as, gripping her wrist, he pulled her facedown over the high rolled arm of the settee, yanked up her dress, and began to spank her, his other hand now on the small of her back to hold her down.
"You are a very, very, very bad girl, Emily Shanski," he said, each word punctuated by his hand on her bared bottom.
She was more surprised than harmed by his actions, and if the truth were known it was rather exciting too. She felt a distinct tingle in her clitoris.
"Now tell me you're sorry, and you won't be such a bad girl again," Devlin said.
"Won't!" Emily replied, getting into the spirit of the game, and wanting him to spank her some more. "And you can't make me either!"
He grinned, delighted that she had caught on so quickly. "Yes, I can!" he told her, and his hand began to fall on her flesh again until her buttocks grew pink, and she finally begged him to cease. "Stay exactly as you are," Devlin ordered her.
"Yes, sir," she mocked him. Then she heard the faint sound of his zipper, and the tearing of a condom envelope. "Ohh," Emily whispered. "You're going to fuck me."
"Do you want to be fucked?" he asked, and, grasping her hips in his hands to steady them, he slid into her vagina in a single smooth stroke. She was very wet, and the spanking had obviously made her very lustful, he noted as she wiggled her buttocks against his groin. "Do you? Say it, Emily. Say, 'I want to be fucked.' " He remained perfectly still within her.
She felt him palpably. He was very big, thick, and long. He throbbed hungrily against the walls of her body. "I want to be fucked, Devlin!" she told him without hesitation. Ob, yes! She did indeed want to be fucked bent over the arm of Great-great-great-grandmother Mary Anne's velvet settee. "Do it to me!" Emily hissed, and then gasped. His penis began to move, and it had touched something inside her that sent shock waves of sensation rolling through her body. "Oh, my God! What's happening?" Nothing had ever felt so good! "Don't stop! Don't you dare stop, Devlin! Ohh, God!"
He had found her G-spot, and he worked it hard. She was bucking and sobbing with the passion that was beginning to roll over her. His penis flashed back and forth, back and forth, driving her along. Her cries of delight increased his own lust until he thought he would burst, but he held back, giving her time. And then it happened.
Emily felt herself close to losing consciousness. Her body seemed to explode from the inside out. Waves of tremors racked her body, filling her with the most incredible feelings, and she knew: So this was orgasm! Wonderful! Wonderful! "Come, damn you, Devlin!" she cried out. "I want us together this first time!"
"Ready?"
"Go!" she almost shrieked.
He did, and for a brief time it seemed as if it would go on forever for both of them. But at last he collapsed atop her. They were both gasping for breath. Then slowly he pulled himself off of her. "You all right?" he asked, his tone faintly concerned.
"I will never be all right again," Emily said. "That was incredible!" She pushed herself up. "God, what must my ancestors have thought of us?" And she laughed softly, gazing at three portraits on the parlor wall.
"I suspect the arm of this sofa has been used in the past for such sport, angel face," he told her. "Those Victorians were very lusty people, despite their protestations otherwise. Well, if I wasn't hungry before I sure as hell am now," he said.
"Me too," she admitted. "Give me a few minutes for a quick cleanup, and you might want to get rid of that," Emily said, pointing to the full condom on his penis.
"Agreed," he said with a faint smile. "You do bring out the best in me, angel face."
"You're just a horny fellow, Devlin," she told him, and then hurried off.
Fifteen minutes later they were tucked into his Healy and pulling out of her driveway. The porch light had been left on for their return. Following her directions he piloted them onto a lovely two-lane country road that ran along an expanse of blue water that was Egret Pointe Bay. The yellow-green May foliage was lush along one side of the road. He noted osprey platforms with nests already inhabited with tenants. It was lovely country, and he wondered if he could find a summer rental in Egret Pointe. It seemed a quieter place than Montauk was going to prove come summer.
They spoke very little as he drove. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for an editor who had spent the entire day fucking his author. And how quickly Emily was learning. She had understood his subtle prompts in that semibondage scene that they had just played out in the elegant little parlor of her house. He was intrigued with and fascinated by her. The thought of spending summer weekends working with her caused his cock to twitch. He forced his thoughts to something less volatile.
"Better start slowing down," she suggested. "East Harbor Inn is on our right just around the next bend, Devlin. Parking lot is on the edge of the road."
The Healy banked around the curve and swung into the parking area. He got out and hurried around the low-slung sports car to open the door for her. East Harbor Inn was charming, very Colonial, with touches of Laura Ashley. The dining room had beamed ceilings, and lots of candles, from those in the pewter chandeliers hanging from the beams to those on the tables. To Emily's relief it was not crowded, and she didn't recognize anyone from Egret Pointe. So far, so good.
"Not busy tonight?" she said to the waiter who came to take their order.
"Heavy bookings late," he said. "First performance of the spring musical at the Egret Pointe Playhouse. We'll be crowded after ten thirty. May I suggest the lobster? They just came off the trawler at our dock in midafternoon."
They ordered. Devlin wanted raw oysters as a starter, and then the lobster and the baby field greens. Emily ordered a fruit compote with a miniscoop of homemade strawberry sherbert, a spinach-and-cheese ravioli, and salad. The waiter suggested a Lenz Blanc de Noir, and Devlin ordered a bottle. The service was leisurely, but they were never left waiting long between courses. When the dessert menu came they both ordered the homemade crème brûlée and coffee.
"If it were July I'd get the plum cake," Emily said. "It's outrageous. They make it only when the plums are fresh from one of the local farms."
"I'll have to try it then," he said. "I've been wondering, Emily, if you know of a summer rental around here. I was planning to go to Montauk, but Egret Pointe is more my style. Quiet. No faux celebrities, and no bother of getting through the Hamptons just to get there."
"Won't you be coming to me on the weekends?" she asked him.
"I'm taking most of August off," he said. "You've been making a very concerted effort all weekend not to be seen with me, and you're not going to be able to keep that up for too long. An editor coming on the weekends to work with you is one thing, and we can probably get away with that reasonable explanation even when one of your neighbors finally notices the Healy in your drive every weekend. But if I spend several weeks with you, your reputation is going to be compromised, angel face."
"I'll ask Rina," Emily replied. "She knows everything."
***
And Rina did. She came up with the perfect solution as she and Emily sat talking over coffee on Monday morning. "Aaron and Kirk's cottage," she said, reaching for a jelly stick. "The boys are going to Italy in August. They've rented a place in Tuscany for a couple of weeks on a friend's recommendation. And Aaron wants to go to Capri for a few days. Kirk says it's a zoo in August, but you know how he indulges my brother's little whims. I'll call Aaron today, and then he can call Mr. Hot Stuff. They can make their own arrangements. And speaking of your editor, when is he coming again?"
"He's coming every weekend for the time being. Not next weekend, though. It's the long one, and he's flying to London to check up on his tenant. He has a house there, and he's let it out to an American for a year," Emily explained.
"Will you miss the sex?" Rina asked frankly. "Oh, Sam says you dodged the bullet this time, but to be careful, and start on the pill."
"I won't have time to miss anything," Emily told her friend. "I have to start writing. Today. And please thank Dr. Sam for me." She leaned over and hugged the older woman. "And thank you for not telling me what an idiot I am."
"The grans never said a thing to you?" Rina was surprised. Katya Shanski was, of course, a reserved woman, but Emily O hadn't seemed like that at all.
"Sex was definitely taboo in both houses. I think they were still trying to get past the fact that their kids had sex once, and I was the result. They were both pushing fifty when I was born, and the grandfathers were over fifty. It had been a bad year too. Joe's big brother had been killed in 'Nam, and Grandpa Frank went into a decline that killed him before I was three. I don't even remember him."
"Yeah, Frank Shanski really loved his older son. Nothing Joe did after that pleased him either. I remember Frank was always saying, 'Well, Frankie would have done it better, or faster,' or whatever. The truth was, Frankie was a big dumb jock, and it was Joe who had all the brains. Water under the bridge." Rina sighed. "So how did you learn what little you knew about sex?"
"We had to take a health ed class in high school," Emily said. "I found it embarrassing. I just learned what I needed to pass the course, and then forgot it."
"You weren't curious beyond that?" Rina was amazed. It had been all she could do to keep her kids from asking and reading about sex. And doing a little hands on investigation as well.
Emily shook her head. "I was afraid of being like Katy and Joe and disappointing the grans," she admitted.
"Well," Rina said with a sigh, "they did a wonderful job raising you, even if they weren't perfect. And Michael Devlin must be one hell of a lover, sweetie. I've never seen you glow like you are right now."
"Rina," Emily said slowly, "what if I fall in love with him?"
Rina shrugged. "Then you do," she said fatalistically. "What's the worst that could happen? You end up with a broken heart. Hearts mend. Trust me. I know."
"I don't think I could have sex with him if I didn't like him. And, Rina, I really do like him so much," Emily said softly.
"Don't let him know that, sweetie. The second you go all mushy on a guy like your Mr. Devlin, he'll panic, bolt and run. He's a wily bachelor, a ladies' man. Only if he tells you that he likes you first can you suggest that the feeling might-just might-possibly be mutual," Rina advised.
Emily went home. She climbed up into the widow's walk of the house, where she had her office and library. She used a computer as a word processor, but wasn't connected to the Internet. Now she sat in front of the large flat-paneled screen and stared. Finally, knowing that the only way to start a novel was to put her fingers on the keyboard of her PC and write, she did so. She centered the title: The Defiant Duchess. Then she scrolled down and typed out on the lower left side of her paper, A novel by Emilie Shann, c/o Aaron Fischer, Browne and Fischer, 500A Park Avenue, New York City 10022. (212) 477-1548, [email protected]. She went to the next page. Prologue. And then she began the backstory of how Caroline, Duchess of Malincourt, became Lavender, a daring woman who rescued the oppressed from the Reign of Terror in Revolutionary France. It was dark before she had finished.
***
For the entire week and into the first official weekend of the summer, Emily worked. Essie, her housekeeper, saw that she was fed, and even left food in the freezer for the weekend. To her annoyance Devlin called only twice: on Monday morning to thank her for the weekend, an
d on Thursday to tell her he was off to England and would give her a ring on Tuesday when he was back in the office. He told her to thank Rina for her suggestion: He had rented Aaron and Kirk's cottage August through Labor Day, when they would be away in Italy.
"Don't you want to know what I'm doing?" she asked him Thursday.
"Working that cute little butt off on your book, I hope," he said.
"I'm in bikini panties, and a lace bra," she said teasingly. "The ones you made me take off last Saturday before we went out to eat. Remember?"
"Umm, I have a faint recollection," he admitted. "Pull the panties down, Emily." They were on his cell, and he felt safe speaking with her this way.
"Why?" she asked softly.
"Because I want you to play with that naughty little clit of yours, and tell me exactly what you are doing and how it feels," he said in a husky voice.
"I've got them off, Devlin," she murmured low. "I'm brushing my right hand over my pubic curls. It's almost, but not quite, as if you were here."
"Touch yourself," he told her. "Tell me which finger you're using."
"The middle finger. Ohh, I'm getting wet already, Devlin. I wish it were your tongue there. Ohh. Ohhh, that is so nice. Are you getting a hard-on?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"And I'm not there to soothe it away," she murmured. "Will you teach me to suck your cock next time, Devlin? Ohhhhh. Ummmm. That feels soooo good. Not quite as good as your tongue, but it will do for now."
He groaned. "When I get my hands on you, Emily, you will regret teasing me like this," he threatened.
"I've taken my bra off, Devlin. I'm totally naked up here in my office. I'm cupping my tits in my hands, and the nipples are all puckered because I'm imagining you sucking on them."
Forbidden Pleasure Page 8
