Lusty Letters: A Fun and Steamy Historical Regency (Mistress in the Making Book 2)

by Larissa Lyons

  “I don’t…” Want this.

  Liar! You know you want this. Precisely this. After what you saw at Sarah’s party, what the verses made you think of today—after what you wrote to him! You want exactly this.

  Aye, but I didn’t expect it tonight!

  One of his large hands left its intimate mooring high upon her thigh and Thea whimpered at the loss. Only to feel those same fingers edging past the opening in her drawers.

  Her eyes flew open.

  He was still staring at her face. “You say…” One fingertip brushed lightly down her cleft, barely making contact, fluttering through the tight curls and making her feel the caress deep inside. “Say ‘no’, and I shall stop.” Then it brushed upward.

  Thea’s pelvis tilted forward a fraction, determined to receive the caress again.

  When his head flinched, she saw her fingernails had embedded themselves in the skin above the starched silk neckcloth. She relaxed her hands and brushed back a thick lock of coffee-colored hair that had made its way across his cheek.

  “Nay, I cannot say ‘no’.” At his supreme smile, she confessed, “’Tis all so very new to me though.”

  He slid another finger inside the slit and whispered them both down one side of her sex.

  “I know.” His breath brushed over her abdomen as his other hand released her thigh to part the placket shielding her, exposing her completely. Thea gulped as he hitched his entire body closer.

  But her legs had no such reservations, widening to make room. As though compelled, she returned her gaze above, to the sight of her stark face, eyes luminous and larger than she’d ever seen them, and his broad-shouldered body, his head only inches from where she craved his touch so very much…

  “Let me?” The warmth of his words stroked her damp flesh and Thea jerked a clumsy nod.

  Thank the saints. He couldn’t have waited another second. Not with her clean, musky scent luring him onward.

  Daniel couldn’t believe he was here—with her—on a bed and keeping his clothes resolutely on. The linen cuffs of his shirt extended from the tight sleeve of his evening coat, emphasizing how absurd it was—his rough, callus-worn fingers upon her satiny skin. Or mayhap, instead of absurd, he meant arousing.

  Had he ever arrived at the abode of his mistress with the intent to keep his cock tucked away while dancing attendance on her body?

  With his thumb, he stroked the smooth, white skin of her upper thigh, nearly choking on his desire when she whimpered and a fresh wash of dew coated the fingertips grazing her furrow. As though determined to thwart him, her thin drawers kept her mound hidden. But the sex-swollen folds were readily apparent, moist and silky and so, so inviting…

  He pressed one finger deeper and was rewarded when her nails gouged his neck again.

  Her musk grew stronger, his fingers damper, and he slanted his hips until his erection pressed firmly into the mattress, wishing it was her velvet recesses he stroked with his cock.

  Alas, his tongue would get the pleasure tonight.

  He withdrew his fingers and spread the placket open. Just before he made contact with the honeyed folds he’d revealed, a stirring raised the fine hairs on his nape. Daniel glanced up, only to find her gaze focused not on him—as he’d suspected—and not closed—as he’d expected—but instead, her wide-eyed attention was riveted to the canopy overhead. Directly where the giant mirror was secured.

  So his new mistress liked to watch?

  That knowledge sent flares of desire spiraling through him. Her plain stockings were already in shambles, her drawers freshly washed but old and thin. He planned to buy her new ones anyway. So, without a speck of remorse, he let his primal side have its way.

  “Here…” he breathed, leaning back to grip both sides of the slit in either hand. “Shall I…” Improve the view?

  Rrrrriiiiiip! It was nothing to tear the fragile seam. Nothing to push her dress high toward her waist, nothing to lift one of her thighs over his shoulder and angle his body so she could truly see the show.

  But, oh gad, oh God, was it something to hear her shriek turn to a moan when he lunged forward and plastered his lips to her wet heat.

  Was it something to finally taste his new lover’s flesh, the salty essence of her ardor.

  Like a demon possessed, his tongue sought out her flavor, working up one side of her passion-soaked labia and down the other. Availing itself of every drop of silky want she exuded.

  Blazing ballocks (his were, of a certainty), she wanted him tonight. Wanted what he could give her—his body thrusting into her, creating its place in hers. Wasn’t beset tonight by nerves that inhibited her innate response.

  Nay, oh nay. She was passion personified, pure responsive female in his arms tonight. And after nothing more than the transfer of a few titillating letters?

  He should take pen in hand more often.

  Her slippered foot rubbed frantically over his back. Her hands swept over his head, through his hair. Her hips rocked, matching the avid sweep of his tongue as he licked his way to the top of her sultry sex where he delved deeper until locating the tiny pearl secreted within.

  While circling the hard nub with the tip of his tongue, Daniel parted her downy folds with several fingers. He discovered her wet and ready, ravenous even—if the encouraging little gasps she made were anything to go by as his mouth silently spoke for him, in all the ways he usually couldn’t.

  The faster his tongue lashed, the more she tried to clamp her legs together, to escape backward. But his unrelenting hold prevented retreat, kept her in place for his dining pleasure. By God, his mouth might betray him at every turn but not tonight—not in this. When it came to sampling her body, enticing her cream to flow thick and hot, for once, his lips and tongue were in command.

  And demanding surrender had never tasted so sweet.

  Keeping a firm grip on her thighs, he coaxed the pearl out and placed his lips firmly around the responsive bundle.

  “Oh, Lord—” The words were a delightful little whimper, soft and full of air.

  He slid two fingers into her damp passage, reveling in how the warm walls drew him in, the muscles of her channel clasping hungrily at him.

  “Oh, Lord—” Louder this time.

  Daniel started to massage her from the inside, nearly smiling at how she was calling on divine deliverance.

  But as he sucked hard on the tiny knot and swiveled his fingers against their own sweet heaven, it was as though his shaft and not his hand plunged through her depths. Amazingly, his primed pipe felt every squeeze and contraction his fingers and lips experienced. Felt her reactions intensify just before she rewarded him by exploding on a scream.

  A scream of, “Tremayne!” and he realized she’d been calling on him, praying to him for release. Every sexual atom of his being—the nonsexual ones too—seized in a pleasure so intense, so unexpected, damned if his hips didn’t flail, his body bucking against the restrictive garments as he rode the damn mattress until he screamed and creamed too.

  Right in his bloody breeches!

  Deuced amazing.

  But it was her shout of satisfaction that roared through him more than his own release—embarrassingly satisfying as it’d been—because she was still clutching at him, his head, his shoulders—his back with her leg. Her sex still convulsing around his fingers, vibrating against his tongue.

  Her mouth murmuring shakily, “L-Lord Tre… Lord… Tremayne. Come…higher. Please.”

  With one last, lingering kiss to the pink and pouty valley—a kiss of promise to return soon—he answered the frenzied motions of her hands, the sultry plea in her words, and crawled up over her chest, pressing her deep into the pillows.

  “Aye?” His own syllable was tellingly breathless. “You rang, milady?”

  Her bright eyes found his and she circled her arms around his neck, pulling him down. “Oh, thank you! Thank you,” she exclaimed into his ear. “I didn’t know—hadn’t ever—oh!”

  Lower, her abdom
en lurched toward his body and she gasped and trembled yet again. Hugged him tighter, with both arms and legs, as her pelvis ground solidly into his groin. “I-I didn’t know.”

  He’d suspected as much but having it confirmed made him hurt—for her.

  Daniel tugged one of her strangling arms away from his neck and rose on to his elbow. With his free hand, he smoothed the fallen hair from her sweat-dampened face, ran his thumb over her plump lower lip. Which wasn’t so plump, after all, upon such close inspection.

  In actuality, her top lip, though alluringly curved, could be described as thin. It was the difference between the two that captivated him, the gentle and unexpected swell of the bottom lip that made him hungry to touch, lick and taste. To explore, plunder and plunge within.

  Gad, how he wanted to dive inside her mouth, kiss her with everything he had—his tongue, his heart, most of all his cock.

  Hearing her admission touched him deeper than any release—pending or otherwise—and he knew tonight was not the time. “Your husband was a…” Bastard! A doltish groutnoll. Not to cherish and charm such a pleasing, passionate creature. Words he would have loved to utter. But he settled for, “A chub.”

  She gave a tiny shake of her head but didn’t try to subdue the blossoming smile. “Nay, he was decent enough. Just uninspired in the bedroom.” Her lashes veiled her eyes when she added, “In everything, truth be told.”

  “A clump,” he told her with conviction. Then he dropped his forehead to rest on hers. “Thea.” Daniel licked his lips, tasted her all over again. His softening erection surged against her honeyed center, so moist and receptive—thanks to his efforts and her wondrous response. Had a man ever been blessed with such an exquisite mistress?

  He forced his hips back and she instinctively followed, wringing a deep groan from his throat, one that originated in the vicinity of his blazing ballocks. “Thea! I must go. I…” Don’t want to.

  Damn, how he didn’t want to. But it was for the best—if he stayed, they’d talk more. Either now or later, and he could only hide his defect for so long.

  With Louise, it had been easy. She prittled and prattled on about anything and everything, not really caring, and certainly not curious what his views were—on anything—or how he spent his time. With Thea, soft, sexually un-awakened Thea—though he’d certainly awakened her tonight, he couldn’t help but acknowledge with a surge of pure male pride that had his cock stiffening within its sticky confines—with her, he had an urge to discuss. To ask for details on how she occupied her day. To seek her advice on matters troubling him.

  To beg her to massage his shoulders and neck—much as she was doing now—but with his shirt and coat off, with him not feeling the pressure of the upcoming evening in the company of two people he cared about and had thought happily settled.

  “Gad, how I d-d—” Don’t want to leave. He masked the slip by kissing her nose, then by whispering his new favorite word. “Thea.”

  Had he ever loved forming syllables as much?

  She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his jaw. “’Tis all right. I know you have commitments outside of our…um…ah…”

  “Friendship?” he hazarded, rewarded immeasurably when she nodded beneath him, when she stroked his shoulder down to his biceps as though she wanted more than anything else for him to linger all through the night.

  “Aye, friendship,” she confirmed without a hint of hesitation. “Passionate friendship.”

  He laughed and kissed her cheek, then hauled off her. As it was, he’d need to return home for new breeches before venturing out again, and if he didn’t leave Thea’s presence now—all tempting and warm and flushed from release—he’d surely miss dinner at Ellie’s…and that wouldn’t do.

  He already had enough guilt heaped upon him by his wretched conscience, based on how things had gone with Tom Everson the previous night, to invite more regret.

  Marshaling his strength, Daniel gained his feet and turned to her. She’d flung her dress down to hide the treat he’d just dined on and her color was as high as ever. But she held his gaze. “Thank you, my lord, for a most, um…erotically enjoyable evening.”

  “’Twas my…pleasure.” He gave her his most formal bow, even clicking his heels together to the accompaniment of her chuckle. Straightening, he vowed, “Until…tomorrow.”

  “You’ll be back tomorrow?” Every blasted minute he had to endure in his release-ruined drawers was erased right then by the solace of her sweet smile. “Wonderful.”

  “In…deed. I shall count the hours.”

  “As will I.”

  2

  Expectations Mount, Only to Be Dealt a Crushing Blow

  7:21 a.m.

  Though the looming clouds promised another drizzly, grey day, Thea awoke feeling as though rays of sunshine frolicked across her bed, as though a flock of songbirds chorused within her breast.

  7:37 a.m.

  “Has there ever been a lovelier morning?” she greeted Mrs. Samuels as she descended the stairs.

  “The follies of youth must be upon ye, to welcome such a morn with open arms.”

  Undeterred, she patted the pocket that held the two folded notes Lord Tremayne had given her the night before. “Folly or a blind eye,” Thea excused, pausing when she reached the bottom of the staircase and noticed the laden tray the woman held. “I confess, my attention ’tis on a letter I must compose. My, you’ve been busy, to cook so much this early.”

  Her new housekeeper’s smile contained a wealth of understanding. “I hoped the scents of a hearty meal might lure you awake. And must compose?” The woman chuckled. “Like as not you cannot wait to begin. Aye, I know to whom you’re writing with such haste. Think ye I missed that rascally Buttons sitting in my kitchen twice over yesterday? Here now, I was bringing up your breakfast—”

  “For me?” Why, there were no less than five full plates: fried ham, shirred eggs, tarts (strawberry this time, judging by the heavenly scent), kippers, high stacks of bread and more. “I thought all that was for Mr. Samuels and yourself.”

  “Ye’ll please both me and my Sam by making a noble attempt to clear each and every plate.” While Thea sputtered, the housekeeper surveyed her with grandmotherly affection. “Child, a brisk wind would keel you over. Breakfast first and then I’ll see you settled at your desk with a pot of hot tea.”

  “You’re too kind.” When Mrs. Samuels would have headed toward the formal dining room, Thea stopped her. “Nay. I’d prefer to eat in the kitchen. With you both.”

  “Kind?” Mrs. Samuels clucked, spinning around and heading back down the stairs. “You’re easy to care for, I daresay. Our last mistress, God rest her rotten soul, was a crotchety crone. Always ready to harp a complaint but nary anything else. You’re twice the woman she was even if she did have the title ‘Lady’ before her name.”

  8:24 a.m.

  The hearty breakfast consumed (between the three of them once Thea persuaded the couple to join her), Thea slipped into place at her writing desk and readied her quill, letting the anticipation mount. She couldn’t wait to read the remaining missive from Lord Tremayne.

  She opened the For Tomorrow page and, after smoothing the creases with a palm that tingled as it came into such close proximity to his words, began to read.

  Thea—

  Never fear that anything you care to impart would be unwelcome. As to poetry by your own hand? I am agog with impatience to read what shall no doubt be a sublime and impressive effort. Write on, fair one…

  Pertaining to the barmaid comparison you so indelicately suggested—put those pesky one-syllable B’s to bed (or perhaps let me escort you there instead?) for you’re much too refined to ever be considered thus.

  I pray you have fond memories of last evening.

  I await with breath bated (and mouth longingly recalling your taste—I hope) for your entertaining reply.

  He’d signed it “T”, casually, as though they truly were friends.

  It was but a moment
before Thea’s quill was soaring across a fresh page.

  For shame! Talk of escorting me to bed, tut-tut. (Though I must be shameful as well for I think of the same—with a frequency I might find alarming had you not mentioned it first.) For double shame: mentioning—and before it even occurred—what your mouth did last night, where it ventured.

  Really, Lord Tremayne!

  With naught but a parenthetical aside, you whisk me upstairs and beneath the mirror, my limbs quivering so that one would think I am cold. Alas, no. You heat my insides to sweltering with the bold strokes of your pen (and your tongue) but I shall endeavor to cool myself off.

  Quickly now.

  There. I’ve raised the window so the invigorating breeze can blow hither and thither my overheated yearnings. Yearnings that only deepen as memories (yes, I confess to many where last evening is concerned) besiege my brain, rendering me—

  “Aaaaa-chooo!” As the wind turned frigid, the unexpected sneeze caught her off guard.

  Ack! Rain droplets pelt the sill and now the floor and—

  8:41 a.m.

  When a second sneeze followed the first, she hurriedly closed the window, coming back to her chair and seeing with dismay three ink blotches caused by renegade rain, as well as how much of the page she’d taken up—with lurid flirting!

  What would her mother say?

  She’d be pleased pink you’ve found someone to be yourself with and you know it.

  “But such a naughty self?” Thea whispered, blotting the worst of the mess from the page. “Who knew?”

  There now. I’ve ceased allowing the rain into the room and onto the page, and now I must cease my chatter. Else how will I ever complete this missive during daylight hours?