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

by Larissa Lyons

  Thoughts scattered.

  Overridden by the sight of her hands delving between her thighs, stroking up his shaft, coaxing him to enter. Eclipsed by the urgency her touch conveyed.

  Her lilting cries gave him the strength to advance slowly and then she was killing him, the walls of her sheath opening with such exquisite reluctance as he forged deep, then deeper still, her passage closing in around him and clasping so tight, damned if he didn’t spend before ever lodging the full way inside. Before ever pumping out a single stroke.

  Damned if skill and experience didn’t flee as his cock tunneled inside her rippling sheath with a series of short, clumsy paroxysms that left him gasping for breath—and his balance.

  The orgasm tore through him unlike any other.

  Tensing his ballocks and his neck as Thea’s bawdy bits tightened like a vise, squeezing his cock, his heart, and every other part a man thought were his.

  Leaving Daniel gasping and shaking—and wanting to tup her all over again.

  4

  Oh, To Be an Ass

  And will as tenderly be led by the nose

  As asses are.

  William Shakespeare, Othello

  “Oh my,” she said when Daniel eased, regretfully, reluctantly, out of the snug haven of her body in stunned, stupefied silence. “Is that all?”

  How could he have blasted off so precipitously?

  Daniel looked at his recalcitrant cock. Still stiff. Still erect though totally spent. Still primed for more though unmistakable proof of its unruly tendencies filled the reservoir.

  Damn me.

  Not since first partaking of the sins of the flesh had he stayed so achingly solid after such a powerful ejaculation.

  Damn me, he thought again, unsure how to react. The muscles of his legs quivered until he locked them in place. Ground his heels to the floor. He’d be damned in truth before he lost his footing, fainted to the floor like a fribble.

  “All right then.” At his lack of response (he was still staring at his flabbergasting phallus—until her disappointed sigh pulled his head up), Thea hugged a pillow to her breasts. She was visibly shaking—and not at all satisfied he knew. Thanks to his impudent penis.

  “Well,” she said with false brightness, “that was, um…intense.”

  Intense? That was how she described their first time together? Not exceptional or pleasing or exceptionally pleasing or—

  He must’ve scowled.

  For she immediately added, “Memorably intense. Which is a good thing, I vow.” Her gaze drifted to his chest and a hint of color flooded her cheeks. “Wonderfully intense, to be perfectly clear. Much, much better than uninspired or uninteresting or…lethargic.”

  Lethargic? That lummox she’d been married to, no doubt. The man obviously didn’t know how to appreciate a woman, even had she been glued to his prick.

  Anything but lethargic herself, while holding tight to the pillow with one arm, Thea scrambled for the sheet with the other, giving every indication of jumping from the bed and retreating to her personal chamber.

  Time to make something clear.

  “Thea?” His voice was gravel but it had the desired effect. Her motions halted. She sank back onto the mattress, still choking that pillow.

  She blinked up at him. “Aye?”

  “Think you we’re finished for the night?”

  “We’re not?” A hint of confusion came into her eyes before she caught on and a quick smile curved her lips. “We’re not. Oh, good.”

  Aye. He intended for it to be very good.

  As though she read his thoughts, her mossy gaze fairly sparkled. She released her hold on the pillow. Angling her elbows behind her, she propped herself up and asked brightly, “May I inquire what’s next?”

  Chuckling over her undisguised relief, he tore off the soiled machine and retrieved another. No time to wash the blasted device now. Not when his lady lust lay waiting.

  What was next? she asked. Let him number the things…

  Fascinated by the intimate sight, Thea watched Lord Tremayne exchange the used preventative for another. It looked innocuous enough, simply a thin, flesh-colored membrane topped with trailing ribbons. What she knew of the popular machines was garnered from the street hawkers who extolled their various virtues. (“Won’t chafe ye partner nor make ye pecker burn!” or “Jumbo superfines, right ’ere, milords! Best armor yer coinage can buy!” and “The finest machinery in London! Double scraped and rinsed thrice! Sold by the fives.”) But hearing about them paled upon seeing one up close.

  Seeing Lord Tremayne’s personal parts up close.

  Seeing him cloak his erect shaft with the device, and so soon after she’d touched the sides of it, after having it in her—if for so short a time—brought all the passion and pressure and persistent ache plaguing her loins storming to the surface.

  He muttered something like, “Damn me…not supposed to lose my mettle like that,” while wrestling with the scarlet ribbon weaved around the opening. His self-directed flagellation made her smile, but she was too enraptured watching the sway of his ballocks, the crisp hair of his groin, the thick erection he handled with such ease, to respond.

  Shoving the pillow to the side, she scooted around to recline on the bed properly, with her head near the headboard, where she waited for him to join her.

  The room was warm and her body on fire, so she was surprised to see gooseflesh pimpling her skin. Perhaps that was simply a result of lying full-out on a bed—naked as a loon—waiting for her lover to join her and feeling no shame at all. (Well, such a small amount of shame that it was practically nil.) What a marvelous concept.

  Finished with his task, the ribbon tied in a surprisingly adept bow, he approached the side of the bed where she waited. Instead of joining her, he stood surveying her, one fisted hand on his hip, the other cupped around his generous, aroused anatomy.

  “Thea.” Actually, he stood grinning down at her. Incongruous, given the swelling surrounding his right eye, the deepening bruises on his ribs.

  Her heart gave a flutter at the look of mischief his misshapen smile somehow expressed, one side pulled up slightly thanks to the stretched skin of his cheek.

  “Aye?” She shifted atop the coverlet. Had she done it wrong? Did he want her back at the edge of the mattress so he could keep standing?

  Drat everything to Dartmoor. How she wanted to feel his weight on her again, to touch the silky covering of hair adorning his chest.

  His chest. If one discounted the discoloration, his torso was a work of art.

  Merciful God in heaven. How blessed she felt, for never in her imaginings had she known such an amazing sight could exist: her benefactor, strong and manly; at once both powerful and yet protective. Saliva began to accumulate in her mouth the longer he stood there, and she wanted nothing more than to run her hands over his impressive physique. The sight of him waiting calmly next to the bed—ready to be intimate with her—sparked sensations in her breasts, belly and loins as all three places tingled and yearned for his touch.

  But that was all he did—waited.

  So she had mucked things up?

  “My apologies.” She pushed to sitting and swung her feet toward the floor. Unfulfilled urges made her a tad cranky else she never would have huffed, “Would you have said something, I wouldn’t have changed positions—”

  Cutting off her efforts, he swept her into his arms and lay down—with her solidly against him. With his body beneath hers. “You’re p-perfect.”

  His words were muffled as he flipped her over and arranged her directly atop his limbs—face up. Shocking notion, that.

  Bombarded with stimulation from all sides, it was all she could do not to swoon. His strong, muscular frame supported her posterior, the backs of her thighs, her spine and shoulders—her suddenly flexing and twitchy bum.

  But her sensitized bottom wasn’t where her attention stayed, not when she looked up. Where before her eyes, in the giant mirror’s reflection, she saw hers
elf—stark naked—for the first time.

  Thea started to sweat.

  Ladies, even gently bred females without an official “Lady” preceding their name, were taught never to look at themselves unclad. One learned early and well that skin was akin to sin.

  One might bathe, might change clothing two or three times a day, might do all manner of intimate or necessary tasks to their person, and all without ever forgoing modesty. Only loose and fast women reveled in lewdness, in the lush sight of exposed limbs and blatantly revealed areas in between.

  “Oh my.” She had just made a staggering, and somehow satisfying discovery—fast and loose must also equate with fun and lusty because gazing at herself in all her slender splendor brought only positive feelings to the fore.

  A sound of supreme something—excitement or pleasure, maybe—came from his throat when Lord Tremayne slid both his hands up her ribs to the under swell of her breasts. A similar sound came from hers when he dragged first one thumb and then the other over each nipple.

  As though the desire battering her insides were happening to a stranger—the one in the mirror, perhaps—she saw her legs shift restlessly, felt the answering nudge of his erection.

  Peering over her shoulder, he caught her reflected gaze overhead.

  “Thea.” It was sighed, giving her but a moment’s warning before he extended one muscled forearm down her stomach to settle his hand just over her abdomen, fingers spread wide at the border where pale skin met dark curls.

  Could one expire from desire? The sight of his hand, deliberately paused in such a place, was so forbidden, so arousing.

  “Shall I—” She swallowed hard, her hips rocking ever so slightly, answering the thrilling call of his trespassing fingertips. “Turn around?”

  How she wanted to.

  Wanted to bury her lips against his neck, hide from the brazen female staring down at her, the pointy-tipped breasts being massaged and plumped by one strong, brown-fingered hand, the feminine length of leg pressed securely to hair-dusted thigh muscles.

  Who was the lush wanton staring back at her? That woman in the mirror—she was a stranger. One Thea wanted to know better. And after only days in his company…

  The man at her back made her feel things, see things, differently than ever before. His broad hand kneaded her left breast, then he widened his fingers, placing his thumb on one nipple while stretching his pinky over to the other. He pressed down, just enough to make her gasp.

  “Please.” It was a plea this time. “Let me face you.”

  His hot breath brushing a “Nay” across her ear was all the answer he gave. Well, that and his other hand moving lower, fingertips probing, parting—

  “Bless me to Middlesex.” Her eyelids squeezed shut; she didn’t need to see, only to feel. The drift of one lone fingertip delving, venturing deeper, finding and then gathering moisture… The deliberate glide of that same finger, back up and over…over…around…

  “That’s where your tongue—last night—” She garbled to a stop when her pelvis jerked away from the soft invasion. Then jerked right back for more.

  “It is.” His tone was as tantalizing as his touch.

  “Feels, um…” Her abdomen convulsed. “Ah—”

  “Intense?” She swore he almost laughed and couldn’t help but peek, that naughty, indulgent mirror drawing her gaze like a patch of sunlight did a lazing cat, staring at the place where her thighs spread wide, thanks to her feet propped on either side of his powerful legs. Focusing on where his fingertip circled and petted and coaxed…

  Her internal muscles wanted him to return. She wanted his body surrounding hers, her loins surrounding him, needed him plunging inside again where she could feel him deeper than she had anyone before.

  She tried to roll over and tell him, but he stopped her with one arm across her waist.

  He kissed her shoulder until she relaxed, sank back on him. “Hmm-mmm,” he complimented wordlessly and kept trailing his mouth toward her neck, unhurried, sensual applications of his lips that beckoned her to leave everything up to him.

  True relaxation was impossible. Given how his fingers continued their advance and retreat over that part of her that grew at turns tighter and acutely sensitive blossoming into something soft and receptive. Over and over he rubbed and stroked her to whimpering abandon, inciting the exquisite, unbearable pressure to build, always halting or changing the tenor of his strokes before she jumped from that dashed cliff her body sensed loomed closer and higher.

  “Tremayne,” she cried at last, frustrated, eager, so wrung out from walking the tightrope his fingers pulled and swung at will that her mind finally gave up. And she gave in to begging. “Lord Tremayne, please. What—”

  Only then did he loosen his hold on her waist, halt the torture between her legs.

  “Why did you sto— Ah!”

  Before she knew what he was about, he curved both hands under her arms and hefted her higher.

  The new position angled her head awkwardly toward the mattress, and it was too much effort to raise it. Too easy to concentrate on sensations instead of sight. On his arm sliding between their bodies, fumbling for a second, then firming as he positioned his erection at her entrance.

  “Like this?” At the first nudge of his penis, her confusion cleared and she grasped the previously foreign concept. Still… “It’s possible? From this direction?”

  But already, her feet were moving over the mattress to give her more control, her abdomen pressing down, pushing her lady bits against the crown of his hard flesh. Her hips twisting and tilting to accommodate the silky glide of his staff pushing into her, wedging itself more securely inside.

  “Oh…my.” The sensations he wrought within her majestic. Unreal.

  It was being split apart and made whole all at once. It was terrible, aching pain and incredible, awesome pleasure.

  It was rainbows bursting across her closed eyelids and storm clouds gathering strength.

  It was so good and so different and— “Wicked or not, I want to see.”

  When she tried to raise her head, her neck protested. Then his hand was there, his palm cradling her nape, his fingers supporting her skull. It was the sight of their heads, close together, both staring above, at each other…

  It was his other hand reaching past her stomach, fingers splaying around his thrusting shaft, the heel of his palm digging into her, finding that spot and riding it…

  Her pelvis vibrating beneath his touch, her feminine muscles clamped on for the ride of their life…

  And it was her body balancing between restraint and release, hovering between power and weakness…

  Her mouth forming a breathy string of high-pitched sounds, encouraged by his deep-throated murmurs…

  And finally, shockingly, it was her loins winding into a coil of painful passion, so strong that when the crest finally came, it burst on a wave of wet release, a visible shower of—of—of, she didn’t know what, but one that had his fingers flying swiftly over her intimate flesh, had him groaning approval and praise with barely discernible words, the only thing she had the presence of mind to comprehend, the husked, “You’re a d-delight,” which was more than enough.

  She gasped, strove for breath.

  Sweating. Crying. Heaving as air and delight coalesced and bathed her insides as surely as her body had bathed his fingers.

  His renewed thrusting and swirling touch made it clear that the rush of dampness she’d found so startling—and embarrassing, by the only part of her that wasn’t reveling in the glory he’d brought her to—was something he certainly reveled in.

  Just when she thought it was over, that she was descending into the replete and utter bliss he’d first taught her last night, that mayhap she could catch her breath, it began again—right beneath his dancing fingertips…

  An urge.

  A need that was more. Fierce. Nearly unbearable. “I cannot—”

  “Aye.” He used the hand supporting her head to bring her
face to his. “You can.”

  His lips ravaged hers, his mouth taking possession in a manner more demanding than anything that had come before.

  What a treasure!

  Daniel couldn’t believe the unrestrained passion in the slight package writhing over him.

  She wasn’t experienced enough to hide her responses; wasn’t jaded enough to fake them. No mistaking that sweet, sweet flood of her climax, proof their bodies spoke the same language.

  Knowing beyond a doubt he could give her this—carnal pleasure, a true appreciation of herself as a vibrant, sexual being—was one of the greatest gifts Daniel had ever received.

  Giving to his precious Thea made it clear how he’d reduced sex to habit, done it by rote for too long, going through the motions without any feeling at all. For he’d never been more pleased by pleasing a lover more.

  Never been more thrilled than when she splintered in his arms—under his command, around his cock.

  And now—the taste of her honeyed mouth? The reciprocal surge of her tongue stroking his?

  Her response lent steel to his shaft, fluidity to his strumming fingers…

  Her Venus mound bloomed again.

  She was close. He knew it. And she was scared. Shaking again.

  Pushing his tongue from her and whimpering, “I can’t. Not—”

  Her body thought otherwise. He wasn’t even moving his hand now. Wasn’t pumping his cock into her. Nay, despite her initial hesitation, Thea’s inborn instincts had taken over.

  Now she was rocking into him, swiveling her hips frantically, her tiny fists clenched, nails dug into his wrists, keeping his fingers firmly on her.

  Her primal keen blessed his ears as her responsive flesh engorged, jerked, and dampened his fingers yet again as her sheath rippled along his shaft.

  Only then did he release his control and surrender to his own climax, his essence jetting out in time with her inner constrictions, her near-shouted pants of, “Intense. Aye. Intense.”

  Scant minutes later, just when he’d thought she’d drifted off, Daniel occupying himself with the simple act of holding her, she surprised him by rolling to her side and fixing her gaze on his. “You’ve rendered me speechless. ‘Intense’ is all I can offer.”