As Wicked as You Want: Forever Ours Book 1

by Nia Farrell

  He fisted his hand in my hair and shoved against me, hissing when his crown breached my throat. I grabbed his balls and squeezed through the layers of cloth, unhappy with even that degree of separation. Edward was of a like mind and broke away, shedding his garments while I did the same.

  When he was down to his drawers, Edward bent over the bed and kissed me. “I must get something,” he rumbled like a large cat. “One minute, no more.”

  He returned from his room, gloriously nude and fully erect, with a vial of oil, a couple of towels, and a wet cloth. After spreading out the toweling, he handed me the oil and climbed into bed with it and me.

  Edward reclined on his side, propping his blond head upon his hand and eyeing me as if he were a psychopomp for the living, ready to escort me to realms not yet discovered. “You like tempting me,” he said, blue fire blazing in his gemstone eyes. “Well, this is your reward. Something new for you and a rare treat for me. Let me see your fingernails.”

  I’d been keeping them short, after the way he wanted used aboard ship.

  “Excellent. Now, oil up your right hand. All of it. The wrist, too. That’s it.”

  “Edward…” I chewed my lip and did as he said, adding enough that I fairly dripped with it. “Are you certain about this?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, stroking his erection. He rolled onto his back and drew up his knees, spreading himself. “Now slicken me. Outside and in. One finger, then two, then three, four, five.” He put the fingertips of his free hand together, like the bill of a bird. “Keep adding oil. There is no such thing as too much when it comes to this. There will be some resistance when the knuckles go in. Once we have managed to make it past that point and your hand is inside me, fold your thumb under your other fingers and make a fist.”

  I did as instructed, kneeling between his wide-flung thighs to lubricate his sphincter. I pressed against it with my middle finger and pushed inside, slowly, carefully, easing the way until I was knuckle deep.

  “Curl it toward my cock,” he breathed. “You remember the small bump the size of a walnut? When you stroke, I want you to rub on that, massage my prostate. Ah, Lane,” he hissed with pleasure when I did so.

  “Two fingers,” he rasped.

  I pulled out, added oil, and went forth again, stretching him with two, curling and stimulating the spot that gave him greatest pleasure.

  “Three.” I knew what three was. For me, the next step would have been Edward’s cock nudging my back door, demanding entrance. But my hand was nowhere near the size of his and he had no problem taking my smaller fingers. Four fingers had him panting with lust. Five fingers…I added more oil when I felt resistance.

  “Tell me what you want,” I whispered. “What do you need, Edward?”

  “You,” he huffed, blowing out sharply. “In me. Now.”

  I kissed his kneecap and pushed. Edward exhaled, pushing back in a manner with which I’d become intimately familiar. Odd, how bearing down allowed for intrusion in a passage meant to expel, but his muscles gave and my hand was inside him, buried up to my wrist.

  “Hold still,” he said, squeezing his cock and making pre-cum leak from its tip. After a moment, he had me make a fist, add more oil, and nudge it deeper.

  It was like nothing I’d ever felt, of course. The tight tissue stretched at my intrusion, molding itself around me like warm, malleable clay. This—this­—was what he felt when he took me like a mollycoddle. Well, I could certainly see how it would appeal, feeling as it did to me, with calloused fingers and work-worn hands. I could only imagine how it would feel wrapped around a cock, the gripping squeeze on that sensitive column of flesh, and the way he was able to drive in as deep as he could without impediment.

  “There,” he grated. I waited for his body to adjust, and was surprised to feel him clench and spasm around me. My gaze flew to his glans, half-expecting to see an eruption of molten white, but, oddly, there was none.

  He smiled and sighed with deepest pleasure.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “A singular experience,” he hummed. “A male orgasm. Purely internal. Purest bliss. Now, I want you to keep going as deep as you can. See if you can coax another one or two from me before we’re through.”

  By the time his third climax came, complete with ejaculate, Edward had taken me nearly up to my elbow. Adding my tongue to the base of his cock was enough to send him over the edge, chanting my name while his body shook and bucked beneath me. Ropes of semen shot up onto his chest, catching in the manly thatch that I loved but longed to shave. I held my arm perfectly still, waiting for him to finish.

  “Good God,” he breathed. “Just stay with me, please. Let me feel you. Feel this. Elena….”

  Smiling, I kissed his hair-dusted knee and pressed my face against it, nuzzling and sighing my own contentment. I had pleased him. Was pleasing him still. A special treat, he’d called it.

  I wondered if, like Christmas, it came once a year, or was this something he needed more, or less often? Not that it mattered. My efforts had yielded the desired results. He had not experienced any pain. He’d orgasmed thrice and spent himself once.

  I wanted to lick off his seed.

  With my free hand, I swiped a finger and brought it coated to my lips, tasting him. Edward growled and pointed his flagging staff at me. “Suck me,” he grated, hissing when I took his full length into my mouth, buried my nose in his groin, and nudged his balls with my chin. “Fuck. Yes. That’s it.”

  He was hard again in no time. His recuperative abilities never ceased to amaze me.

  “I must have you,” he ground out between clenched teeth, reaching by his head to grab the wet cloth he’d brought. “Ease out. Clean us up. Then I want you on your hands and knees.”

  I trembled at the thunderous promise in his voice and obeyed. There was less mess than I feared, and in very little time, I was centered on the bed on all fours with my knees spread to accommodate Edward as he knelt behind me. Dragging the head of his manhood along my weeping slit, he found my opening and plunged inside, robbing me of breath as he grabbed my hips and throttled deep, pistoning in and out, his efforts building in intensity until he was pounding into me, his heavy balls slapping my flesh. My breasts bounced to the liquid sounds below as my orgasms flowed from one into another, and another.

  “Edward!” I cried when a particularly brutal thrust hit deep enough to hurt. “Too much! I can’t take it!”

  “You can,” he insisted. Shifting slightly but pulling no punches, he continued to hammer into me, building toward another climax, driving us both to the edge. Arching over me, he bit my back and sent me flying. A few more strokes, and he was there, too, pulling out of my pussy and pushing just inside my dark passage, jacking himself with his hand until he was spent.

  We collapsed on the bed together, still joined when he rolled us to our sides, curling his big body around me and pulling me tight against him, with my back against his chest. He kissed my crown and nuzzled my hair with his nose.

  “Oh, my,” was all I could say for the longest time.

  Edward chuckled and squeezed my breast.

  Arching slightly, I lifted my chest and pressed my pebbled nipple into the palm of his hand. “How long has it been?” I asked, still curious as to what to expect.

  “Hmm.” He hummed, thinking. “Three years, possibly. As I said, it is a rare treat. You did well. Very well. Whenever you are ready, I would love to reciprocate.”

  I shuddered at the thought of his big hand and sturdy wrist attempting it in either place. “Yes. Well…I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for it, Edward. I can’t imagine how you’d fit.”

  “You would be amazed at what the human body can accept, with proper preparation. Two men in the vagina and one anally. Two in the arse and one in the cunny. And this while pleasing another one or two or three with hands and mouth.”

  The thought, rather than making me shudder, intrigued me. “Really? Have you heard about it, or have you seen it, Edwa
rd?”

  “Seen, and done,” he admitted, unashamed. “It is not for every woman, of course, or for every man, either as giver or receiver, and is seldom performed at the establishments that I patronize, but I daresay, it draws a crowd like no other scene at private parties and clubs that cater to the rich and decadent.”

  “Oh, I’m certain of that,” I said. “And why wouldn’t it? The feat itself would be impressive enough, but the novelty of it? I suppose it would be rather like sighting a rare bird out of season.”

  He tightened his hold, hugging me. “A rare bird, indeed. Now, I am going to run a bath for us, then we shall dress and go down for supper. Babs is fixing plain fare for your stomach. If you cannot sit at table, I will bring yours back with me, if that is agreeable.”

  My heart lurched in my chest at his consideration. Had any man—besides Daniel—ever treated me half as well? No. No. Just the two of them.

  Edward had quite distracted me, but oddly enough, my stomach had eased. “I’m better, thanks to you, Sir. Sharing a bath works wonders in and of itself. I fully expect to be able to dine with you.”

  Flexing his hips, he pulled free and kissed my shoulder. “Stay,” he said. I smiled at his monosyllabic command, remembering the stream of them in the wake of his initial anger after I’d revealed myself. When he admitted to being twice tempted, I had hoped that his resistance would prove futile and that I could persuade him to take my virginity. I had no idea, of course, how commanding Edward was in bed, how utterly and thoroughly he would come to own me. And now he was planting thought-seeds in my head that were shooting up and branching forth, each tip ending with a bloom of tantalizing possibility, forming a fruit that had three perfect sections.

  I wondered if Daniel could be tempted to taste it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked Edward. “About Daniel?”

  I’d kept quiet during our bath, preferring to process what had just happened and allow Edward to do the same. He had basked in the glow of it, radiating a warmth that he gladly shared with me, seated between his legs and leaning back against the wall of his chest. He had abandoned the sponge in favor of his fingers—as adept at the sensual application of soap then as they were proficient now, carving the roast beef which Babs had prepared.

  It smelled delicious. Much more so than the oatmeal that I had been served.

  Edward noted my interest and offered a bite. “Try it,” he said. “See how it sits with you.”

  I opened my mouth. He fed me a morsel. The meat was succulent, tender enough to fall apart on my tongue, seasoned to perfection and bursting with juices. I think I moaned.

  Edward smiled and ordered a plate brought.

  I savored every mouthful of a slice of beef, then turned my attention back to my oatmeal and the fresh sliced peaches and cream that topped it.

  “No, I have not,” Edward said, returning to my question, “but I hope to hear soon. A telegram went out today. I am certain that he will take time from his labors to respond as soon as it is delivered.”

  Daniel did, of course, his frustration evident in the terseness of his response.

  5 August 1868 To Lane Davenport, Esquire: Building crates. More boards expected today. Apartment packed. Had hoped to leave this week. Maybe next. Yours, Daniel O’Flaherty

  It took him five more days to finish crating my studio and secure train transport to New York City, where Daniel’s parents lived. He stayed the better part of a week with them, arranging freighter passage to London and visiting his family while waiting for his ship to sail.

  Meanwhile, Edward was preparing for the start of school. I divided my time between memorizing texts, sketching, exploring the city, calling upon his sister Constance, and visiting Masey. One visit, I’d stopped at Dr. Wainwright’s after spending time in the park, people watching, sketching a bit but capturing so many more vignettes to eventually commit to paper. Masey asked and Joseph begged to see what I had done. His cherub face lit as if he’d received an annunciation, and he ran from the room, returning with a pile of his own artwork to show his Aunt Elena.

  My heart caught in my throat. Only five years old (he would be six, come November), and he could already draw beyond what some adults were capable of. Clearly, he’d inherited Father’s ability, and I hoped that Masey would allow me to nurture it. She possessed it, but to a much lesser degree. When young, she had had neither the advantage nor the interest of developing it as Lane and I had. Father was our first teacher, but he saw that we were trained, in his absences, by artists with a range of styles and mediums. The one who’d taught me to truly capture the world in shades of gray was the object of my first wrenchingly hopeless, undeclared and unrequited love.

  For one thing, he was twenty-eight years old, twice my age at the time. A brilliant artist, he normally did not take students but did so as a favor to my father, who had mentored him. Lane was his pet, but I was his pride, although at the time I wished the reverse had been true. My heart had been crushed by my teacher’s continued disregard of my tendresse. Looking back, it was silly to think that a man of his years would reciprocate the feelings of a coltish fourteen-year-old girl, yet I had hoped at the time that he might wait for me to grow up.

  Alas, it was not to be…although memories of Adam Roth filled any number of my sketchbooks, eventually to be replaced by another who’d captured my interest.

  In a flurry of telegrams, Daniel detailed the name of the steamer he’d contracted for himself and my belongings, the number of crates to be shipped, the cost to transport them all, and the estimated date of arrival. Nervous as a cat, I sought to occupy my mind or my drawing hand (or both) to lessen the risk of another ulceration. I tore apart my wardrobe, searching for the perfect thing to wear. It was all first mourning, of course, but still, some dresses were finer and more flattering than others. Edward had had several more made up after our arrival. He had pledged to care and provide for me, and I was grateful to look the part of a cherished relative rather than a poor one.

  Daniel landed in London the last Sunday of August. Nearly two months had passed since I’d seen him. For years, he’d been the goodness and light in my life, helping to keep the darkness at bay, and I’d betrayed his trust with my charade, living a lie that must now be confessed.

  God help me.

  The staff knew my secret by now, of course. After one particular melt-down left me curled and shaking on the kitchen floor, Edward had two women to calm: me and a terrified Babs. Convinced that I was about to start foaming at the mouth with hydrophobia, she had barked at Young Frank to find the stray dog that had nipped my hand a few days earlier when I tried to feed it a crust of bread. Thankfully, Edward intervened. Gathering me up and holding me in the shelter of his arms, he sent the boy upstairs and told Babs my story, confiding my past and explaining my soldier’s heart.

  His valet Benson was the next to learn of it. The rest of the servants soon followed. Only Benson and Babs knew that Daniel would be arriving unawares. Edward did not expect trouble per se, but a scene of some sort was entirely likely. He felt it safer to forewarn his most trusted staff, just in case things got out of hand. Daniel might be a bit smaller than Edward, but he was a scrapper, having grown up in the streets of New York where there were times that he’d had to fight to survive. The best in our regiment at hand-to-hand combat (not that we’d seen much of it once our newer rifles were issued), he was the kind of soldier you wanted fighting by your side. In companies formed by height, that was never the case with us, but he was my messmate and occasionally my tentmate, and I’d saved his leg (and probably his life) when I refused to let them amputate after a round smashed his tibia at Fredericksburg. Dr. Mary Edwards Walker agreed with me and watched over Daniel when I could not, forced to leave him behind at the Lacey House when our regiment moved out.

  He’d thanked me for my actions then. Pray God he would not hold them against me now.

  I thought I had prepared myself, but when Daniel sent wo
rd of his safe arrival, and I realized that he was here, my nerves stretched taut with anticipation. Daniel would be here just in time for tea.

  How would he see me? What would he think? Wanting to be as perfect as I could make myself for him, I checked my reflection in the gilt-framed mirror and straightened my collar. My hair was two inches longer than when my Irishman had last seen me, parted in the center and tucked beneath a ribbon net. Tiny jet beads, tacked where the thin ribbons crossed, winked in the afternoon light.

  Edward had insisted that he greet Daniel and welcome him into his home. As lord and master here, it was only fitting. That much I could not deny. Nor could I argue that it might be best if he brought Daniel to me and avoid a confrontation that could send him storming out the front door nearly as soon as he had entered it. And so I did as I was told. I waited alone in the dining room, now set with three places. One platter held small crustless sandwiches. Another held pastries, cookies, and scones. Near a large bowl of fresh fruit, a bottle of whiskey sat, incongruous, with a pair of short, squat glasses—the kind that gentlemen employed when smoking fine cigars and brokering deals. There was bargaining to be done, that much was certain, only this merger was much more intimate in nature, with three lives hanging in the balance. Each of us would enter this room separately. How we exited was up to Daniel.

  Laced into my corset as I was, there was no such thing as a deep, calming breath. My throat was tight. My palms were sweating. I wrung the ladies’ handkerchief that I’d brought down with me, hoping against hope that I would not actually need it, that any tears shed would be ones of joyful reunion. I was prepared to plead, to beggar myself for Daniel’s forgiveness. Edward had given him my list bearing proof of my affections. The things that I had chosen…the lowliest of items that I declared my greatest treasure…surely Daniel knew what it meant.