Bound to Be a Groom

by Megan Mulry

  Anna smiled softly. “For some reason, it no longer feels like a capitulation but rather the sharing of some mysterious power.” She ran her free hand through his hair. “Your body is mine to explore and enjoy.” His eyes drifted closed in anticipation of all that entailed. “If I don’t enjoy that particular act, then so be it,” she said pragmatically. “But I’m quite finished having a fixed opinion about something I’ve never tried.”

  “You’re certain?” he asked, then began kissing her fingertips.

  She removed her hand from his lips and pulled up her skirts to reveal her neatly trimmed pussy. “I am certain.”

  “Tell me what to do,” he pleaded, his voice rough with anticipation.

  She started touching herself with fingers still wet from his mouth, spreading herself open in that contemplative way that drove him to distraction, lazily tracing the slick evidence of her own desire. “I want to ride you. Lie back, my sweet.” She stood up from the bench, holding her skirts bunched around her waist, and gestured for him to recline on the pine-scented earth.

  Everything about their fecund surroundings and her languorous movements was primitive and natural. Sebastian was overpowered by a profound and soul-soothing communion. Keeping her skirts hitched up in one hand, she straddled his body and began to lower herself onto his cock. Her moist sex touched the crown of his, and then she pulled away an inch.

  He groaned in desperation.

  “And of course, it goes without saying that I must come before you,” she declared. “Will you be able to hold back?”

  “I will do everything in my power, but you are so beautiful.”

  She smiled that powerful smile down at him and reached out to touch his lower lip. “So are you, my love. So are you.”

  He reached for her then, and she shook her head.

  “Tsk tsk. Hands above your head, Sebastian.”

  He stretched his arms over his head with a plaintive sigh.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said as she taunted the tip of his cock with her wet folds. “I will make sure you are properly secured next time.”

  He nearly cried out at the words, throwing his head back at the glorious prospect that there would be a next time.

  She slid down onto him, slowly and painstakingly encompassing every inch of him. She was using him in the most rudimentary, fantastic way. Her eyes were closed and her hands were fluttering, one around his face and one between them, along his straining shaft. He was swept away by her touch but forced himself to keep his eyes open, to see the intensity of her experience.

  “It’s so warm.” She spoke like a scientist, dictating notes to a class of students who were observing a rare undiscovered flower for the first time. “So much more subtle than I’d imagined. The veins and the tender skin . . .”

  “Anna.” Sebastian was nearly beyond speech, her name filling him to the exclusion of anything else.

  Then she began to ride him, gently at first, in that meditative fashion, slowly tilting this way or that, trying him and testing him to suit herself. Then she found her rhythm and used his body mercilessly.

  “Anna!” he cried out. She covered his mouth with her small hand, and he licked her salty skin desperately, needing her touch and her permission. Needing her. “Please!” he cried against the skin of her palm.

  She threw her beautiful blonde hair back, and her inner walls gripped around him, so tight and fierce, so like her. “Now!” she cried, and he flew over with her, his cock throbbing and his balls clenching as her glorious orgasm extracted everything from him, every part of his soul flying into her keeping.

  “Oh my.” Anna was splayed out on Sebastian’s chest, her cheek pressed against the clean white linen of his shirt, his heart pounding steadily into her ear. “That was beautiful.”

  “Yes, it was,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “May I touch you?”

  She breathed him in. “Yes.”

  His hands came down lightly on the sweaty fabric along her back, trailing reverently to her narrow waist then across her bared bottom. She felt the skin prickle beneath his adoring palms.

  “What we have, Anna, it is something—”

  “Shhh.” She rested her fingertip against his lips. “I need to say more.”

  “Please.”

  “I think the most . . . the hardest part for me to face . . . is that I’ve fallen in love with you, Sebastian. That I love you.”

  He pulled her into a tight hold, both of his arms flying around her narrow waist and keeping her firmly against his body. She had never said it, and obviously he was overjoyed to hear it, if his reaction was anything to go by.

  “Why is that hard to face?” he asked finally. “I find it wonderful to love you so much. I want to tell you all the time.”

  “You love love, Sebastian. You exude it.” She kept her face turned away, resting her cheek against his warm, solid body. “For me, love is the terrible thing that destroyed my mother, that led her to do all those devastating things—to disobey her husband, to throw her life away.”

  “Anna?”

  She looked up after a few more seconds, resting her chin on the backs of her hands. “Yes?”

  “What if your mother was glad she did what she did?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if the Conde de Floridablanca and the nuns and everyone up until now made you believe your mother was miserable and full of regret? But what if she loved the British man who fathered you? What if things had been different and she had lived to bring you here, and the three of you had lived as a happy family?”

  She smiled at Sebastian, thinking how innocent he was in certain ways. “So many what-ifs, my sweet Sebastian. Your mind always takes such a happy turn.”

  His body moved beneath hers as he shrugged against the pine needles. “Life is full of surprises, my dear. Look at us. I never thought I’d marry, much less fall in love. I dreaded an eternity of my father’s disapproval and having to live a secret life to enjoy my . . . proclivities . . .”

  Anna smiled at him.

  “And instead of that? I got you, all rolled into one: my demanding mistress, my tender lover, my devoted wife.”

  She turned her face to the side again and sighed. “I know. We are lucky. We are so lucky. I only meant . . . love makes me feel unstable, a little weak.”

  “Only a little, I’m sure.” Sebastian laughed, and she reveled in how it thrummed through her, how his happiness underpinned her own.

  And there it was. The realization that she wanted him to be happy. That she did not need to be the sole source of his happiness. That she would revel in his happiness as he reveled in hers.

  “Oh fine. Only a little weak,” she conceded.

  They rested like that for many minutes, their breathing taking on a shared rhythm, their bodies pressed together. A while later, Anna sighed again. “I may as well confess all . . . since I’ve managed to break every promise I ever made to myself in my youthful, prideful ignorance . . .”

  “What promises have you broken?” Sebastian interrupted, stroking her hair away from her eyes.

  She tapped his chest as she enumerated. “One: I promised myself I would never fall in love with you. Two: I promised myself I would never come to rely on your love. Three: I promised myself I would never enjoy being, well, penetrated by a beastly man.”

  He laughed, and she saw the love in his eyes and the way her words worked him into that state of bliss.

  “I can’t say I’m sorry you broke any of those promises.” He continued rubbing a strand of her hair between his fingers, and she shivered as the small gesture sent a thrilling jolt down her spine. “So what else are you confessing? Other than how irresistible you find me.”

  She gave him a light punch on the chest, and he laughed again. After a few seconds, she looked him in the eye, all seriousness. “I must confess . . . I am far from ambivalent about your attraction to Farleigh—”

  “Honestly, if you are opposed—”

  �
��I want to see you and Farleigh together. It stirs me even now to imagine it . . .” Her inner walls tightened around his softened cock, still inside her. “But I’m too much of a coward to confess it.”

  “I think you just did.”

  She laughed, and it felt free and liberating as it rang through the secret garden. “I believe I did.” Anna stretched to kiss him on the lips. Oh, how she loved this wonderful man. How she thrilled to the idea of seeing him taken in hand by that English Adonis. “When?” she asked, breathless and eager.

  It was Sebastian’s turn to laugh again. “I think, for once, I am going to make you wait.”

  Anna pulled away quickly, then smiled wickedly. “Oh, it’s worth being punished for, is it?”

  “Quite.” His eyes narrowed. “I think perhaps we should go to a ball, or a concert, someplace wonderfully formal and public, all buttoned up and repressed. And you shall have to bow and curtsey and be held at arm’s length. And you shall see how Farleigh and I will touch each other, man to man, nothing untoward, riding in the carriage, discussing the horses, enjoying one another’s manly company.”

  Anna felt her heart speeding up. “Yes . . .”

  “Or perhaps we should have a fencing match or few rounds of boxing . . .”

  “Perhaps . . .” Her hips were beginning to rotate against his stiffening cock. “Would it be very sweaty?”

  His lips curved at her interest. “It is midsummer—” He flipped her onto her back and lowered his lips to hers. “It would be a sweaty, panting mess.” He began moving inside her as he continued intermittently taunting her with lurid descriptions of Farleigh’s slick, muscular body wrestling against his. She dug one hand into his thick black hair and grabbed the fabric on his upper arm as she screamed into his kiss when he made her come again.

  For the next two weeks, nothing was said of sensual possibilities, though much was implied. Farleigh was getting testy.

  After the four of them spent the first night at Farleigh’s home having a quiet, restorative supper, they were hurled into a social tumult.

  The Spaniards excited a furore.

  While in Madrid, Anna had ordered a complete wardrobe for Pia, as well as one for herself. The two of them struck quite a chord when they entered the ballrooms of Mayfair—Anna petite, rigid, blonde, and cool as a winter wind, and Pia tall, voluptuous, and dark as a raven’s wing.

  And Sebastian.

  Farleigh watched across the crowded ballroom as Sebastian spoke to an elderly woman who was standing next to Farleigh’s mother. The way Sebastian engaged the dowdy shrew so completely, responded so animatedly, made Farleigh smile. As soon as Sebastian turned his attention to someone, that person inevitably believed she was the center of his universe. Ladies sighed and seemed to melt as he passed nearby, and gentlemen sniffed around for an introduction in order to set up boxing matches, fencing contests, and other tests of physical prowess.

  Sebastian had been in town for only two weeks, and he already held the cream of London society in the palm of his hand. Of course, Farleigh wasn’t jealous; it wasn’t in his nature. He was far too pragmatic for jealousy. But . . .

  It would make Farleigh’s life far more enjoyable if Sebastian stayed on for a longer visit. He was quite good company, always amiable. The idea of an indefinite visit was most enjoyable of all—especially when Farleigh was alone in his room at night, thinking over the turn of Sebastian’s shoulder when he threw a right hook or the straining thigh muscles in his buckskins, taut and firm as they were now in his breeches, shadow and sinew accentuated by the candlelit chandeliers.

  The last thing Farleigh had expected when he’d received word from his newly married Spanish friend was that their physical attraction would ratchet higher upon his arrival in London. In fact, Farleigh had been expecting an utterly boring married couple. The affair between Farleigh and Sebastian in Spain two years ago had been nothing more than a youthful foray. An itch to scratch. But Sebastian had changed since then. Farleigh often found himself unable to look away from the strapping, confident man he’d become.

  Yes, Farleigh had taken full advantage of Sebastian’s submissive proclivities two years ago—the pleasure Sebastian took in being taken, as it were, was a natural fit for both of them—but Farleigh had assumed Sebastian’s acquiescent tendencies would have been erased, or at least tamped down, now that he had decided to take the traditional route and marry a young Spanish convent girl.

  How wrong could Farleigh have been! Watching the way Sebastian nearly melted at his wife’s smallest demands, Farleigh was even more titillated upon realizing Sebastian’s submissive nature had also matured. If he could have him like that, entirely at his mercy—

  “You’d best stop mooning over him or someone will begin to suspect,” Pia said softly as she brought a small glass of ratafia to her lips.

  “No one would ever possibly suspect anything,” Farleigh said, without taking his eyes off Sebastian’s perfectly muscled behind.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because everyone knows I’m in love with you.”

  Pia sighed and exhaled through her nose. “You must begin disclaiming such false reports.”

  He turned and looked at her spectacular face, long and proud and utterly unfoolish. “The reports are not entirely false, dear Pia.”

  “Think how many poor girls in this very ballroom—and their mamas—would give their eyeteeth to hear such an enthusiastic declaration.”

  He smiled at her sarcasm and lifted his chin. “I’ve no need of eyeteeth, you know that. And neither one of us is much for exaggeration or flattery.”

  “That much is true.” She returned her gaze to the dance floor where Anna was once again swirling about with the very attentive Arthur Wellesley. “You have no need of anything, Your Grace. That much is clear.”

  He narrowed his eyes and refocused them on Sebastian who had turned to scan the room for his friends. When he spied Farleigh and Pia, his face bloomed into a fabulously inappropriate smile, and he began heading toward them through the crush of guests. “I used to think so, Pia. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Ah. I see,” she answered softly. “I feel sorry for your future wife.”

  “Why is that?” He looked at her intently.

  “Oh, please, don’t let’s mince words. Any potential wife will never be able to compete with your feelings for him.” She lifted her chin in Sebastian’s general direction, smiling when she saw he was waylaid once again on his journey toward them.

  “Is that so?” Farleigh prodded, drawing her into the trap.

  “Of course that is so. It doesn’t take a clairvoyant to see you’re attached to him or . . .” Her voice faded.

  “Or what? I like the sound of your self-righteous conviction. It’s so refreshingly unladylike.”

  “Very well then. You’re in love with him. How is a wife supposed to compete with that?”

  “The same way a husband does.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. The same way Sebastian competes with you for Anna’s affection.”

  “There’s no competition between the three of us—” Her gloved hand flew to cover her mouth.

  “Aha!” he said, loud enough to draw a few turned heads from the area where his mother was sitting with some of the older doyennes. He lowered his voice. “I suspected as much. You three are, in fact, three. Am I right?”

  “Farleigh!” she whispered hotly, then lowered her hand and schooled her features to bland disinterest. “Pardon me, Your Grace, for speaking in such an appallingly familiar manner.”

  He smiled, enjoying himself in a ballroom for the first time in living memory. “Patrizia!” he said in a tone of outraged surprise that mimicked hers.

  Her face blushed furiously, and he had a brief glimpse of what it would be to make love to her, or better yet to make love to Sebastian while Pia watched them with those stormy eyes of hers that never seemed to miss a speck.

  “Duke.” She tried to sound ster
n, but he could tell she was beginning to simmer. “We are in a ballroom.” It was impossible to live in the same house for two weeks and not feel the burbling desire that fizzed and popped around Sebastian, Anna, and Pia. Farleigh wasn’t absolutely certain what their arrangement was, but he was intrigued.

  And getting hard.

  He thought about a bucket of icy water being thrown on his groin and got his lust back in check. “So we are, Lady Pia. So we are.” She looked at him quizzically. “In a ballroom, that is.”

  “Oh, that. Yes, we are.”

  He was quiet for a few more seconds, then asked, “The truth is all rather promising, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think I follow.”

  “I want it to be four.” He stated it plainly, as if he were placing an order for a new set of neckcloths from Mowbray’s.

  “Farleigh!” she whispered harshly. “You mustn’t speak so in public. These are potentially criminal offenses not to be bandied about so blithely.” She kept her eyes on Anna and the flirtatious lieutenant general in his absurd red coat as they whirled around the floor.

  Farleigh shrugged. “Funny you should mention the illicit aspect of my sordid nature. As it turns out, the situation becomes far less criminal for me with you and Anna hanging about nearby.”

  She pretended to ignore him.

  “And you would be hanging about, wouldn’t you, Pia?” He touched her elbow with his, and he thought he felt her shiver. “I know how observant you are, such a keen eye for the smallest detail.”

  Pia groaned at his provocative words. He was right, of course. The idea of watching Farleigh and Sebastian had nearly consumed her with lust over the past weeks. The two men bantered all day long, patting each other on the backs, or that one time, when Anna had been out in the garden collecting roses, when Farleigh had smacked Sebastian’s bottom as he left the room. The two men were always jolly and physical. Fencing. Boxing. Sweating.

  All the while, Pia’s temperature had been rising to dangerous levels through no physical exertion whatsoever. She was often flushed and fluttery. Idiotic, really.