My True Love

by Cheryl Holt

  A thrill of excitement coursed through her as she amply realized the feminine power she possessed that enabled her to bring him to such a frenzied state. She gazed up at him, and the realization surged over her that she'd been prepared her entire life, since the day she'd been bora, to share this milestone with Lucas. He would take her; she would be his. Until the end of time.

  "Open your eyes," he said fiercely. "Look at me while I make you mine." He pushed into her with the heated crown of his erection. "Look at me! Know that I am the first. That I am the only one."

  "Yours," she said as he pushed again, coming in farther, her body extending and adjusting to his enormous size, the fear of the unknown causing her to bite her bottom lip.

  "Always and forever," he promised.

  With that he steadied himself and plunged inside. Her body tensed, and she had the irrational urge to flee from the intrusion, but she wanted to be united with him more than anything. She was astonished when he leaned down and tenderly rested his forehead against hers. His eyes were tightly closed, his frame rigid with pressure, his breathing fast and labored.

  "God, don't move," he whispered, his hands at her waist, holding her.

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  "It hurts ..." she whispered in return.

  "It will pass," he asserted, sounding like a lover, a friend, a confidant, and even as he gave the assurance, he was proved right. The pain began to abate, and her body started the physical process of accommodating him.

  "You're so tight. So hot and wet." As suddenly as it had come upon them, the period of calm passed, and he was once again overtaken by his spiraling drive for completion. "I'm sorry," he said, "I can't wait."

  Slowly at first, then faster and faster, he drove deeper than she ever imagined a man could go. There was a primal madness to it, of having no control over their bodies or where their animalistic dispositions were precipitously leading them.

  It was so ... wild. So uncivilized. His palms rested on either side of her head, the muscles of his arms defined and straining, and she gripped her hands around them, holding on with an untamed abandon, not daring to let go, and perfectly content to follow him to wherever the turbulent journey would take them.

  Without warning he stopped, and he clutched her hips and thrust as far as he was able, keeping her motionless while he reached his peak. He snarled fiercely and emptied himself, and she felt a delectable tingle low in her stomach as his warm seed spilled against her womb. The sensation was so unexpectedly wonderful that she didn't notice he had collapsed onto her. She was finally able to enfold him with her arms, as she'd been attempting to do through the entire encounter. She wrapped her legs around him as well, surrounding him with her body, her mind, and her soul.

  Their hearts pounded together in a constant rhythm, and she held him to her breast, his breath passing across her chest as his respiration eventually slowed. The intense physical gratification gradually passed and was languidly replaced by something bordering on serene affection. She ran her fingers though his hair and across his shoulders as she placed light kisses against his skin.

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  When he made an effort to pull away, she wound her legs more tightly, locking them behind his back so that he couldn't leave her. And he didn't. He started growing hard inside her, and they began again, with Lucas thrusting at his magical pace. Shifting, he looked her in the eye, an unreadable, unknowable expression on his face. It wasn't love she was seeing, but proprietorship, and that would have to be enough. For now.

  As he was still fully clothed, she tugged at his shirt, dragging it over his head and tossing it on the floor. She ran her hands across his chest, learning every bump and ridge, sifting her fingers through the thick mat of dark hair, plucking and toying with his nipples as he had done to hers.

  The coupling was different, slower and more gentle but no less dramatic for the changes. The initial joining had burned away much of the savage determination with which he'd taken her, and it had been replaced by a changed sort of driving force. The kisses lasted longer, the touches were more tender, and the speed of their climb back to the apex of desire was much more slow-paced. But soon they both approached the pinnacle again, and as her body struggled toward the release she knew she'd find in his arms, he amazed her further by hugging her tightly and holding her close.

  "Come with me this time," he urged. He covered her mouth with his and kissed her thoroughly. She lost herself in delight as he swallowed her cries of ecstasy.

  The wave crested and receded, seeming more concentrated because they'd shared it. As it ebbed and normalcy returned, still she did not let him leave her, though he tried his damnedest. Finally he gave in, and before long he was hard once more and riding her.

  She gave herself over to the reckless madness, letting him go and traveling along. They did not speak as he took her. Hard and fast. Slow and sweet. He turned her and moved her, and made love to her in every possible manner, until her muscles cramped, her mind became numb, and her legs shook with fatigue. Her thighs were bruised, bite marks and whisker burns

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  covered her in the most shocking locations, her woman's spot was sore and abused. Yet, she felt miraculously alive, energized, and ready to explode with rapture.

  Five times during the night, she let him have his way with her. When he finally drifted into an exhausted slumber, the sun was rising and the morning chorus of birds was singing outside the window. But Penny didn't hear any of the commotion. She fell asleep immediately, smiling and content to be lying in her husband's arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "So, is Penny my mother now?" Harry asked.

  "No. Your mother is in heaven," Lucas said from across the supper table.

  "But she's not here. I want a real mother here on earth. Can it be Penny?"

  "Certainly," he said. And I'll pretend she's my wife.

  "Good," Harry said, "because I like her very much."

  "I'm glad," Lucas said distractedly, feeling more heartsick with each word that came out of the boy's mouth.

  This was an unmitigated disaster, and it had been from the very beginning. Everyone was going to be hurt by his rash act—the one that had seemed so logical and justified at the start. No one had immunity from harm, including himself.

  He kept thinking of Penny, of how open and giving she was during their nightly sexual rompings. Initially he'd wanted to scare her into backing down from any type of carnal relationship, but she wouldn't be intimidated.

  When frightening her hadn't worked, he'd hoped to sensually torture her so that she would be overwhelmed and thus walk away from further couplings. But that plan hadn't succeeded either. She welcomed their bed play, the more erotic, the better.

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  He'd now taken her many, many times, on each occasion believing that spilling his seed would rid him of the greedy lust that raged in his veins. Instead, his hunger had grown with every joining, and now his need for her was a living, breathing ache in the center of his heart. He didn't know how he could go about the rest of his life without having her by his side.

  That first day after their purported wedding, the light of early afternoon had found him still snuggled in her bed, with his arm around her and her cheek pressed against his chest. He had lain, staring at her, then staring at the ceiling, while he contemplated all the failures that had led him to that moment. Surprisingly, with the smell of her lingering on his skin, hands, and tongue, and her warm, lush body cuddled intimately next to his, he couldn't find the necessary forbearance to be sorry for anything that had happened.

  When she'd awakened and stirred, stretching and purring like a contented kitten, he'd instantly lost his head and taken her again, though he did so slowly and cautiously because she was sore and tender from the previous hours of acrobatics. Since then his entire world had been turned upside down. All he could think about was having her. His body was constantly primed and ready for copulation as though he was a young lad
eager to empty himself at the drop of a hat.

  His hunger for her had become insatiable, his desire so strong that he could hardly converse with Harry. Concentration was impossible, completely shot to hell, and he could focus only on her and what he wanted to do to her the next time he managed to get her alone. Even though he'd just bathed, carefully washing away all traces of the swift frolic they'd enjoyed just before supper, he couldn't remove her scent from his head, and her special musk had become a permanent part of his consciousness.

  Despite his best intentions, he was entirely thunderstruck. To his dismay, the days and nights of sexual combat had done nothing to abate his rampant cravings, and he had no idea how

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  to subdue his powerful urges, thus causing him to realize that his problems had been multiplied a thousandfold.

  What a mess!

  "Is she going to live with us?" Harry, with his continual chatter, unknowingly persisted in rubbing salt in Lucas's wounds.

  "Of course," Lucas said carefully, already plotting the lies and reasonings he would have to use on the boy after Penny was gone.

  "Forever?"

  "Yes," he said tightly. "Now, why don't you finish up. It's past your bedtime."

  "Oh, Uncle Luke ... I'm not tired."

  He offered a bribe. "I'll tell you a story once you're settled under the covers."

  Harry glared at his uncle for a moment, then asked, "The one about the pirates? When they boarded your ship, and you were just a boy? Like me?''

  "Yes," Lucas promised, knowing it was a favorite. "I'll tell that one. If you hurry."

  "I guess that would be all right with me," he said imperiously, as though he were a king granting a boon.

  Or a duke, Lucas thought. It was amazing how paternity affected a fellow. Even though they'd never met, Harry had so many of his father's characteristics. Many of his half sister's too. Would she ever learn the truth? If she did, what would she think?

  Just then his personal tormentor, in the form of Penny Westmoreland, entered the kitchen. She was attired in a simple housedress, an apron covering most of her front, but it did little to hide her luscious curves. He knew the tantalizing secrets hidden beneath the clothes, and he could barely prevent himself from reaching for her. As it was, his cock stirred just from gazing upon her, just from smelling her and having her stand so near.

  She stopped behind his chair and casually rested a hand on

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  his shoulder as if she'd been touching him in such a regular, offhand fashion for years. Though he tried to ignore how wonderful the gesture felt, he couldn't, and he had to force himself to remain facing toward the table lest he shift around and pull her onto his lap. Which he absolutely, positively, dare not do! He was a man full grown. He could and would master his riotous masculine appetites.

  Every morning he swore he'd exercise some restraint, that he wasn't about to allow his behavior to lead them back under the covers. He'd already discovered that the slightest inappropriate step carried them directly to the bedroom. Each episode was too memorable, as his tormented body was shouting loudly and clearly. If Penny gave the slightest hint that she'd like a repeat performance, he'd be dropping his trousers as quickly as he was able. So, there was no reason to tempt fate.

  Penny leaned closer, lovingly sifting her fingers through his hair, and the move brought her torso in contact with his upper back. Her breasts, those two perfect globes of womanly splendor, were pressed against him. Her nipples were poking against her apron.

  How much suffering, he wondered, could one man tolerate and still manage to survive?

  "What are you about, Master Harry?" she asked, smiling at the boy. "Are you finished?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Then, it's off to bed with you."

  "Just a few more minutes?" he asked, looking so sweet that he might have been one of those cherubs painted on a church ceiling.

  "I already let you stay up longer than I should have."

  Harry looked to Lucas, his big blue eyes begging silently for an ally. "I already gave you my opinion," Lucas said. "You're off to bed."

  "Don't even think about forgetting your promise," Harry ordered haughtily as he slipped off the chair.

  Penny patted his head, saying to Lucas, ' 'He sounds just like

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  my father when he talks like that," and Lucas nearly choked on the ale he was attempting to swallow.

  "Lead on, my lord duke," she said to Harry, holding out her hand, and the lad trustingly slipped his small one into hers.

  “Don't forget,'' Harry repeated, and Penny glanced at Lucas, raising a questioning brow.

  "I said I'd tell him a story," Lucas explained while struggling frantically to keep his wits from fraying like a worn rope.

  "A true one," Harry offered. "That means it really happened."

  "Is that so?" She talked to him as though she'd interacted with four-year-old children all her life. "What sorts of stories do you enjoy?"

  "I like the ones about when Lucas was a boy like me. And about my mother," he added. "I like those too."

  "I'll bet you do," she said. "I'd like to hear some stories about Lucas and your mother too."

  "He's very good at telling them. Especially about the pirates ..." And their voices trailed off as they climbed the stairs.

  Lucas leaned forward and miserably rested his head in his hands. She appeared so contented in the little home Matthew had found for them, she'd taken to Harry like a mother hen to a chick, and she'd become Lucas's pretend wife in the most passionate ways imaginable. Good Lord, but in a matter of days they'd begun to carry on like an actual family, and at the sudden insight he could barely keep from groaning aloud.

  Just that very morning they'd risen from their bower of bliss, and she'd taken a bath, so he seized the opportunity to slip away, hoping to meet with Matthew at their rendezvous spot in order to learn the latest ransom news from London. But his brother hadn't been there, and Lucas spent the time in the quiet woods, trying to clear his mind in order to come to terms with what was happening and how he felt about it.

  When he finally returned to the house, Penny welcomed him sweetly with hugs and kisses and not a hint of embarrassment

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  over their dawn escapade. Worried about her and her condition after his rough handling, he managed to whisper, "Are you feeling all right?"

  "Just a little sore," she said, giving him a saucy wink that had made his pulse increase and blood rush to his groin.

  Then Harry had begun tugging at his pant leg, yammering on about the coming day, and they played together in the yard while Penny watched and laughed. Lucas spent the afternoon engaged in all manner of husbandly chores, even helping her move some heavy furniture. Later, supper had been warming on the stove, and he and the boy sat together at the kitchen table while Penny dished up their meal. She fed her men, as she referred to them, hesitantly asking about the thick stew and shyly admitting that she'd fixed it herself. Just for the two of them.

  Without warning they'd become a unit, a cohesive group instead of separate individuals.

  What was he going to do?

  A voice sounded behind him, the French accent unmistakable. "For a new husband who is having the most fabulous of nightly pleasure," Colette said, "you do not look so delighted, eh?"

  He growled and turned to face her. "Don't start with me, Mistress Colette."

  "You have much manly gratification these days, so you should be content, relaxed, and able to talk of difficult topics." Looking overly sly and wise, she said, "So, you are not distressed? You are very satisfied, out?"

  "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm ecstatic."

  "I am glad to hear that my lady has served you well."

  The woman had an incredible amount of gall to speak of the subject of his and Penny's supposed marital couplings, and he caught himself blushing at the picture of her lying awake belowstairs, and perhaps hea
ring all the racket coming from the upper bedroom.' T hardly think that how we pass our private

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  hours is any of your business, and I don't intend to discuss it with you."

  "Not my business?" she asked, scoffing as though he were a dolt, then narrowing her eyes menacingly. ' 'Everything about my lady is my business."

  He was tired of bandying words with her. "If you're so worried about my intentions," he said irritably, "why didn't you take her back to the duke like you threatened?"

  "We remain for one reason and one reason only!"

  "That being?"

  "Because my lady is filled with joy, and she still believes you will bring her much happiness."

  "And if at some point she changes her mind?"

  "Then we will be gone"—she clapped her hands loudly— "like that!"

  "Well, then," he said softly, dangerously, "I don't plan to ever make her unhappy, so we don't have a thing to worry about, do we?"

  She gave a French curse.' 'I do not know what you are about, but if you hurt my lady when you are finished," she warned, her voice full of venom, "I will hunt you down and kill you like a dog!"

  "Oh, for pity's sake," he grumbled, exasperated. Would the woman's rampant speculation never end? "I don't have to listen to this." Pushing the chair back, he walked to the stairs. Behind him, he could hear Colette muttering in French. He didn't understand what she was saying, but he caught the general drift, and he was fairly certain she'd have his head on a pike if she ever had half a chance.

  Ignoring her diatribe, he climbed to Harry's room, finding him scrubbed and in his nightclothes, already abed. Lucas sat on the edge of the bed and related the tale about the pirates' boarding.