by Josie Litton
Tempting Gemma
Part Eight
Josie Litton
About this Book
From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Josie Litton
"Shockingly sexy!--Goodreads "Laugh out loud fun!"--Amazon
Gemma is off to her school reunion and Charles is going with her. Can the dear old Mary Magdalene School for Young Females possibly survive? Find out in the continuation of this sizzling summer romance.
Set in a version of the modern world very loosely inspired by Jane Austen, this is the story of what happens when a lovely young woman unexpectedly finds herself married to a gorgeous British lord possessed of inexhaustible virility
In between encounters in every room of her husband’s sprawling ancestral manor house, not to mention the surrounding grounds, Gemma must cope with peculiar family members, a local village filled with secrets and her own overwhelming lust for the man she doesn’t dare to love.
Will she succumb to temptation and fall in love with her uninhibited and unexpectedly charming husband? Will Charles come up for air long enough to confess to his enchanting wife that she is the woman of his dreams? Find out as TEMPTING GEMMA continues in Episode Eight.
Don’t miss the free gift offer for you at the end of this book!
Contents
About this Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
My Gift to You!
Sneak Peeks
Chapter One
Idon’t feel quite right about this,” Charles said.
“It’s fine, really, I understand,” Gemma assured her husband. Privately, she thought it only fair that he should be at least a little uncomfortable.
A weekend attending the reunion at her late, unlamented alma mater was going to be stressful enough. That she should also have to deal with his incorrigible libido’s unseemly response to the situation left her more than a little resentful. Even so, she wished he’d get on with it.
“That’s awfully good of you,” he said. “But still…”
“Honestly, you can’t be blamed. On the contrary, it’s to your credit that you feel as you do. Rising above the circumstances and all that.”
A less distracted man might have sensed her insincerity. Charles was too caught up in the moment to be troubled by any such perception.
“You think so?” he asked hopefully. “I really believe this wouldn’t even be happening if it weren’t for--”
He glanced down at the short blue-and-white plaid skirt that was presently hiked up around his wife’s slim waist, baring her delightfully round, firm bottom. Bent over the hood of the silver MG, with her legs spread wide and her panties pulled down around her knees, she made an enticing picture. That the thick shaft of his cock was currently sliding in and out of her glistening cunt only added to it.
Charles had been forced to pull over onto the side of the road somewhere north of the hamlet of Great Tossen when the sight of her pert nipples protruding through the weave of her white angora sweater had finally proved too much even for one of his stalwart nature.
He’d borne the alluring vision of her as long as he could but those impudent breasts and long bare legs under the tiny skirt, not to mention the damn white knee socks, loafers--and, heaven help him, pigtails--all combined to undo him. Ever since they had pulled out of the drive at Ardsley Manor that morning, a non-stop X-rated loop had been running in his head:
Gemma spreading her lovely legs, sliding a hand under the edge of her panties and making herself come whilst pretending not to know that he was watching. Gemma bending her head past the gear shaft, unzipping his pants with a saucy smile, taking his rock hard prick in her delectable mouth and sucking him off. Gemma pulling up her sweater to bare her luscious titties, then clambering on top of him and riding his massive cock to mutual bliss.
In all of these pleasant scenarios, he saw himself continuing to negotiate the winding roads of northern England with cool expertise whilst still coming like the proverbial geyser.
In reality, his fevered imaginings had almost been enough to wrap them around one of the few scraggly trees to be found on the surrounding miles of moorland.
Hence, the impromptu road stop. It was really a matter of public safety.
Although he would never say so out loud and risk offending his wife’s tender sensibilities, he thought the fact that recent graduates of the Mary Magdalene School for Young Females were required to wear their uniforms to reunion was a stroke of genius. Whatever deficiencies dear old MM suffered from--he had come to suspect there were many--a lack of quality event planning was not among them.
Fortunately, the road was deserted--they hadn’t seen another car or lorry in miles. Only a solitary goat, foraging among the gorse, was present to observe their rutting.
“It’s the uniform,” Charles said, grunting as he increased the tempo of his thrusts. “Conjures up all sorts of nubile school girl fantasies.”
Gemma suspected that she was in for a weekend of those but perhaps it was just as well. She might benefit from a diversion and then there was also the need to keep her husband in a positive frame of mind. That was vital if she was going to persuade him to see things her way.
All thought of such matters faded when he suddenly grasped her pigtails and thrust even harder and deeper into her.
“Fuck, you’re so hot and tight!” he muttered. “Can’t get enough of you. Sweetest cunt ever!”
Not for the first time, she reflected that no one would ever accuse him of being a poet, although to be fair, he was fond of limericks. Even so, if he would just hurry up a bit…
“I’m going to cum--” her husband announced hoarsely.
Oh, good. Then they could get back on the road and--
The orgasm that hit Gemma was so unexpected that for a moment, she refused to believe it was happening. She most emphatically was not in the mood. She had merely been doing her wifely duty in the interest of congenial marital relations. That she should suddenly be in the grip of-
“Aahh,” she screamed to the heavens, “Oh, god, so good! Fuck me! Oh, yes, yes, harder!”
The startled goat looked up and in the next instant bolted. In its anxiousness to escape, it ran straight at the humans, only just missing impaling its curved horns in Charles’ bare, pistoning backside. It is unlikely that he--Charles, not the goat--would have noticed as by then he was in the throes of his own release.
At the last possible moment, the goat veered off. The couple was left to complete their amorous encounter before--with a bit of necessary tidying up and some embarrassed laughter-- they resumed their journey.
∞ ∞ ∞
It was getting on for late afternoon when Charles and Gemma drove into the picturesque village of Upper Prickbottom located two miles from the Mary Magdalene School for Young Females. As the school itself lacked accommodations for guests, the village with its three inns and several guest houses was the most convenient place to stay.
Charles had booked a suite at the largest of the inns--The Strutting Cock. It stood just across the village green from its rival, The Three Mincing Footmen and catty-corner from its other competitor, The Jolly Wallop. All three inns were constructed in the stone and half-timbered Tudor style for no better reason than having been built back then.
The proprietor of The Strutting Cock, one Walter Snivels, welcomed his lordship to the establishment, presented him with a heavy wrought iron room key that appeared to be the original and assured him that everything possible would be done to make his stay a pleasant one.
Having declined the assistance of a boy to carry their bags, Cha
rles escorted his wife upstairs. Their rooms proved adequate enough if a bit quaint and stuffy. The latter problem was relieved by the simple act of opening the leaded casement windows and letting in the wind that blew unceasingly across the moor.
With some hours still to go before the official welcoming dinner at dear old MM, Gemma opted to make use of the claw-footed tub that held pride of place in a bathroom boasting the latest modern conveniences of 1900.
Charles would have joined her but he sensed she needed some time to collect herself before venturing once again within the walls of Mary Magdalene. Instead, he decided to explore the village. Scarcely had he stepped beyond the inn than he spotted a jaunty sign across the road that read “Ye Old Souvenir Shoppe”.
Curious to see what sort of memorabilia was on offer in Upper Prickbottom, his lordship ventured forth.
Chapter Two
At first glance, the establishment that Charles entered was stocked with the usual items one would expect to find in such a place--snow globes, T-shirts, coffee mugs, key chains and the like. Some depicted the village itself, others celebrated the dour solemnity of dear old Mary Magdalene.
He was examining a ruddy-cheeked Toby Jug disconcertingly sporting the features of Dame Aurelia Ratwitz herself when his eye fell on a commemorative wooden paddle nearby. It depicted the village dunking stool used to dissuade women, as the inscription on it read, “inclined to rise above their natural place in times gone by.”
Charles wondered if that last part hadn’t been included at the insistence of the village lawyers. If he wandered down toward the pond beyond the green, would he find the dunking stool still there and in good repair?
The question was still unsettled in his mind when he noticed a helmet-like device designed to fit snugly over the head and face with an iron bit in the front and a padlock in the back. It bore a tag that gave at least a hint of its purpose: “Scold’s Bridle--for the correction of females given to nagging and/or rebellious discourse.”
He was turning away with a frown when he spied the floggers hanging on an adjacent wall. A sign above them assured the prospective buyer that they were made from goat hair collected from the wild herds that roamed the local moorland. He had to admit that when he tested one against his own arm, the strands had a pleasantly silky feel.
Having purchased the flogger, he returned to the inn to find his wife rising rosy-skinned from her bath.
“Where have you been?” she asked as she reached for a towel.
Ever helpful, he hastened to wrap her in it, then slipped an arm around her waist and drew her close. Gently patting her dry, he inhaled appreciatively. She smelled so good, some combination of wild roses, sunlight and pure Gemma. The scent of her never failed to lift his spirits, among other things.
“Exploring,” he said, wondering if they had enough time for him to do a bit more of that over his favorite of all territories, his wife’s exquisite body.
His wife. How odd to think that there was a time not very long ago when the thought of putting his head in the matrimonial noose would have filled him with dread. Now he couldn’t imagine being without her.
“The village?” she asked. “What’s it like?”
He was surprised that she didn’t know. Surely visits to the local town or village were a part of every student’s experience. He certainly remembered his fondly.
“Only Dame Aurelia’s favorites were allowed to do that,” Gemma said when he inquired. “I was certainly never one of them.”
“That’s to your credit. As for Upper Prickbottom, let’s just say that it’s resisting the modern world better than most.”
“The same can be said of Mary Magdalene. I don’t think I ever heard the word ‘progress’ uttered there without being accompanied by a sneer.”
“We have those types in the City,” Charles said. “Tiresome fellows.”
His glance fell on the mantle clock adorning the bathroom’s fireplace. “Sadly, we should be on our way soon.”
Gemma nodded but he could sense her reluctance. In the bedroom, she stared with distaste at the uniform she had left out.
“You brought other clothes, didn’t you?” her husband prompted gently.
She looked surprised that he had noticed and just a bit guilty. “I may have.”
The solution struck him as obvious. “Then wear something else.”
He could see that she was tempted but she shook her head. “I don’t want to draw Dame Aurelia’s attention. She’s bound to be suspicious of me to start with because of all that forbidden reading.”
“You don’t want her to know how thoroughly you reject everything she stands for?”
His perception startled her. She looked at him cautiously. “Something like that.”
In the loftiest of tones, Charles said, “As your husband, I insist that you wear what you like. Should Dame Aurelia remark on your choice of attire, I will leave her in no doubt that you are simply doing my bidding.”
Slowly, not taking her eyes from him, Gemma said, “That’s very good of you.”
“Happy to do it. Now one other thing.” He unsnapped the leather carry-all he’d brought along and removed a black velvet case.
“More jewelry?” Gemma exclaimed at the sight of it. “Surely, I already have enough.”
It warmed him that she should think so. Clearly, she had no idea of the full extent of the collection to which he was heir and that he intended to bestow on her.
“This piece is a bit different,” the Marquess said. “I acquired it just a few days ago on the chance that it would prove useful. Given the circumstances, I think you should have it now.”
Gemma opened the case and glanced inside. Her head shot up. She glared at him. “You aren’t serious.”
Hastily, he said, “Hear me out. One of the greatest advantages you can have is to be underestimated by your adversaries. You and I will know that this signifies only my…deep esteem for you. But Dame Aurelia will see it, jump to her own conclusions about the nature of our relationship and dismiss any thought that you could be a threat to her.”
Gemma was silent for a moment before she said, “That sounds very Machiavellian.”
He thought of her hiding away in the basement with her books and smiled. “Have you read him?”
Proving that she had indeed absorbed the teachings of the master of deception, Gemma murmured, “Perhaps…”
Another moment passed during which his dear little wife scrutinized him intently. Without being privy to her thoughts, he could only wonder what was going through her mind as she mulled over what he had revealed of his own.
Finally, she asked, “What is it that you do in the City, exactly?”
Charles took a moment to savor the question. Beyond the most superficial aspects of his nature, he was truly known to very few people. That his wife should have so grown in her awareness of him that she knew precisely what to ask pleased him greatly.
Whilst he couldn’t answer her entirely--there were unofficial aspects to his work that were not his secret to tell--he could at least reply in general terms.
Best to start at the beginning, he thought.
“Long, long ago,” the Marquess said, smiling, “in days of yore when knights were bold and ladies were glad of it, an ancestor of mine married a young woman who was not of the nobility. It caused a tremendous scandal. She was the only child of someone who made his living in a way hardly anyone had heard of back then; her father was a merchant banker.”
Gemma’s gaze widened. She was as fond of a good story as he was and as such did not mind his roundabout way of explaining the matter. In an instant, she recalled everything she knew about merchant banking. It wasn’t much; she’d had access to only a few economics texts in her basement hide-away. But she did know that centuries ago a handful of men had achieved wealth beyond any the world had ever seen.
Extraordinarily, they had not done it in the time-honored way--by fire and the sword--but with abacuses, account books and a sensible resp
ect for risk management. More than any king or emperor, they had changed the course of history.
“Oh,” she said, at once surprised and impressed. ‘Well done, Ardsley ancestor who loved both well and wisely.”
“Indeed,” her husband replied. “The banker, faced with the loss of his beloved daughter to a member of a class he despised, was outraged. He did weigh the potential advantage of having a noble son-in-law against what he saw as the negatives--arrogance, savagery, ignorance, inbreeding, etc.--and flatly refused to agree to the marriage. That was unfortunate as they had already been secretly married by a sympathetic priest and the young woman was pregnant with the first of their seven children.
“Happily, before very long the outraged merchant banker discovered that his broadsword wielding son-in-law had a head for numbers and preferred studying account ledgers to laying siege to castles. He embraced him and they all lived happily ever after. The bank has been in the family ever since.”
