The Model Master

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Another glimpse at the stark naked Ash and his friend’s crookedly fastened buttons convinced him that she had. He quaked with jealousy, nearly choking with ire.

  My God, orgies under his own roof! Well, she hadn’t been married to the Demon for nothing after all....

  Yet she seemed the picture of innocence.

  Bryony finished and then helped Arabella into her own silk robe. The young woman belted it and came over to where Michael was sitting.

  "So how are you feeling? This massaging certainly seems a wonderful idea. Most restful. And, er, stimulating."

  Michael quivered a bit as he observed the way the silk draped over her. His friend’s wife was a very attractive young woman, but he wanted only Bryony. He looked from one to another in confusion, feeling like a callow youth.

  Blake had been quite a circumspect man throughout the war, with one steady mistress, a much older and rather dull widow, and a couple of bored Army wives in the six years he had served in the Iberian peninsula. He was sure Arabella had been chaste when they wed. Eswara was supposed to be a respectable widow and Ash was scarcely more than a child. What was he thinking? He was clearly letting his imagination run away with him due to his own insecurities.

  He was reassured when Bryony came over to sit in his lap. "We were all just getting dressed again and coming back downstairs. Blake thinks he might have a job for Eswara at Millcote. Ash is feeling so much better now that he might be able to resume his schooling and also be trained by Blake."

  "Wonderful news. So you would be going off to Millcote?" he asked politely, hoping he kept the enormous relief out of his voice.

  "If we can find a good home to go to, once Ash is well, of course. Walking again, I hope. For the moment, we are quite comfortable in Bath and enjoying the delights of the town," Eswara replied.

  "You would have more patients here in Bath, but I would be most grateful if you would consider it. They’ll be coming to stay for a few days, Michael. I would be delighted if you all would be willing to form a little house party?"

  "Oh, no, um—" Michael said, blushing at the thought of some sybaritic...

  "Certainly. We can also see the Elthams and Stones. Blake wants to show us the site of the new house they’re building at Jerome Manor, and introduce us to his cousins," Bryony told him.

  Michael caught the five of them exchanging looks but could not interpret them clearly. He got the feeling they were all hiding something from him, but one kiss from Bryony and he gave in.

  "All right. When?"

  "The day after tomorrow?"

  "Fine," he said shortly, wondering why he was certain he was being manipulated in some subtle way he was not going to like at all.

  His conviction he was being manipulated and that Bryony was being less than honest with him persisted that night when she said she wanted a bath with him before bed. It was not something that was easily accomplished even when he had two burly manservants at his beck and call, let alone one very tiny woman. Even more disturbing was the way she seemed to watch his every move like a lion about to pounce.

  Once he was in the tub he did have to admit to feeling a great deal better, for she had added some special volcanic bath salts which turned the water an alarming shade of bright green. She made the water absolutely scalding, as hot as he could withstand, and told him to just sit there. She made him some of his favourite tea, and soon his incredible sense of ease overrode any lingering resentment for the odd way he was sure she had been acting.

  She soaped him all over lingeringly, massaging his manhood until he was sure he would snap the sides of the tub. She washed his hair as tenderly as if she had been taking care of one of her own sons.

  He shook his head. It seemed like the more he got to know her, the more confusing and mysterious she became. He tried to reach for her under her robe, asked her in a husky voice to show herself so he could lick her, but there it was again, that sliding away into herself which he feared and resented.

  "Let me at least fondle your breasts," he rasped.

  "Certainly." She gave him a warm smile with no trace of that wariness he had sensed only a few moments before. Soon, however, he was begging for more, and the water in the tub was tepid.

  "Do you want to stay in and I’ll refill it, or get out and head for the bed?"

  "Bed, please."

  His muscles strained mightily as he pushed himself up and out. She pulled him onto the edge one leg at a time. "Can you scoot along sideways to the chair?" she asked softly.

  It wasn’t easy, but he managed, and was once again seated in the chair huffing and puffing like a grampus. "God, give me a minute. Baths wear me out so much."

  "Yet you adore them?"

  "I do. Again, another thing I rarely got in Spain," he said as she wheeled him into the room and got him into bed. "That was a nice bath with that green power. It felt wonderful. And that tea..."

  He was hardly still as she massaged him. When she turned him over to do his front he grabbed her impatiently. Her eyes widened and she tugged back her wrists and scrambled from the bed.

  "I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--"

  "No, it’s my fault. I overreacted. I thought I was ready for this. Maybe I was wrong."

  "I remind you of the Demon?" he guessed, both upset and hurt at the way she was staring at him.

  "Yes," she admitted. "Not all the time, but the grabbing of my wrists, and well, when you were um, playing with my bottom the other night. I mean, I know you weren’t going to, um, and the massage was lovely, but—"

  "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you," he apologised at once. "And me holding your hands, it panicked you, yet you said nothing. Darling, if you’re so worried, you really need to be honest with me, tell me the truth. If you’ve changed your mind about us—"

  "No, not at all, it’s just, um, well—" She sighed and met his earnest pale blue gaze. "You’re so strong. This thing between us is so powerful, I have no control. You’re an experienced, well, rake. A man of the world. I feel like I’m being swept away by you."

  "The feeling is mutual," he said with a rueful shake of his head. "You’re the one who straddled me the other night. So what happened, Bryony? You felt sorry for the poor cripple, and now you realise I’m not quite the pathetic and feeble chap you thought I was?"

  "No, that’s not it at all, Michael," she protested sincerely.

  "What is it, then?" he sighed. "You can tell me."

  "It’s me! Not just you," she confessed. "Yes, I get a bit nervous at some of the reminders of my horrible old life. Things you do inadvertently. It’s not your fault.

  "But there’s also one part of me that hears him say what a terrible wife I was, and I’m terrified that it might be true. That you’re only here with me because I’ve, well, I've forced myself on you, straddled you as you put it, and now you have to put up with me."

  Michael shook his head in disbelief. "Darling, you don’t know what you’re saying. Another woman? I’m not blind, you know. I’ve been to Bath. It’s been almost two years since Toulouse. I’ve seen women, they’ve seen me. No one has been interested except you. Even if they were, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since the night we met.

  "Terrible wife? The man must have been insane. If a woman is frigid it’s only because the man hasn’t got the patience to try to make her happy. Doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

  "So please, stop doubting yourself, and thinking that somehow you’re going to trigger something nasty in me. Now that I know what he did, I won’t do those things again without asking. And if there’s anything else you’re afraid of you need to tell me."

  "And you, Michael? Will you tell me?" she asked softly.

  "I’m only afraid of not making you happy. Of you leaving me. I was so jealous of Ash and Blake today, I wanted to spit."

  "Jealous? Whatever for?" she asked in surprise.

  "Because you massaged them too, didn’t you? And you’ve seen them naked."

&nbs
p; "And Arabella and Eswara," she pointed out mildly.

  "It’s not the same."

  "No, you’re right. What you and I share isn’t therapeutic any more, it’s sensual."

  "I can’t see the difference," he said in clipped tones.

  "Ah, but you can feel it. Think how we started out." She rubbed his leg with very precise movements and then gentled her touch down to something much more alluring and arousing.

  "Now do you see the difference?"

  "Hmm, yes. But still—"

  "You have no call to be jealous. Blake would never be unfaithful to Arabella, and Ash and I are like brother and sister."

  "Still, you’ve kissed him, haven’t you? And I don’t just mean a peck on the cheek like before when you were saying good night to everyone," he said, his throat tight.

  "No, you’re right, I did kiss him the way a man and woman kiss."

  "And?" he demanded.

  "And what?"

  "How did you feel?"

  She smiled. "Like I love you."

  He frowned in confusion. "What?"

  She kissed him then, and the heavens opened. The wellspring of the passion which had been churning and boiling just underneath the surface bubbled over, flooding them with pure raw sensation.

  "No one else does this to me," she panted when she finally managed to drag her lips away. "No passionate kiss could ever mean anything to me but yours."

  Michael cupped her face in his hands, his eyes never leaving hers as he rolled her over onto her side and filled her. His touch was light, and he made no move to take her hands or grasp her buttocks. She sensed what he was doing, showing her. Even in the throes of passion, he could still have control, and so could she. She could scramble away at any time. Her arms looped around him, and she could hear the thunderous beating of his heart.

  "You’re so lovely, Bryony. Don’t ever doubt it. And I’ll try to not doubt you, or our friends again."

  She stroked her hands down him, and with a single caress ignited the touchpaper of his explosive ecstasy, which drove her on towards her final fulfillment. A sensual somnolence swept through them, and settling against the pillows they slept dreamlessly until dawn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Michael’s unease lifted slightly the following day when they all spent it together and he did not see Bryony pay any especial regard to Ash, who happily entertained the boys for hours with stories of life in India.

  Still, he needed Bryony to be safe and happy with him. Michael drew Blake to one side to consult with him after supper, and told him his fears.

  "Well, it’s rather like closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, but you’re going to need to be honest with her about how you feel about contraception. She already has the two boys. With you as you are at the moment it might be a very crushing burden for her. Not to mention it making marital relations that much more difficult given your present state. Of course I’ll help, but you need to talk to her."

  "Thank you."

  He looked at Michael more closely now. "You’re not ready to be a father in any case, are you?"

  Michael shook his head. "No. It’s not something I can even begin to grasp. Not least because my own father was so awful to me—"

  "Only when you were older and fell out. It wasn’t always so, and might be different now—"

  "No. If you’re my friend, don’t even suggest what I think you’re about to say."

  "All right. Maybe not now, but in time. To both seeing your father, and being one."

  Michael blew out a shaky breath. "Maybe, but I wouldn’t count on it any time soon."

  "Then let’s just hope you get a tighter rein on your rampaging emotions before you end up with a little accident on the way whether you’re ready for a baby in your lives or not."

  Bryony noted Michael’s pensive mood as soon as she came in to see him, still undressed after his friend’s examination.

  "What is it? Is it bad news?" she asked worriedly.

  "Er, no, not at all. I’m just a bit well, sore after all his poking and prodding."

  "Would you like another green bath and some tea?"

  She looked at him so lovingly, he was willing to agree to anything just to make her happy.

  She pampered him in the tub, and then offered to shave him. She made him sit with some hot towels over his face. While he sat back with his face covered, he toyed with her nipples and thighs gleefully.

  She just about managed to keep her hand steady as she shaved him, having perched him on the bathroom stool, the better to see what she was doing.

  "Darling, if you to that to my nipple again, you might just lose an earlobe."

  "Sorry, sweetheart, they’re just so glorious."

  "So are you. Especially with both earlobes."

  "You’re doing a splendid job," he praised. "I’ve never been so pampered."

  "I’ll need to think of a few more things to make you feel even more so."

  "Hmm, after everything you’ve done so far, that’s going to be difficult."

  Seated on the stool, his manhood jutting upwards so suggestively, Bryony’s eyes lit up. Divine inspiration led her to kneel before him, taking his penis in her palms first before forming a ring with the fingers of one hand. Three strokes was more than enough to tighten the veins until he bulged with his need for release.

  She then ran the tip of her tongue along the length of him, avoiding only the velvet helmet at the top. From base to ridge she cherished him, then moved her mouth so that her lips retraced the route her tongue had taken. She wrapped her arm around the small of his back to support him, and grasping him firmly at the base, she began to lave the edge of the ridge and lick up to the small slit at the top

  "Lord in Heaven, woman, where were you raised? A bordello?" he gasped, clinging to the stool with both hands before his now completely enervated body fell right off it.

  "Do you want me to finish you?" she asked, already swallowing him whole.

  "No, no, it’s lovely, but I really need to be inside you, always. Nothing can possibly thrill me more than that."

  With one last powerful suckle she rose, still clinging to his throbbing shaft. Before he could move to prepare to leave the bathroom, she turned her back and sat down on his lap, his surging manhood gliding into her as she angled herself to take the huge deep stroke.

  "Bryony, oh, please, no," he cried, his voice atremble as she reached between her legs to continue massaging his base and now-gathered spheres. "Please kiss me."

  With one final pump of her hips she turned and draped her legs over his, and kissed him with her open mouth as if she wanted to inhale all of him. Which in fact she did, for she dragged her mouth down his neck, chest, and shoulders, savouring his slightly woodsy fragrance and own unique aroma.

  "You’re so delicious, It’s all I can do not to devour you whole."

  "I know how you feel. But you’ve never let me-"

  She froze in her movements. "I couldn’t bear it. I would just feel such shame."

  Damn. Another ghost from the past he had unearthed. "You shouldn’t. I mean, you do it to me. Why?"

  "Because he did it once or twice, and said my enjoying it just proved what a whore I was. And how ugly I was, especially down there," she admitted in a barely audible whisper.

  Once again Michael felt the familiar sting of fury race through him. He desperately tried to unclench his bunched fists for fear of scaring her. So that’s why she hadn’t shown him her most intimate place when he had asked, had panicked when he had tried to kiss her stomach.

  "My love, the little glimpses I’ve caught of you thus far tell me that you’re as breathtakingly lovely there as you are everywhere else."

  He could see her doubtful expression, so he kissed her warmly. When he finally raised his lips he asked, "Do you trust me?"

  "Yes, Michael. With my life," she said without an ounce of hesitation.

  "Then you need to help me."

  She immediately looked alarmed


  "No, darling, it’s nothing very serious, and it’s not about me."

  "Oh, I see." She relaxed against him.

  "Good. Can we take this into the bedroom, please? I’m going to need you to do a bit of fetching and carrying for me."

  "Certainly."

  As soon as he had moved back into the chair and from there to the bed, he sat in the middle of it close to the end, his knees at the edge of the bed, his feet dangling over the side. "Can you prop up my back with the pillows?"