She opened her legs so wide that his hips sank between them. Against her core, she felt the hard rod of his manhood. “Put that inside me. No more delays.”
He insinuated one arm behind her hips and lifted her then sent his cock up inside her to the hilt. She hung suspended in the euphoria of what she had needed for months and months.
Wesley Stanhope, deep inside her mind and heart, now going deep inside her body.
But he halted. Caught his breath. “We must breach this.”
She knew he meant her virginal wall. Arms to the mattress, she braced herself. “Do it.”
He snorted and brushed his lips on hers. “Courageous Lacy.”
“Eager Lacy. Dying Lacy.” She cuffed him. “Wes?” she pleaded.
“Shh. One stroke and then you will enjoy this. I will ensure it.”
He plunged forward, and she felt only his move to claim her.
“There,” he said.
She grinned. “Easy. So easy.”
He kissed her quickly. Then he began moving like a sleepwalker, slow and steady, his mouth against her ear, breathing words of passion. Words she had needed from him. Some she’d never heard but needed to. From him. “Sweet Lacy, god, you feel divine. Lacy, small and tender.
You have the juiciest cunt. The thickest cream… Christ. How you take all of me… You are a prize. Mine to fuck.”
The sensation of his cock claiming her made her frantic, blissful. Her cunt throbbed and pulsed. She wanted to cry out how she needed him to stroke her, take her, do her harder, faster.
She bit her lip, dug her nails into his back and just let loose with a scream of wild delight.
He anchored himself to her, his hips pumping into her with swift force. “That’s right, love. Go. Cry! God, you are so good.”
He shouted and then he stopped.
His mouth to her throat, he fell over her body then rolled to the side. He outlined her mouth with a fingertip then cupped one breast and thumbed a nipple. “Did I hurt you?”
She examined him. He was all concern for her, soft and sweet, the caring lover. His face was relaxed, his mouth moist and swollen from their kisses. His dimple roguishly showed in his handsome square face. His scar along his left cheek seemed redder with his exertion. And for the first time, she could see how the field surgeon had sewn down the lid where once his left eye had been.
Her Wes. He was dear and kind, hurt but a hero to his men, to his commander and country. But to her, he was her man to love. And how he had once been hurt was in savagery, man’s inhumanity to man. What he had done now with her, was in another cause. A gentler, nobler one.
She pressed a palm to his left cheek and covered his scar, “No, Wes. You have made love to me.”
“I want to ensure you love the act. Love what we do together. I could not bear it if you turned on me now that we are one.”
“What makes you think I would?”
“The scope of human emotion is wide.”
“I doubt you could ever hurt me.” She asserted this with firm knowledge.
He pushed up and left the bed. He scowled as he rose, suddenly realizing he had lost his patch, and he snatched it up off the bed.
Lacy did not move. She would not call attention to its loss. Or his. This was not the time or place. And the issue they had just opened was a terrible topic that she knew better than to probe. Not now. Later.
He went to the sideboard and donned the patch once more then poured fresh water from a pitcher into a large porcelain bowl. Taking up toweling and a bit of soap, he rinsed his hands then brought the cloth toward her. “Open your legs, Lacy.”
This time she did so slowly. And while passion sparked in his one good eye, his desire died to sweet concern as he put the cool towel to her hot, moist cunt and washed her carefully, lavishly. When he was done, he leaned over to kiss her mouth. But hands to her ankles, he spread her thighs again and, once more, bent to take her with his strong, demanding mouth.
He ran the tip of his tongue down her seam. Plumped her lips and shot two large fingers up inside her. She whimpered with the fullness. Then he rolled her cunt open, found her nub and ran the edge of his teeth over her taut little bud.
She cried out and put a hand to her cunt but he tore it away. “Nothing between us.”
He parted her more fully then, placed his torrid mouth over her and feasted on her slick, demanding flesh.
She keened, plucking at his shoulders when she suddenly felt the ferocious need to buck and scream and went out of her mind with a gale force tearing through her loins.
He caught her to him. “Roll over.”
At first, she couldn’t understand but scrambled to do it.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, draping his body over hers, both on their knees.
“As you want,” he gruffed and sent his cock up along her slit from behind. “Like your precious horses.”
Then he found her cunt, driving inside with a long spearing thrust that had her gasping for air.
Bent up and back, she felt his huge penis filling her, rubbing her, stroking her with such force, she groaned.
“You like this?” he asked, hoarse.
“Yes,” she ground out as he impaled her time and again in brusque rapture. “Oh, yes.”
He put his lips to her back, his one arm around her hip to play with her wet cunt. She undulated against him, as he rammed her over and over with his huge, plunging cock. Then once more, she felt her pussy walls grasp him, ride him, vibrate against him, and she knew she was a perfect mate for this man.
This was what she had dreamed of long ago, when she was a child and she’d watched her mares and stallions mate. This was what she had seen, the male’s long penis, nearly to the ground, so huge, so dark. Sinking inside the mare. Taking her. Making her bare her teeth as he mounted her where she stood.
“That,” Wes said when he rolled her over, breathless, frantic and grabbed her chin to kiss her. “That is what you shall have each time we mate. Each time we love, you will come. Come like a crazy woman.”
“Yes!” She tried to wrap her arms around him, but he evaded her. Instead, he pulled from her reach and turned toward the headboard. Situating himself against a few of his pillows, he sat down, his cock up and weeping for her.
“Come here.” He patted his lap. “Put your lovely legs over mine and let me fuck you this way.”
She scrambled up to drape her limbs over his. Eager to touch him, she cupped his rod and cradled his balls in her hands.
He caressed her breasts. “I do not mean to neglect your lovely nipples.” He bent forward to lave one with tender care while he thumbed the other. Then he nipped her and captured the other in his mouth. “You are a treasure. Made for me.”
With one hand, she caught herself from falling backward.
“And you for me.” She sent her hand down between them to recapture his penis and nestle his tip near her entrance, the memory of his size a sizzling temptation. She strained to get closer. “Please now, Wes.”
He slid inside her, easily, slowly and with such ease, that they each looked at the other, stunned and pleased.
Her eyes fell closed. The sensation of him, the fullness of him in this position, was not what she had felt before. He was more.
He pushed up inside her, anchoring her to him, the sound of her liquid want, sweet and succulently seductive.
Then he began a rhythm of slow and steady possession that had her rocking with him.
Biting her lip, she tried to watch, but the view was difficult, the sensation too wild. She gave herself up to the torrent. This, this was what she had wanted from him.
“Wes!” she called out to him as a flood of excitement rushed over her once more.
He held her fast and hard, flowing into her with an increasingly forceful pace that had her rising to the ecstasy she’d known just minutes ago.
He rose from the bed, pulled her hips toward him, putting her legs in the air and holding her ankles. And then he fucked her. G
ood and long and hard and oh so sweetly that when she could not stand the heat or the pressure, she broke apart in a thousand tiny pieces, yelled how she adored him and went limp. He pounded into her, a few more joyous thrusts, his teeth bared as he growled and grunted then, bracing himself inside her, gave her his seed.
She drifted to a boneless rest as he crawled up beside her, clasped her to his side and said,
“Lacy. Now, god help us both, you are mine. For good or bad.”
She smiled at him, happy beyond her dreams. “In sickness and in health.”
And they held each other for a timeless afternoon as the fire in the grate blazed higher and the rainstorm outside raged.
Chapter Six
Wes worried what to do about their wedding. When to get the minister. How to do so without causing a stir among the villagers. Or rumors flying back to London, Lacy’s father, or his own brother, Adam, an MP with sensitivity to scandal.
But the rain was a torrent. Day after night. The lawns sodden. The air thick. The wind brisk and brittle. If the roads had been impossible the day Lacy had arrived, they had disappeared now. His front drive was submerged. His stone paths to the smokehouse and stables, all pools of water.
He had no thoughts now of sending her home. Not without him. The thought of her leaving his seclusion without his name sickened him.
But urgency was paramount. They had coupled frequently, wildly. He had taken her often, and she had rejoiced in it. She must sometime very soon tell her father of her marriage.
Wes would have it no other way. He liked Lord Featherstone immensely. A sharp-witted man, but kind and loving to his only surviving child, Lord Girard Featherstone occasionally sported an unnatural anger. And a steady hand with a pistol.
Wes knew he could explain himself to Lord Feather, as many called the man, by telling him he loved his daughter. He had since that first night at Adam’s when she had pursued him and had shown her true colors. Her determination. Her resolve. His kind of woman. Out of bed. And in it? Well. Had he not found her irresistible for the past two days he’d loved her here in his bed?
He had not let her leave, could not bear to part with her.
He’d ordered Charles to bring up a hip bath twice a day then watched her bathe, taking the sponge and soap himself when the need to put his hands on her was more than reason allowed. He’d picked her up from the copper tub by the armpits, surprised at his own strength, and put her down on his bed, sopping wet, then spread her pretty pussy lips and laved her until she’d groaned for him to put his cock inside her.
Of course, he now must marry her. Not really a hardship on him, their union was certainly a foregone conclusion. A man could not take a titled lady to bed—a virgin and the daughter of a man he respected—and not offer her his name and house and board. Even if the man did not love the young thing, he had to do his duty.
But Wes did love this headstrong creature. And he did want her. Though, Christ knew, he might live to regret it, and he knew she would.
When he would not go out in public, when he would remain here for all his days on this earth, when he chose to read and write and raise his horses, how would she take all that? A woman like Lady Lacy Featherstone would perhaps take umbrage. At first. Then she’d take herself to town. Take a lover. Take more.
Wes swallowed hard on that prospect. She was his jewel, his darling. Could he stand to see her walk away from him now that he had tasted her sweet little cunny and ripped open her hymen? Worse rakes existed in the ton. Wes knew. He had caroused with the best and worst of them. So had his older brother Jack. Only Adam, their youngest brother, had taken a wife at a young age and kept his respectability intact until his first wife cuckolded him and forced him to a mistress’ arms. But Adam, relieved of his first wife by a deathly illness, was now wed once more and needed no comforts from a kept woman. He had a darling of a wife.
As I will.
Wes rose from his bed the third morning of Lacy’s intrusion to his life and peered down at her beauty. Even asleep she was a siren. All sinuous grace, relaxed and totally disarming in her dishabille. Her pale hair tangled on his pillows. Her long arms flung this way and that. Her lips, dear heaven, her wide plush lips open in an invitation to kiss them, unawake and unaware of how he could not control his urge to taste her, take her.
He brushed his mouth on hers. “Wake up, I want you again.” He kissed his way down her naked torso, nipped at her soft, pink nipples. “Your breasts are eager to make love,” he murmured and wended his way to her navel then found the part of her he had to possess, it seemed, hourly. “And your pussy wants me to pet her.”
She made mewling sounds that told him she sparked to his advances. “What will you do for me if I let you have her?”
“Lick her.”
“Suck her?”
“Bite her.”
“Ah.” She cuffed him on the shoulder as she rolled over. “Have me this way you insatiable man.” She raised her ass in the air.
He bent and smacked her taut little cheek.
“Ouch.” She burrowed into the sheets. “You are a terrible man. So demanding.” She wiggled her buttocks at him. “So tormenting.”
He rose to his knees and reached around to slid his hand over her stomach and sink it in her bush. She was wet with him from last night’s fucking, but she also gave off fresh cream that meant his fingers sank inside her cunt easily. He found her clitoris to pinch her and encircle the tiny nub. His penis slid along her seam from the back, and he knew the way they fit together was perfect. He found her vaginal core and sank inside in one swift drive.
She hissed.
He pulled out and rammed inside more deeply.
She gasped in delight. “What a way to say good morning.”
He chuckled and bit her shoulder. “You drive me to it.” He caught her hair back to nip her neck.
“Do I? How do I do that, pray tell?”
“Merely breathe, my beauty. And you have me in your hand.”
“I daresay at the moment, I do not.” She moaned as he sank inside her to the hilt and ground himself against her. “Though I look forward to having you there.”
“Chit. You are not supposed to know what to do with a man’s cock in your fist.”
“Mmm. Then you must teach me.” She braced herself in the wealth of the bedclothes and pushed her ass back toward him. “Fuck me, now, damn it, Wes. And later, I’ll take you in my hand.”
He hastened to do her bidding.
“Or can I have you in my mouth?”
* * * *
The morning of the fifth day, Lacy stretched out her arms as she awakened to find Wes had left her alone. Not his normal practice to leave her early, he usually fucked her at least once before rising from their bed.
She smiled and ran her palms over her breasts. Her nipples beaded, used to his touch, his lips and his tongue on her there. And here, too, she thought as she stroked her stomach and spread her pussy wide. Aching to have him inside, she inserted her fingers into her wet core and arched, sighing. She found her little bud that he loved to pinch and nip, circling it herself and feeling her temperature rise with interest in the artfulness of Wes’ love play.
She had chosen well, this man who was thirteen years older than she. A man with a renowned career in the cavalry. A man with a reputation among women. Women not of his station. Not of hers. He’d told her the other day the reasons for that.
“The family curse is one we Stanhopes learn about at an early age. We are told to beware of love. But lust? Ah. Well. Lust and mistresses are permitted. Witness my father. He’s had as many women as he can line up to share his bed. Most of those whom he claims to have loved, he did marry. Jack’s mother, mine, Adam’s. Clarice’s mother, too, he loved, but could not wed. She was already married to an ancient man, and Father did the man the service of providing him with his own heir, which he gladly accepted though a female.”
“And so you have had affairs?” Lacy had persisted.
“With th
e wars, I thought I might not survive. Or become…” He’d winced. “Maimed. A monster.”
“You are no monster but a strong and daring man, my love.” She had risen from the bed then to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her head against his chest. “And you certainly are no cripple. I will show you.”
“I can barely make love to you without shaking.”
“A sign of you having lolled about here! No indication of your true potential.” She’d kissed his throat. “Once the sun comes out, we will build your strength. Go for long walks. Put you on that marvelous beast of a horse in the stable. And you will ride.”
“No, I will not.”
“Of course, you will.” She had rubbed her breasts against him. “You would not let me ride alone, now would you?”
He had vowed he would not allow her out of his sight for year. “Perhaps not even out of this bed for another five!”
She grinned at the memory of his joke. It represented the return of his natural humor, a quality lacking from his demeanor the first few days she’d been here. The next quality she wished to help him reclaim was his confidence in himself, and she pondered how to ensure its return.
His revelation that he had never gone into the village since his arrival here weeks ago and that he had sent Charles on every errand worried her. Her charming, clever colonel would not, could not hide away from the world. She would not allow that. He had too much to offer to his country, his men and to her to wither away in this old pile of stones.
She rose from the bed and pulled on her silk wrapper then paced the floor.
If Wesley would not go to the world, she would have to bring it to him. Wouldn’t she?
How best to accomplish that?
* * * *
“I suspect the sun got jealous of the clouds and ordered them to exile,” Lacy gaily told Wes five days hence when they had enjoyed brilliant weather for four days running.
Wes had sent a message to the vicar as soon as the clouds parted, and he awaited the cleric’s presence here tomorrow as Wes had instructed. “About time, too. Now all we need is the roads to emerge from the muck.” And I will make Lacy a married woman.
Lady Featherstone's Fervent Affair Page 5
