She nodded quickly, silly as a girl with a new toy. “But I am too small and this is too big. My God, the head alone is huge!”
He gave a laugh. “You compliment me, darling. Now lay back. Let me step out of my trousers, sweet, or I will do nothing but spend in your hand.”
She blinked. Henry often did that, hated it and blamed her for the loss of his spunk. “No, no, you mustn’t!”
He frowned, clamped a hand over the one she had on his cock, and tipped his head. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”
She sought to be free. “Nothing. Nothing. Let me lie down as you wish. I need you, Justin, inside me, like I never needed Henry, please, quickly.”
She scrambled backwards. He stepped out of his trousers, then loomed above her, searching her eyes and somber as a preacher. “What did he do to you, Kitty?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, nothing. Love me, Justin.”
“I do, Kitty. I will. But you must tell me first whatever Henry did to frighten you that—”
“No.” She squeezed her eyes shut, his declaration that he loved her spinning in her mind, taunting her memories of him and what might have been had they been able to overcome the social strictures against their marriage. “You can never know.”
Justin caressed her cheek. “Look at me, Puss. My darling Kat. My beautiful Katherine. What did this man do in the bedroom that you—?”
“He wasn’t gentle,” she revealed.
Justin kissed her cheek. “I hear you, sweet. What else?”
The blessing of his lips on her own drew her into his spell. “He wanted me to pump him.” Aghast she had told Justin that, she stared into his eyes.
“Come, give me your hand, darling.” He led her to grasp his cock again. “You see? I am already hard and yearning to be inside you. There is no need to stroke me. Only if you wish.”
She slid her hand along his remarkable length. “I do wish.”
He swallowed hard. “I am very glad.”
She let out a gasp of laughter. “I am too.”
Justin straddled her, his face above hers, his hand combing stray curls from her cheeks. “Did he kiss you?”
“No.”
But Justin did. A sweet short melding of lips. “Did he caress you?”
“Caress?”
“Your pretty breasts? Like this?” Justin lifted one breast and thumbed an aching nipple only to take it into his mouth and stroke her with his talented tongue.
She shook her head, her body tingling, alive with his regard.
“So then, when he wanted you,” Justin asked as his hands once more spread her thighs apart and sank two fingers inside her, “he was not kind or slow or—”
“It hurt!”
Justin squeezed his eyes shut. “Darling Puss.”
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rabid now to blot out the memory of the man who should not be here in this bed with her and the man she had always wanted. “I never felt like this with him. I was never mad to have him. Not in a carriage or a room or my bed.”
Justin’s eyes glistened as he stroked her cheek with one set of fingers. “Forget him.”
“I want you. Have always wanted you. Never felt so alive or…or—”
His dark brows shot upward. “Tight?”
“Throbbing! Hungry! Wet!”
He laughed and bent down to kiss her quickly. “Then let me show you how love should be made.”
She hastened to help him, spreading wide her arms and legs upon the mattress.
But as he chuckled, he hooked his arms around her upper thighs and hauled her up, then teased her seam with the head of his cock. “God, you are beautiful. Musky and pink and creamy.” With each word he probed the entrance to her cunny. “So swollen and hot for me.”
She sank her nails into his ribs and said with bared teeth. “And if you do not come inside me soon, I swear I will leave!”
He drove his cock deep, deep, deep within her core, and she could do nothing but open her mouth and stare at him.
“Don’t leave me, Puss,” he said with glittering gaze locked upon her own. “Please don’t.”
His plea undid her, pleased her, thrilled her. She lifted her hips, nudging him to action in any way she could. “Come closer. Have all of me. And for Christsakes, hurry before I die, will you?”
He slid out of her and slid right back in. “How is that?”
Wordless, she opened her mouth and snapped it shut.
“And this?” he stroked her again.
She gulped. “Superb.”
“Might you leave now?” he asked as he drove himself inside her.
“Never!”
“I am gratified.” He gave her wave after wave of thrilling, plunging fulfillment.
“So am I!” She clutched him closer, and felt her body yearn for something bigger, bolder, brighter. “More!”
He gripped her hips in the vise of his hands and pounded into her with stunning rhythm, pushing her across the mattress, raising a fury in her body that she could not contain. She could feel him in her pussy, and her blood, to the ends of her fingertips, the ends of her hair, the last of her breath and then she felt him bend closer, fuck her harder.
She cried out, the pulsing of her blood a roar in her ears. The slapping of his thighs on hers the only sound that spilled into her mind and sent her over the edge of a throbbing universe and into a void.
He curled her against the full length of his body, his breath ragged and rasping. She burrowed into him, his chest moist with his exertions, the fragrance of his body a satisfying essence that personified the rapture he had given her. What need for roses when you had a man you adored?
He pulled away and looked down at her. “You are smiling. This is a good sign. Will you share your thoughts on how well we did?”
Grinning at such an invitation, she languished against the pillows like a well-fed cat, then rose up to plant a kiss on his smiling mouth. “You are an excellent lover.”
He grabbed her close to roll her above him. “It is a pastime defined by two people who join together well. Dare I say then, we are excellent together?”
“You may dare to say it.” She put her head down upon his broad chest and stroked him chest to hip. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure and yours, Kitty.”
She pressed a kiss to his sternum. “You are most kind and very understanding.”
Sighing, he ran his fingers through her hair for some minutes. “He must not come between us again.”
What to say to that when nine years of marriage had taught her so many ways to dislike her husband and his proclivities in their bedroom? “We have begun well.”
“Come then.” Justin rolled her to the bed and got to his feet. “I have more to tickle your senses.”
His secretive tone tantalized her. “What?”
He tugged her to him. Kissed her breathless. “I will not tell you. You must come with me!”
“Where?”
“To the table.”
“I never noticed there was one,” she confessed and reached for her wrapper from the floor.
“No clothes,” he admonished. “Just you.”
“It is rather outrageous,” she countered.
“I told you you would need none.” His gaze grew dark with desire as he lifted one of her breasts in his palm and pinched a nipple. “I want to see you like this. Your breasts full, your nipples hard and pointed toward me. Your mouth wide with surprise and swollen with my kisses. Your pussy,” he sank his hand to her seam to ease two fingers inside her, “so ready to have me again.”
At his touch, she felt a gush of fluid run down her thighs. She clamped her legs together, but he caught her up in his arms.
“Let me wash you,” he whispered in her ear.
“No.” She pushed against him as he laid her to the bed again.
He caught her chin with two fingers. “You have allowed me to taste you with my lips and tongue, to claim you with my cock and now you will not permit
me the intimacy of washing you?”
Her cheeks aflame, she swallowed. Looked away.
He turned her toward him once more. “For this night and tomorrow, you belong to me. Have I not already proven I am worthy?”
His tenderness undid all her objections. She lay back. “You are. I am a silly goose.”
He kissed her quickly. “To me you are the brave young woman who withstood a French capture in wartime. A lovely creature of the ton who makes her way alone in a society not often forgiving of free thinking.”
She chuckled. “The gossips talk of me as an oddity, do they?”
“A woman who speaks her mind about politics and marriage,” he admitted.
“Ah. Well. Politics can kill.”
“So can some marriages.” He arched a brow. “You knew it firsthand.”
“I did.” But no longer. And never again.
At her expression, he scowled but smiled half-heartedly as if he made a note of this issue. “Wait here. I will return to be your maid.”
She laughed as he strode away, his long naked back a beautiful ripple of muscle and sinew. “I enjoyed your copper tubing for heated water for my bath.”
“I’m afraid,” he called to her from the main room, “I have no such convenience here. I am boiling water.”
She inched up and pushed pillows behind her. As she sat, she looked down at her nude body and marveled at her ease under the circumstances. Had she ever thought to take a lover, she never would have presumed she could lounge about without a stitch to cover herself. But this was Justin. And she was enchanted. Amused. And you’ve thrown caution to the wind. Tossed away more than your clothes. Have you even lost your mind?
“The kettle’s boiling on the fireplace. It’ll be a few minutes,” he told her as he came to sit on the bed, lean over her and kiss one nipple and then the other. “What bothers you, darling?”
She stared at him. Her naked lover. Serene. Pleased with himself. His plans. His seduction of her. Did he think beyond this rendezvous? The consequences? God knows, she had, but then caught off guard in the garden, she had turned into a blithering idiot! “Do you have any French letters?”
“I do.” His tone grew grave. “Did you bring any with you?”
“To the Manor? Yes. They’re in my room.”
“Do you like using them?” He scowled. “I don’t.”
“I’ve never used them,” she declared. “Henry had no need for them.”
“Of course not.” Justin pushed up. “And yet you have only one child by him?”
“Yes,” she said and sat higher against the headboard. “He was not always able to perform.”
“As I thought,” he said with a mixed tone of acceptance and relief.
“I doubt you have that problem.” She could not help the challenge in her voice.
“You are perceptive.”
Her lower lip quivered. “We must use them. I cannot become pregnant.”
“If you did—”
“I cannot!” Cannot marry you. Your uncle would not allow it. He wants too much, including a sizable dowry which I do not have. Worse, if I were to become pregnant, he still might not permit the marriage for the lack of wealth. And I? Dear God. If I were to become pregnant, once discovered, my condition would mean I lose my social standing. Become disgraced. “All my work, my business, my need to—”
“Stop. Stop!” He had his hands in her hair, his mouth on hers, sweet little kisses pressed against her lips. “We will use the letters. Hate them though I do, I will not have you think me so dastardly that I will get you with child and never care for him or her or—Sweet Puss—or you! Look at me!”
She did, though tears dribbled down her cheeks.
He brushed them away. “Let me have you as I will, when I will for the hours remaining to us and know that as you do, I will use the damned letters, darling.”
He left her then, her arms crossed, her victory less than satisfying. She’d seen the letters. Odd translucent skins. She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to imagine how the misshapen sheets fit around a man’s cock. How they would fit around one as large as Justin’s.
She grinned, wondering if it took two people to dress a man for his lover. She giggled.
Justin appeared in the doorway, a basin in his hands. “Your mood has improved, I see. Lie down.”
She stiffened her spine. “No.”
He warned her to obedience with wide eyes and a fierce, funny look on his face. “I said, lie down and let me inside here.”
As he put his fingers to her slit, she gasped. “You cannot order me about…”
“No?” he countered her, his hands opening her cunny to his view. “This is my pretty pussy. Mine, for tonight and tomorrow. And you like me inside you. My fingers.” He stroked her slit, parted her tender labia and bent to place a kiss on her pubic bone. “Let me wash you. Then I’ll get my contraceptives and fuck you again.”
At his ribald words, she groaned and widened her thighs for him.
He nuzzled her swollen labia, and she froze. He would kiss her with the essence of both of them in her cunt?
He would.
She swooned.
He did.
“You like this,” he crooned. “And so do I. No one tastes like you, Pussy mine. No one.”
She heard water trickle, swish. She felt him press a warm cloth to her hot needy cunt.
“You are still red and hot for me, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Very,” she confessed as he washed her thoroughly.
“I want you to taste you again. Now and often. You will allow me, darling.” He used two fingers to part her inner folds. “This is so lovely. I must kiss you here.”
“Mmm,” she objected, but he held her open.
“You will tell me how I please you.” Then he found that special spot that made her keen and buck. “Your clitoris. Your button. Your nub. Mine. I will use it often to unlock your secrets, Pussy mine.”
She moaned and spread her legs wider. “Kiss me again there!”
He threw the cloth to the floor and as she heard it splat, his mouth covered her clitoris and he licked her, rubbed her, massaged her right out of her mind.
She grabbed for his shoulders, and felt his muscles contract as he laved her and held her, then lifted her up and ate every inch of her like a man who was starving.
She whimpered, she thrashed. “Fuck me! Do it now!”
He lifted, shifted and rammed his cock so straight, so deep, so hard inside her, she let him ride her on a wave of madness until once more she felt a quake approach.
“How’s this?” he bellowed as he pumped her mercilessly.
“Good!” she yelled and dug her nails into the mattress.
“This?” he snarled and picked up his tempo, while two fingers pinched her clitoris in time with his thrusts.
“Great! Yes!” she screamed at him. “Yes! Now!”
She throbbed with a madness that blanked her mind and made her body tremble with delight. He yelled, his eyes shut, his body bent to fucking her. Fucking her. Taking her until she throbbed no more, but her cunt grabbed him, cupped him, kept him.
“Christ, darling. You are so swollen, I cannot move.”
She dare not loosen her hold of him. “You are superb.”
“Best only with you,” he whispered to her ear and fell over her, a heap of manly bones draped around her like a dying man. A loving man. “You are incomparable.”
She smiled to herself, her fingers tracing little patterns on his body. Little by little, she relaxed her pussy around his cock, and he slipped out of her body. Still, he held her close, his hands covering her breasts.
“Come. I will feed you,” he told her and caught her up in his arms.
“I cannot think, let alone dine!”
He chuckled, set her on his lap before a circular table laden with dishes and platters piled high with offerings. He fed her sugared strawberries and candied walnuts. Slices of cold roast beef, the juices dripping
over his fingers, a silent invitation to lick him clean one she did not overlook. He dipped tiny tartlets into chocolate sauce and kissed the excess from her lips. He poured rich red Spanish wine from a jug into one large silver goblet and let her drink from it, then drained it himself. By the time the repast was gone, she was stuffed, and he, hungry still for items not on the table, cleared it with one swipe of his arm. Then he set her on it.
“My dessert,” he proclaimed then nibbled on her breasts and toyed with her clitoris. “Open wide, my pussy, I need to feast on you again.”
She let him. Reclining, reveling, moaning at his tender touch, his sweet caring mouth and tongue and teeth over her most sensitive cunny, she sighed and screamed and came once again.
This time, when he took her in his arms, he took her back to bed and there they slept.
She awoke, tangled in the sheets and his arms.
When she blinked, she noticed why she had awakened. The insatiable man was sucking delicately, devilishly on one of her nipples.
“I cannot resist these,” he declared, his voice rough with sleep. “I had to have a taste before breakfast.”
Emboldened by all they had shared last night, she ran her hand down his torso to stroke his shaft and roll his balls. She lifted her brows at him. “What’s good for the cock is good for the gander.”
With narrowing gaze, he asked her mutely if she really meant to emulate his own act.
She pushed him to his back and with a reverent touch, examined how readily he responded to her offer. His rod grew taller, prouder, fuller even as she watched. The head became purple, a drop of fluid forming at the slit. She never considered this for Henry, but her pussy pulsed and her nipples beaded at the very idea of taking Justin in her mouth. She sank over him, his taste an aphrodisiac to her, making her moan and want and suck him harder. His cock was a luscious piece with soft skin and rigid power.
He gasped, then pushed her to her back, and in one long drive, he claimed her. Fucked her. Made her his own. Once more in a pounding ecstasy that took her breath away.
Hours later when she opened her eyes, the sun streamed in the tiny windows of the cottage. Was it afternoon, perhaps?
Lady Varney's Risqué Business Page 4
