Josie Dennis

by Wicked Persuasion

  “Very well, then. Once she is ours we shall take her far from her cold family and give her all the warmth she needs. We should discuss how to best approach her with this, however.”

  Patrick nodded, standing up to pace. “She is a virgin, or at least she was when I knew her.”

  “She still is.” He smiled widely. “I felt the proof of it the day of the picnic.”

  “I touched her as well,” Patrick said. “Long ago.”

  “She came for you?”

  “Yes.” Patrick closed his eyes, evidently lost in the memory. “She was so sweet then.” He opened his eyes and smirked in Jon’s direction. “And, if possible, she is sweeter now.”

  “And you’ve only tasted her kisses.”

  Patrick smiled, an expression that gave him a younger countenance. “I mean to do more, Jon. If you can get the lady’s agreement.”

  Jon grinned now. “Depend upon it.”

  * * * *

  “Oh, dear,” Mary sighed, looking over the stack of trunks piled on the back of the carriage. “Are we forgetting anything?”

  Anne shook her head. “The wardrobe in the guest room, perhaps?”

  Mary blinked then laughed lightly. “Oh, you’re jesting.”

  Anne nodded and stepped into the carriage. Charles and Mary joined her. They picked up Louisa as her parents were staying behind, and they began their short trip to Lyme. Louisa wondered aloud at the shopping to be had in the village there, also speculating at the social activities awaiting them. Mary discussed the chill of the water and the salty air at the shore while Charles lamented the lack of amusements more suited to his tastes. True there would be no hunting while in Lyme, but it wasn’t Anne’s occupation to entertain her brother-in-law or the man’s sister, or to keep Mary from the stiff seaside breezes. She had enough of her own concerns, thank you very much.

  She’d been adept at avoiding company since the dinner party, even going so far as to keep from joining Mary and Charles for dinner at the Cosgroves’ again. All that Jon and Patrick had done to her on the terrace was fresh in her mind, and she couldn’t bear to watch Louisa fawn over the two of them while keeping her own reactions hidden.

  “And now I am on my way to Lyme to do it all over again,” she murmured.

  “What is that?” Mary asked.

  Anne straightened. “What?”

  “Did you say something, Anne?” Charles asked.

  “Just voicing my thoughts,” she said. “It is of no importance.”

  “Well,” Mary said, no doubt agreeing with her.

  She bit her lip to keep in any further unimportant musings, choosing instead to keep her own counsel.

  By the time they arrived in Lyme her head had begun to pound. The inn they’d arranged for was a few streets from the shore, a stout building of three stories. Anne stood beside the carriage as Charles arranged for their things, staring up at the place. It looked quite well suited to their sojourn here by the shore, clean and scrubbed and almost elegant.

  It would be the dinner hour soon, and the other guests were undoubtedly already ensconced in their rooms. It wasn’t long before they were settled as well, Anne’s things in her own room, and sitting in the dining room on the ground floor. She shared a table with Mary and Charles, her eyes darting about the space as she looked for Patrick or Jon. Louisa joined them, her face alight.

  “Oh, Miss Ellis!” She sat and grinned. “I can scarcely believe we are here in Lyme. I daresay it is wonderful to be away from home, if only for this short time.”

  “It promises to be most pleasant,” Anne allowed.

  Louisa gasped, her eyes round. “Pleasant? We are virtually on our own without any fixed engagements. Or chaperones really, as my brother has never been very attentive toward me.” Charles snorted absently at that. “There will no doubt be tours of the village.” Her eyes sparkled. “Excursions to the seaside on the arms of unattached gentlemen.”

  Anne looked about, seeing a few people watching them. “Do keep your voice down, Louisa.”

  “What?” Louisa looked surprised then giggled. “Oh, yes of course. But what of Captains Wenworth and Benton?”

  Anne’s heart skipped. She hid her hands beneath the table to keep their trembling from Louisa’s notice. “What of them?”

  “You must know one or the other will make his intentions known.” Louisa gave a nod. “Without my father here, Charles will have to give consent.”

  The prospect of either gentleman marrying Louisa made Anne’s throat tight. “Consent? Are you not getting ahead of yourself?”

  Louisa gave a sly smile, one Anne had never before seen on the girl’s face. “I believe Captain Wenworth will be the one to push beyond the social niceties, don’t you think?”

  “W–what?”

  “He is so… forceful. Ooh, I can imagine him taking me in those strong arms of his and—”

  “Really, Louisa!” Anne admonished. “Do not speak of such matters.”

  Louisa’s mouth turned down. “Oh, poor Miss Ellis. Do forgive me. I should have realized that you will never know the thrill of such things.”

  Anne took a breath, longing to tell the silly girl all she’d known already. At that moment Patrick and Jon entered the dining room. They were greeted with warmth by the innkeeper, and they appeared quite pleased by the reception. They both turned and nodded to Charles before looking right at her. She flushed hot, as she did any time they were in close proximity, but was freed from making any sort of comment by Louisa’s squeal of delight.

  “Oh, they’re here!” she cried.

  “Louisa, hush,” Anne whispered.

  Louisa waved her away and stood. “Captain Wenworth! Captain Benton!”

  Jon smiled and walked over to their table, Patrick following a bit behind. “Ladies, what a pleasure to see you here.”

  “We are so excited to be in Lyme, Captain Benton,” Louisa gushed as she sat back down. “Please say you will join us in the village tomorrow?”

  Patrick and Jon both nodded. “And will you join us, Miss Ellis?” Jon asked.

  “I would enjoy that,” she said, her eyes downcast.

  She heard them talking above her head as the two gentlemen begged off dining at the inn. Apparently they had friends in the village and would take their supper there. Patrick appeared to accept Louisa’s flirtations, which she saw out of the corner of her eye. Time seemed to stand still as she waited for them to leave the dining room, but at last she could finally breathe without taking in their divergent scents.

  Late that night, Louisa’s voice at last no longer ringing in her ears, she settled beneath the soft linens in her bed at the inn. The room was quite comfortable and finely appointed, pretty and serviceable at the same time. Despite the accommodations however, sleep eluded her.

  Patrick and Jon were never far from her mind. All would be revealed in Lyme, Jon had promised. Patrick had not disagreed, twisting her wants and desires like her sheets were now. The stiff sea breeze blew through the room, causing her to shiver. Rising, she crossed to the window and closed it. Eyeing her rumpled bed, she began to smooth the coverlet. Why she bothered, she could not guess. She doubted sleep would find her. Letting out a breath, she settled into bed once more.

  “Anne,” came a soft whisper.

  She sat up, the linens clutched to her breast. It sounded like a man’s voice, but how could that be? Were her fevered thoughts of the two of them making her imagine things now? A soft scratch came at the door. She could deny it no longer. There was a man at her door.

  She donned her wrapper and hurried to the door. “Yes?” she asked softly. This was ridiculous. What did one say to a man at one’s door in the dead of night? “Who’s there?”

  “It is I, angel,” came Jon’s voice.

  Her heart skittered. She quickly unlatched the door and found Jon framed there. He flashed that smile at her, the one that set her body to trembling. “Jon,” she mouthed.

  He stepped in and shut the door behind him. “I need t
o see you, Anne.”

  “What?” She brushed her loosened hair back from her shoulders and crossed her arms in front of her. “Why?”

  His blue eyes darkened. “I need you.”

  His words filled her with such naughty thoughts, his mouth on hers, his fingers on her…“Will you touch me, Jon?” She couldn’t keep the anticipation out of her voice. “Will you touch me again?”

  “Ah, sweet Anne.” He locked the door. “I will do more than touch you.”

  Chapter 9

  “More?” she asked.

  He pulled her close in his arms. “As much as I dare.”

  “You dare?” she asked, reveling in the touch of his hands on her body. “I cannot imagine you fearing anything.”

  “It’s true I dare much, sweet lady.” He released her and began to remove his clothing. “Climbing the stairs, coming closer and closer to heaven with you as its resident angel, was a dare in itself.”

  She felt a laugh bubble inside of her. “You spout poetry again, Jon?”

  He spread his arms wide. “Anything for my dear angel!”

  “Shh,” she said, pulling him from the door. “Do you wish to ruin me?”

  His face grew serious. “Never, love.”

  As he began to remove his shirt she could not look away. He was beautifully built, smoothly muscled, and a bit different from what she remembered of Patrick’s body. That man was built more sturdily, but Jon was just as pleasing. Golden hair swirled over his chest, and her fingers itched to touch him. Once he wore nothing but his breeches she could not wait. She removed her wrapper and draped it over the footboard of the bed.

  “I dare you, Jon,” she said boldly.

  His eyes danced over her body, making her nipples ache and her breasts feel heavy. He cupped her, his thumbs brushing over her flesh, and she gasped. She’d felt this before, when his hands had caressed her through her dress the night of the dinner. But this was different. With no stays or dress, with only her thin lawn nightgown between his hands and her flesh, the pressure was exquisite. She let out a soft cry, clutching at his wrists to pull him closer.

  “You will like what I do to you, Anne,” he promised, setting her on the bed. “Everything.”

  In a moment her nightgown was opened and pushed aside, his hands now roaming freely over her skin. His touch was tender, insistent.

  “Your breasts are plump delights,” he murmured, licking one nipple while he pinched the other. “Delectable.”

  Every touch of his tongue, his fingers, sent sparks of desire straight to her woman’s flesh. “Oh, touch me.”

  He moved a hand to her thigh, touching her with featherlight strokes. “Here, love?”

  She gasped as he neared her center. “No.”

  “Where, then?” He settled between her thighs and touched the curls between. “Here?”

  A flush spread over her, desire and embarrassment, but she parted her legs for him. “Yes, touch my…”

  “Pussy, Anne,” he said, seeking that tiny nub he’d teased before. “This is your pussy, as soft as down and sweet as honey.”

  His fingers were inside her now, moving in and out as she felt that now-familiar ascent begin. “Jon!”

  “You are so wet. So tight. Ah, Anne. I want to make you soar, love.”

  “Y–yes,” she murmured, her eyes closed tight.

  He shifted, making the small bed bounce, and placed his mouth on her pussy. She couldn’t even think to voice a protest as her climax began. He licked and nibbled at her swollen flesh, his fingers keeping up their exquisite pressure until she shattered.

  She was still shaking when he came up and kissed her. “You are incredible, angel.”

  She couldn’t find her voice, still lost in tiny shivers of satisfaction. He was over her now, kissing her and whispering bits of poetry in her ear.

  “I want to come inside you,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “How I want to, but I am not the man to do it.”

  She shook her head. “If not you, then—” Realization struck. “Never say Patrick?”

  He lifted his head, brushing her sweat-dampened hair away from her face. “Yes, love. He should be your first.”

  “Patrick does not want me, Jon.”

  The look he gave her told her he knew the words for a lie as much as she did. “He will be the one, but I will not lose you in the process.”

  With that he climbed off her, wincing in obvious pain. She sat up. “What is wrong?”

  He cupped the bulge at the front of his breeches and winced again. “I am full of desire for you.”

  His flowery words didn’t hide the truth. He was unfulfilled and she felt quite selfish. “Let me ease you.”

  His eyes lit, and then he shook his head. “You mustn’t.”

  She adjusted her nightgown and tied the ribbon holding it closed. “Let me,” she said again. “Just show me how.”

  He seemed to war with himself then sat. “With your hand, then.”

  “What did you think I would do? Oh! Not with my mouth?”

  He swallowed audibly. “You will kill me.” He unfastened the flap of his pants and let his shaft free. “Touch my cock, if you will.”

  “Your cock,” she said. It was thick and long. She saw a bead of pearly moisture on the broad tip, and inexplicably, her mouth watered. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft, she felt the pulsing desire within him. “Jon, it’s beautiful.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Make me come, Anne. I daresay it won’t take much.”

  She moved her hand over his silky skin, felt the hardness beneath, and fingered the slit in the broad head. When he sucked in a breath she knew she was on to something. Spreading the growing moisture from the head of his cock, she lubricated her fingers and stroked him faster. He began to buck, moaning her name. In the next moment he shuddered and milky fluid sprayed over her hand.

  “Nirvana from the touch of my angel,” he quietly sighed.

  His eyes opened and he grinned at her. “Your hand. I cannot imagine what it will feel like to be in your pussy.”

  She wanted that as well. The strength of his cock, the power of his release made her pussy weep for more than the pleasure he’d given her.

  “But you said Patrick was to take me, though why I have no say I cannot fathom.”

  “Do you not want him?” Jon asked, his voice and manner as polite as if they stood in a drawing room instead of her room at the inn. As if they were dressed precisely and standing properly apart instead of near-naked with her hand still on his cock.

  “I do,” she admitted.

  He smiled, leaning close to kiss her. “Patrick shall have you, but so shall I.”

  His words shocked her. “Both of you?”

  He stroked her cheek. “I know you trust me, Anne.”

  She did, she realized. She gave him a nod.

  “What you and Patrick had is not over, though the trust will need to be rebuilt on both sides.”

  She acknowledged this with a nod as well.

  He stood and refastened his pants. “This will work, I promise. Just don’t close your mind to the possibility.”

  What could she say? Her mind was as open as her legs had been mere minutes before. She was spared admitting that particular truth to him when he silently left her in her room.

  The scent of their release, hers and then his, still hung in the room. It was an intriguing mix, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Patrick’s would add. And what of his taste? She was beyond naughty, but she wanted to see his cock and take it into her mouth as Jon had denied her that freedom tonight. He said she would have both of them, which was beyond her comprehension but titillating nonetheless.

  She rose and washed, then straightened the bed. She settled down once more. Though her body was sated her mind was in turmoil. Now she would surely miss sleep for an entirely different reason. Both of them? At once?

  In the dark, in her small room at the Inn at Lyme, she smiled.

  * * * *

 
; Patrick stood outside Anne’s door, his hands shaking as if he were sailing into battle. He’d paced his room until the floorboards creaked, willing at last to admit what had troubled him since seeing Anne again. He was still besotted with her.

  Her feelings on the matter were most assuredly less clear, taken with her attraction to Jon. He couldn’t last one night beneath the same roof with her, so why act the coward? He would go to her and admit to his need for her.

  “Anne,” he rasped, his face close to the door.

  He heard a gasp and a rustle of linens, followed by her light tread on the floor. “Jon?”

  His mouth dropped open for a moment, and then he smiled. She was indeed a singular woman. “Patrick,” he corrected.

  He could feel her hesitation through the panel and silently willed her to let him enter. She opened the door at last, standing there in her nightgown and wrapper. Her hair was down around her shoulders, her body poised and lovely. She was an angel. Jon was right on that count.

  “I need to see you,” he said.

  She stared up at him, hurt and confusion in her eyes. “Whatever for?”

  He stepped past her, unable to keep to the niceties any longer. “I need you, Anne.”

  “That is precisely what Jon said.” She closed the door. “Patrick, I don’t know what Jon told you, but—”

  “Jon told me nothing. I need you. Please listen to me.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist and sat down on the bed. “Speak your piece. You’ve been itching to tell me what you think of me for weeks now.”

  “Years, actually,” he said, coming to sit beside her.

  “You hate me,” she said in a small voice.

  Her words slammed into him like cannon fire. “No, Anne. I don’t hate you.”

  She blinked away the tears glistening in her eyes and sniffed. “Then tell me why you are treating me so? Is it not enough that I am on the shelf, all but ignored by my family and friends? Must I constantly withstand the company of the man whose heart I had but threw away?”