“Oh, yes.” The words slipped free before she’d considered them, but Bradford’s gasp of approval encouraged her on. His hips pounded on her now, igniting a fire that consumed her. His grunt signaled his release and Ilsa felt the slipperiness of his cum spilling into her a second time.
* * * * *
Ilsa’s second day at Stratton Hall passed in a magnificent fog. After an opulent breakfast, Bradford spent the remainder of the morning in his study. Dressmakers arrived at the house and an endless array of fabrics paraded before her. It was so fantastic she almost let herself believe his marriage story true.
At one point Bradford appeared and voiced his request she be adorned in deep jewel tones of sapphire, emerald and ruby, then he vanished again to the privacy of his work.
Most of the staff made silly excuses to meet her and Ilsa couldn’t understand why many of them seemed perplexed by her position.
“Is it true, yer to marry Mr. Stratton?” one young girl asked in a bewildered tone, but before Ilsa could answer another maid socked her in the arm and told her to shush. At the end of the day, Ilsa could only surmise this was how servants behaved. Above all there seemed a secretive sense of propriety about them, and she could not urge answers about the mysterious Bradford from them.
After a light but exquisite lunch of expertly prepared cod, greens and roasted potatoes, where she and Mr. Stratton talked comfortably about Shetland cart ponies, of all things, she came upon Havers while exploring the second wing of the house.
“Is there a dress form in the house?”
He looked at her oddly.
“A seamstress stand—a wire or stuffed figure to make dresses upon.”
“Hmm. Perhaps in the attic. I’ll send Elsabeth to fetch a lamp and show you the way.”
A young girl came to Ilsa’s room not much later and gave an odd curtsy. “I’m to show ya the ways to the attic.”
Ilsa smiled at the nervous chit, who kept sneaking sideways glances at her on the long walk to the end of the opposite wing.
“Ya makes yer own dresses, does ya? I can’t sew fer nothin’. Me mum says me thumbs are put on backward, she does.”
“It takes many years of practice,” she told the girl. “Your skill will grow as you get older.”
The girl opened an unlocked door and led her up a long flight of stairs. Another door led into the attic. Elsabeth squealed as a large spider darted past her foot.
“I’ll take that,” Ilsa said, gently extracting the swinging lamp from the girl’s clamped fingers. It would not do to burn down Mr. Stratton’s home. Thankfully a wire dress form stood not far inside the cavernous attic. “Can you manage this,” she asked Elsabeth. “If it’s too heavy, send one of the men—”
Elsabeth had already snatched it and was hurrying toward the door. “Thank the stars. I hate these dark, scary rooms.”
“Go on ahead, Elsabeth. I’m going to look around here a while.”
The returned call told her the girl was already at the bottom of the stairs. Ilsa hung the lamp on a hook and peered more closely at the chaise that had caught her eye. The upholstery was chewed up by rodents on one side, but the wooden frame was beautifully carved. Past it, she noticed several dining chairs, also with tattered fabric but of beautiful craftsmanship. Perhaps these items were of little value to Mr. Stratton, but she would enjoy repairing them if he gave his blessing, and it would pass the time on what would surely be long days as winter came on.
If she stayed, that was.
In a considerably uplifted mood, she took the rear stairs all the way to the first floor and stumbled upon the library on the north side of the manor. Stepping inside, she was momentarily struck by the sheer number of shelves stacked floor to tall, tall ceiling. There must be hundreds of books! She turned in a circle, and then again, before lifting her arms and laughing out loud. Ilsa quickly covered her mouth and giggled into her palms. If she was to be a whore for Mr. Stratton, what a wonderful place to be one!
* * * * *
Darkness had fallen hours ago. Ilsa sat at the vanity brushing out her now-dry hair. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of herself in the new silk shift that had appeared with several others while she explored the library. It was more alluring than a bridal gown and wickedly risqué, but it moved over her skin like magic. The white fabric gleamed in the candlelight, turning her breasts into snowy white globes. Her nipples tented the fabric scandalously.
Every moment here passed with a small amount of worry. She still didn’t know if Mr. Stratton truly intended to marry her, but convinced herself to set aside the unease and take each moment for what it was.
She’d created garments similar to this one—perhaps not quite so alluring—but she’d never worn anything so fine. She still couldn’t convince herself she owned it, but she took satisfaction from the fact it had been made to her measurements. The draping top sat perfectly over her too-large breasts.
A knock at the adjoining door made her start. When the door didn’t open she quickly rose and opened it, not wanting to irritate Bradford.
“Do you wish me, Mr. Stratton?” she blurted, suddenly eager to please. Should this whole Cinderella fantasy be true, she would do nothing to make him change his mind.
Bradford stood back and surveyed her in the gown. “Lovely. Almost a shame to take it off you.” He held out his hand. “Come. Perhaps we can find a compromise.”
Her cheeks burned as she took his hand, but already she understood his demands on her would be basic. He just wants to possess my body. Sex is the most natural thing there is. She shrugged away the knowledge sex could be unpleasant and painful, a method for delivering cruelty.
He promised me it would not be that way here. But could she believe it?
He led her over to the bed and then stood back, as if pondering. “Kneel on the bed,” he instructed and shrugged out of his own robe. He tossed it over the nearby chair.
He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. She shyly perused his naked form, admiring the bulging muscles of his arms, the ridged planes of his chest and belly and the obvious arousal standing tall at his groin. His shaft was smoothly white, sprouting from a grove of thick black hair, its tip purple with wanting.
Ilsa lifted the long skirt to climb onto the high bed. She held the gown bunched at her thighs as she positioned herself, knees wide. He mounted the bed behind her and knelt between her legs. Bradford slid his palms up her thighs, pushing the fabric over her ass to bare her sex.
“Such a pretty color,” he murmured. “You’re like a seashell.”
The sheer wantonness of it made her grow hot. Knowing he looked at her pussy, she swelled like a flower blooming for the sun. Fingers pulled her outer lips wide. His tongue flicked over her slit, making her jerk in surprise.
“Oh!”
He sucked a mouthful of flesh and teased with the tip of his tongue. “Mmmm.” The vibration traveled inside her. Ilsa dropped her head and closed her eyes as an overwhelming need to be filled, to be stretched wide and probed deep, consumed her entire body.
His tongue poked deeper into her, intensifying the need unbearably. She shuddered as the first hints of ticklish pleasure started as a low tremor.
“Oh, my heavens, oooohhhh.”
He licked up and down in a long, slow slather. One finger penetrated her, making her cry out. The finger worked in and out before being joined by a second. She arched her back and pushed against him to urge them deeper.
“A woman doesn’t get this wet unless she wants to be fucked.”
She merely gave a low murmur, too embarrassed to respond.
He withdrew. Sticky fingers grabbed her ass as he took her in both hands. “That is all I require of you tonight. If you wish, you may return to your room.”
She glanced over her shoulder, confused. Her entire body trembled. Unsatisfied need coiled in her belly as pure agony.
“Or, if you wish it, I’ll fuck you.”
Sham
e be damned, she needed to be filled by him. “I wish it.”
“Then say it.”
Her skin was so hot she might burst into flames. “I wish you to fuck me.”
“Lovely Ilsa, I would be happy to.”
He leaned past her and retrieved a small glass bottle from the bedside table. He poured a thin stream of some type of oil into his palm, then shifted back to his knees behind her.
The cap of his sex met the divot of hers. Oh yes. She felt pressure there, heard the squishing sound of his hand spreading the oil over his shaft.
She understood now, she’d only served men who were wrong for her. Bradford’s body was compatible with hers, his needs suited to what she could give. His tall frame rivaled her own, and she hoped her beauty matched his refined elegance as well.
“I can stop now and calm my needs. But if I enter you, I’ll use you until I’m satisfied.”
“Yes sir.”
He lightly slapped her ass. “Bradford.”
“Yes, Bradford.”
“You must understand what that truly means. Tonight shall be a lesson for you. If ever you don’t want me, you merely have to say so. But you must say so before we have started, for once I’m inside you, I’ll not stop until I’m satisfied.”
“I understand.” She wriggled her bottom, needing to feel that glorious cock poking at her.
“Don’t be fooled by last night. My strength will last much longer tonight.”
“I understand…Bradford.”
He took her by the hips, one hand still slippery with oil. A thrill raced through her as she realized he would easily conquer her body’s natural resistance. His hands tightened, giving her the split second warning before his invasion.
He thrust sharply, breaching her, filling her with all of himself in one solid stroke. She grunted, shocked at the same time fulfilled. There was a burst of pain, but it was exquisite pain.
“Perfect,” he groaned out. He immediately withdrew halfway and thrust on her again, reaching deeper than before. She dropped her head again, focusing all thought on her pussy and the thick shaft invading her so magnificently.
At once he began a rapid pummeling. Ilsa suspected he needed to prove himself to her, that sometimes his desires would be ferocious, but he would always be mindful of her tragic past even though he didn’t yet know what it was. Perhaps that past had made her strong enough to accept this now.
She braced herself as he pounded into her, his thick cock stabbing deep each time. She pushed back to receive it, seeking the dull ache that promised a shattering orgasm. True to his word, his endurance proved strong. She gripped the sheets in her fists, determined to prove to him, and herself, she was still the compatible lover for him. Her first climax struck like a flash of lightning followed by a roll of booming thunder.
Mentally she prepared herself for increasing force. There was much she could endure, even if she didn’t like it. But even as Bradford’s grunting sounds grew, his force diminished.
Her second climax came with his, this one in surges like waves rolling up the beach. She felt the added moisture of his seed, everything between her legs slippery and soaking wet. A slow thrust, then a final one even slower, and Bradford held himself fast inside her. Only now did she feel his body trembling.
She knew he was finished, but waited for him to dismount her. He eased out of her body slowly and gently, then slid his hand up her body to urge her rumpled gown over her head. She let it slide down her arms, and only then did she collapse on her side. He spooned up behind her, combing wild locks of hair away from her cheek.
“Ilsa…” he whispered in her ear.
“Are you ready again, Bradford?”
He laughed and cupped her breast. “I am an excellent judge of character, if I do say so myself.”
She smiled.
“I knew you would be perfect.”
“Oh no, I am far from perfect.”
“You don’t know how perfect you are, my dear.”
She closed her eyes. “With assumptions like that, I fear you shall only be disappointed.”
“Perhaps more tests are required, then.” His gave a suggestive squeeze to her breast.
She drew a long breath in and out. “Do you wish me to return to my room?”
He rolled away. “No. Stay…tonight.”
At once the dreamy trance cast by her climaxes evaporated. His answer had a secret meaning, she was certain.
She heard a splash of water and then the trickles of a cloth being wrung out. When he knelt on the bed again, she turned onto her back.
“Open your legs.”
She met his gaze and did so, trusting. It came with a thrill of fear, but Ilsa knew if she didn’t fear what he’d just done to her, she needn’t fear him now.
A cool cloth touched her burning pussy, soothing the intense heat. She closed her eyes as he caressed her gently, moved in the deepest part of her heart. No man had ever been so kind. He returned the cloth to the basin and threw another log onto the fire, then crawled back into bed beside her. Bradford pulled a thin blanket over them and settled down beside her, capturing her breast again to hold through the night.
She was a princess in a fairy tale, and nothing had ever felt so wonderful. Yet Ilsa could not shake the suspicion this would not last, for anything that seemed too good to be true usually was.
* * * * *
Curled in a deep leather chair in the library with her bare feet beneath her, Ilsa was dragged from the book she was reading by the eerie sensation of being watched. She looked up to find Bradford standing in the doorway, staring at her with half a smile. Her body heated. Perhaps he wanted her now. In the middle of the day! It mattered not. She understood her position here was to provide him pleasure when he wanted it, and not to question him for it. He’d proven it wouldn’t be wretched, and in turn, taught her that sex could be good. Oh, so wonderfully good.
“Now I know where to find you, should you ever go missing.” He smiled devilishly. She glanced at the table beside her and realized she’d given herself away for her love of books, and made a clutter of his beautiful library. Books were piled on the marble top and several on the seat beside her.
“I apologize.” She sat up and shoved her feet back into her new silk slippers. “I’ll not make a mess of your library again.”
“Worry not, Ilsa, it does my heart well to see the books put to such enthusiastic use.” He reached out a hand. “Do bother with that later, will you? I think now is the time to…broach the uniqueness of our situation. Join me for a brandy in the drawing room.”
She rose and followed obediently, but the idea of brandy in the early afternoon twisted her stomach. “Perhaps I’ll merely sit with you while you drink. I’m not much for spirits during the day.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a wry tone. “I, for one, could use a drink.”
The jitter in her stomach increased. Was he unsatisfied? As outrageous as this situation was, she had decided she liked it here. After the glow of intense satisfaction had worn off and the embarrassment of being treated like a whore crept back in, she still decided she liked it here. This morning she’d bumped the fading bruise on her lower back and was reminded how nice it was not to be smacked about.
She hesitated in the center of the room, chewing her lower lip as he poured himself the brandy and took a deep mouthful. He paused, staring up at the portrait of his father. Finally, she could hold her tongue no longer.
“Mr. Stratton, er, Bradford, I…”
“I told you I would do anything for my father,” he started, as though he hadn’t heard her stammering. “His request I take a wife is not an unusual one. And it is not that I do not wish to be shackle-chained that I have resisted so long.”
She sank into a chair, wringing her hands.
“I am torn between obliging my father and obliging my own needs.”
She knew it. He was backing out. And there would be no offense in that, if he had not sampled her charms beforehand.
/> “I worry this arrangement will not work out.”
Of all the nerve. Hot anger built inside her, making it impossible to form words she needed to tell him, in no uncertain terms, how rude and incorrigible and nasty—
“My family has holdings in Aberystwyth, in particular a lovely cottage I think will suit you perfectly.”
She snapped her mouth shut.
He slugged back the remainder of the brandy and set the glass down on the marble-topped convenience, staring at it as though wanting to pour another.
“I’ll provide an allowance, of course.”
“Do you find me lacking, sir?” There was more hurt in her words than the edge of nastiness she’d intended. “Last night you called me perfect.”
He turned around, looking confused. “Not in the least, Ilsa. I promise you that. You are a beautiful and very desirable woman, and I quite like the delicate way you eat.” He smiled, but she didn’t return it. “I promised you will never have to return to the tailor’s again, and I meant it.”
“Then why?” Was she really protesting this dismissal? Dismissal to peace and solitude, no less?
For as long as she could remember she’d dreamed of a cottage all her own, far from the grime and smoke of the city. Where flowers grew and birds sang and she never had to worry about hateful words or a striking fist ever again. Where she never had to endure an old man who slapped at her breasts or dug his thumbs into her thighs until she cried out in pain and finally opened them…
But Bradford was no Dietrich. He was young, handsome and solidly built, blissfully lacking the ripe stench and sour breath. And though large and thick of manhood, he was a skilled lover who used it to bring exquisite pleasure. Hadn’t she such dreams for a husband as well?
Commotion in the doorway called their attention. “I rode ahead of the carriage upon my latest acquisition, Havers, a fine Arabian stallion I won in a wager in Dover. Lucky I did, I outran the storm.”
A handsome young man strode into the drawing room in riding attire. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, his face bearing the unblemished smoothness of the very young. With such light brown hair, his fair skin and dark eyebrows made a striking contrast so perfectly suited to him he was unearthly beautiful.
Saving Lady Ilsa Page 3
