My Lady's Lover

by Nicola Davidson

  Beatrice smiled, and lifted her much simpler gown over her head, then yanked off her petticoat. “My stays, if you please.”

  Excitement made her fingers clumsy, but eventually, Amelia managed to remove the irritating garment and Beatrice’s chemise. Naked, she was exquisite. Slender and long-limbed, a thatch of dark, glistening curls between her thighs, and tip-tilted breasts crowned with tight, pale brown nipples. “Oh,” she breathed, reaching out a finger to explore.

  “I think not,” said Beatrice, her eyes gleaming. “Bath. Now.”

  “Bathe with me,” the words fell from her lips before she could stop them.

  Her companion hesitated, then nodded, and they both stepped into the copper tub. It was a snug fit, but they could both kneel, and the intimacy of being breast to breast in the warm, lapping water was incredibly arousing. It only became more so when Beatrice lathered a washcloth with rose soap and began running it over Amelia’s shoulders and collarbone.

  She whimpered, arching her back so the slightly rough cloth might touch her swollen nipples. Her companion took pity on her and rubbed the cloth back and forth over the aching peaks until Amelia gasped in delight at the friction. But Beatrice didn’t stay there nearly long enough, instead trailing the cloth further down and washing her belly, dancing across the top of her mound, but not where she needed it most.

  Amelia tilted her hips, blatantly begging and offering all at once, and a small wave of water splashed onto the floor.

  Beatrice tsked. “Naughty. Do you think I will be tempted away from my duties by your pretty pink pussy?”

  “Yes?” she asked hopefully.

  “Perhaps. If you part those tight curls and show me your clitoris.”

  Frowning in confusion, she blinked. That was a word she didn’t know. In fact, she’d only learned the rather wicked term pussy this very day. The women she knew referred to their secret garden or honeypot. “I…ah…”

  “Forgive me,” said Beatrice, her tongue darting out and licking her lips. “I forget how much has been kept from you. Down here, at the top of your mound, this little nub is your clitoris. How does it feel when I do this?”

  Amelia cried out as her lover pressed a thumb to a spot so sensitive, it sent a jolt throughout her whole body, and another wave of water onto the floor. “G-good. Very good.”

  “Touching it is one thing. Stroking, licking, and sucking are quite another. But I believe we need to get out of this tub. For what I’m going to do to you, we can’t be flooding the place. Dry off, then go and lie on your bed.”

  Eager beyond all, she hastily obeyed. On her bed, the embroidered quilt felt a little rough under her back and bottom, stimulating her sensitive skin to further heights. Lord above, she might not survive this night. After what seemed like an eternity, Beatrice joined her, green eyes hot and hungry, her lips harsh as she pressed Amelia back on the quilt and kissed her until she could scarcely bear the pressure.

  “Will you pinch my nipples again? Like you did last night?” Amelia begged.

  A breathy moan escaped when Beatrice began circling the tender peaks, rubbing her thumbs against them, pinching them between two fingers, before she leaned down and lapped at both with her tongue.

  “What sweet nipples you have. I’m going to suck them now. And then I’m going to taste your pussy.”

  Fire and whirlwind and paradise didn’t begin to describe the new and startling sensations that followed. The rhythmic tugging on her nipples had her writhing in delight, even more so when two questing fingers stroked the crisp curls guarding her mound. But it only got better when Beatrice settled down between her legs, holding them open so she had full access, and began to kiss her inner thighs.

  “Please,” Amelia whispered, so aroused, so impatient to reach a beckoning summit she had never dreamed existed, she would say anything, do anything. “Please Bea. I need you.”

  “I know, dearest,” said Beatrice, her loving smile a balm to the soul. And then she bent her head, parted the curls, and licked Amelia’s clitoris.

  A wild cry tore from her throat. But Beatrice was ruthless, her tongue lashing, her lips sucking. Although Amelia bucked to escape the exquisite intensity, her lover held firm, forcing her to peak after peak until she reached that blissful summit and surrendered to the powerful waves of ecstasy that buffeted her whole body.

  Dazed and trembling, she could only stare. “That was…that was…”

  “Orgasm number one,” said Beatrice sweetly. “Now for number two.”

  And the storm began again.

  Chapter 3

  The last week had been the happiest of Beatrice’s life. Amelia had asked for help with several important estate tasks she usually did herself, and together they had inspected stores, visited tenants with gifts of preserved fruit and cured meat, and purchased great lengths of calico and buckskin in Guildford for new servant clothing. Never had she felt so useful. But the nights, Oh God, the nights. Hours and hours of indescribable pleasure and laughter and intimate conversation as they lay naked and entwined in Amelia’s bed.

  It was almost enough to make her believe in miracles. And yet she never forgot the ever-present threat of Lord Garrick or the servants loyal to him. At any time, Amelia could be snatched away.

  Closing her eyes against the terrible notion, Beatrice tilted her face toward the sun and welcomed the warmth. Today the weather was beautiful, perfect for their picnic, but a certain crispness had started to creep in each morning that whispered autumn was on its way.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Turning her head, she smiled at Amelia who lay on her side on the rug they’d spread on the soft grass. “Just enjoying the sunshine. I shan’t even mind if I get freckles. Summer never lasts as long as we hope.”

  A shadow crossed her lover’s face. “No. It doesn’t, does it.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Amelia hugged her arms around her knees. “My life is wonderful right now. I never knew such joy existed. Or that there could be such pleasure in bed. But I’m worried, Bea. That somehow Garrick will find out. What he would do to us both…”

  “His lordship won’t find out,” she replied, suppressing a shudder. “We’ve been so careful not to do or say anything in front of the servants. And a certain closeness between a lady and her companion is expected. I’ll admit it is hard when I want to shout to the world how I feel about you, and I hate the fact that the earl holds such sway over us both, but we can make this work. I know we can.”

  “Such fire in your belly!”

  Beatrice laughed. “I think a little of Lady Portia’s influence has rubbed off on me. She is so fierce when it comes to the rights and advancement of women. I swear she marches up to every peer in the House of Lords and harangues them until they support whatever cause she is championing.”

  “I’m sure I heard Wellington say he would rather face Napoleon himself than Lady Portia in high dudgeon.”

  “Well, with the Corsican safely imprisoned on Elba, Lady Portia it will be. Do you know, during my last visit she informed her bodyguard Captain Denham that women should be allowed to join the army and fight alongside the men if they wish. Then she whipped out erotic drawings of a nymph orgy to show him. Poor man, I’m not sure if he knows which way is up when she is around.”

  Amelia choked on a sip of lemonade. “Excuse me? A nymph orgy?”

  “Quite. It’s a remarkably detailed drawing, although I think the cocks are laughably big. If I was a nymph and someone waved a tree trunk like that at me, I do believe my pussy would chastity belt itself in protest.”

  “It sounds like, ah, you have interesting visits.”

  Beatrice nodded. “Well, they aren’t really visits as such. It’s our monthly meeting of the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society. We are a small group right now, just me, Lady Portia, Captain Denham, Lady Upcott, and my second cousin Clayton. But we are great friends and discuss the most stimulating and enlightening topics.”

  “I should like to
meet them one day.”

  “Ha! Don’t look so terrified, dearest. They might be highly unconventional, but they are all darling people.”

  “Much like you,” said Amelia, smiling.

  Hell and damnation, but that smile of Amelia’s would be the death of her. It had been the first thing she noticed when they had been introduced. Like a ray of sunshine had been captured for a moment on earth. Then, of course, her beauty and mouthwatering curves. But it had taken little time to discover that Amelia was also intelligent and generous, and a kind and just employer. Qualities that had been demonstrated on countless occasions. And her love and admiration and longing had only grown over time.

  “Do you really think so?” Beatrice asked casually, as she leaned over to fetch another juicy red apple from the picnic basket. Not that she would ever admit it, but words of praise and affection from Amelia sustained her like food and drink.

  “I know so. You are so very…you. I envy that. I’ve never really been me, just a daughter then a wife. Right from the start, my father wanted nothing more than a titled son-in-law and a titled grandson. It’s all he ever talks about, what drove him to make so much money in trade. When Garrick offered, Father practically danced a jig and settled an absolutely ridiculous dowry on me. My husband has done his best to spend as much of it as he can on frivolities in the shortest time possible while allocating me the smallest allowance possible. An incentive, he says. When I give him an heir, he will be all that is generous.”

  Beatrice winced, and studiously cut her apple into quarters. “I’m ashamed I didn’t know how bad your marriage was.”

  “Why would you?” said Amelia, shrugging. “Garrick is usually charm personified in front of others. And he always gets what he wants, so has no need to lose his temper. But I have failed in the only duty he wants me for.”

  She scowled. “Bastard.”

  Amelia looked away. “No, but he has six of those scattered about the country already. I think the youngest is just a few months old…”

  Her voice trailed off, and Beatrice’s heart ached for her. What did you say to a splendid woman denied her one heart’s desire, when all around her lived evidence of Garrick and every other woman’s fertility? Sometimes the Fates were damned cruel. “I’m so sorry, dearest. If there was anything I could do, I would. I hope you know that.”

  “Well, there is one thing.”

  “Name it.”

  Amelia leaned back on one elbow and bit her lower lip. “I don’t want to think about sad matters. I want to forget just for a while, and think about…pleasure.”

  Excitement flared. It was true there was no one about, but they were in an open field only shaded by a single oak tree. Anyone could ride by at any time. “Do you indeed, my lady? I’d wager this is not the location to be fully naked, but I believe I could make you come at least a few times before we must return to the manor.”

  “Well then. What are you waiting for?” said Amelia with an impish grin.

  What indeed.

  Her gown might be primly and neatly folded up to her waist, but there was nothing prim or neat about what was happening between her legs.

  Moaning in ecstasy, Amelia tangled her fingers in Beatrice’s hair, grinding her mound against her lover’s mouth. How did she know when to be rougher, to suck hard and nip, and when to flick with just the tip of her tongue, light as a snowflake? Sometimes it felt like she would never get enough of Beatrice’s gentle carnality. Each time it seemed different. More intense. And she was absolutely addicted to the whole process, from the teasing beginning to the relentless drive to climax, the shattering release, and the sleepy, comfortable aftermath when they would lie together, sticky and happy and holding each other. In fact, the only part she couldn’t abide was when Beatrice dressed and left her bedchamber so they wouldn’t be discovered. Then she would wet her pillow with tears and dream of freedom, of a life without Garrick and his cruelties, only she and Beatrice celebrating their growing love and sharing a bed all night long.

  A sharp nip to her inner thigh jolted her from her reverie, and Amelia whimpered as it was swiftly followed by a delicate lap to her swollen clitoris. “Beatrice…”

  “You know, I can never get enough of your pussy juice. The scent of it, the taste of it, so spicy and silky. I want more. Enough to fill my mouth.”

  The raw, rasping words stole her breath, and Amelia gasped, her hips bucking in a desperate effort to have more of her lover’s tongue inside her, more of the delicious friction that spiraled her desire and launched her to the heavens. “Yes. Please. Yes…”

  “Dearest…will you let me put my finger inside you?”

  Amelia tensed. A tongue pushing deep was one thing, but thus far she had shied away from the hard solidness of a finger. It reminded her of Garrick, of agonizing pain she couldn’t escape. “I…he hurt me.”

  “He is appalling.” Beatrice trailed kisses across her mound. “But there is a spot inside you, a very special spot that will make you come even harder. I just want to show you. I’ll go slowly, and if it hurts I will stop at once, I promise.”

  She took a deep breath as her heart’s trust of Beatrice warred with her mind’s reminders of so many bad experiences. But her lover had shown her nothing but pleasure and sweet affection. Eventually, she nodded. “Very well. But please go very slowly.”

  Beatrice smiled, and her tongue flicked at Amelia’s core once more, then withdrew to be replaced by a circling fingertip. Around and around it went, almost lazily, until it was audibly slick with juice. Seconds later, it nudged against her entrance and penetrated her just a little. Well. That felt fine, but it was just the start. Her experience with Garrick had always been the further in he was, the worse it got.

  Gradually, Beatrice’s middle finger inched deeper inside her, always slowly, always retreating back before moving ahead to explore.

  And it felt…nice.

  Her body began to relax, her thighs unclenching and splaying open, her hips lifting in time with the delicate yet purposeful thrusts.

  Oh. That was even nicer. Delicious, even.

  “Mmmm, your sweet little pussy is clenching all around my finger. Do you need to come?”

  “Yes!” Amelia gasped.

  And then Beatrice’s mouth covered hers, kissing her fiercely, swirling her tongue so Amelia could taste her own juices, all while that talented finger plundered mercilessly. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, twisting and rubbing against a lovely spot that tore a guttural wail from her throat. All at once she tried to grind closer and buck away, greedy for more of the acute pleasure and yet fearful of it as well, that she might well lose her senses entirely in the tempest. Finally, Beatrice pressed her thumb hard against her clitoris and sent her to the stars, making her scream and scream and scream into her own hand.

  Utterly shattered, Amelia sagged against the picnic rug, unsure if she would be able to move or speak again. In that one act it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted, like something broken had been reset and now healing would begin.

  “Are you well?” Beatrice asked anxiously, holding her tightly and smoothing her hair.

  “Oh yes,” Amelia replied, lifting a hand to cup Beatrice’s cheek. “In fact, I’ve never been more so. In a moment when I catch my breath, you are going to lie back and spread your thighs so I might do that to you. I so enjoy learning useful new skills.”

  “My lady, you are an apt pupil.”

  A wicked grin tugged at her lips. Indeed, her lover had taught her many wondrous things. How to kiss with the tongue. How to leave faint little patches of red on the skin like a brand of possession from her lips. How to tease and pinch and bite nipples to that intoxicating point just below pain. And how to restrain thighs in such a way that she could continue licking Beatrice’s delectable pussy without being displaced when she shook with those magnificent, rewarding orgasmic pulses. “Why thank you.”

  “I mean it. You are…all I’ve ever dreamed of in a lover.”

  Emotion
surged, and for a horrid moment, she thought she might burst into tears at the warm sincerity in Beatrice’s eyes. How had she been so fortunate to have such a woman in her life? Beatrice had not only recognized the specific needs she had, but offered true affection with the wondrous sexual pleasure.

  Instead, Amelia got onto her knees and gently pressed Beatrice until she lay flat on her back on the rug. Then very, very slowly, she began hitching up her lover’s gown, running her thumbs along Beatrice’s ankles, her calves, the soft skin behind her knees, her inner thighs, as she went. “Then lie still, darling Bea. I’m going to make you come. Repeatedly.”

  If there was one portrait she wanted to hang on the wall in pride of place, it would be Amelia as she looked right now. Brown eyes ablaze with lust. Cheeks pink, and stray blonde curls caressing her cheeks. Her lips and chin glistening with juices as her wickedly dexterous tongue lapped and probed and tormented.

  A sight infinitely more precious, as it wasn’t something she had ever dared to hope for.

  Beatrice moaned, unable to remain still. “Harder. Oh God, yes, like that.”

  It just felt so damned marvelous. Nothing in her past, not the fumblings at an all-girls learning academy, not every erotic book she’d read or drawing she’d examined, and definitely not her two liaisons, came close to the blissful reality of being pleasured by someone who cared. Who wanted you to come. Who took pride in making you do so.

  “I will if you tell me a secret,” said Amelia, her expression serious.

  “Anything.”

  “When did you know? That you preferred ladies to men, I mean. I feel so foolish only discovering this about myself now.”

  “Do not, dearest,” Beatrice replied, shivering with pleasure as Amelia stroked her mound and inner thighs. “You’ve never known another way. Been allowed to experiment. As a wealthy trade heiress, I daresay your days were crammed with lessons on how to be the perfect wife for a nobleman.”