by Ariel Atwell
“I want you, Matthew, inside of me, not just your fingers, but all of you,” she cried out as she writhed against him.
He pulled away, his eyes glittering, and then his clothes were off and he stood shamelessly naked before her, his hard stalk standing tall against his belly.
He lifted her into the air. “Wrap your legs around me and hold on,” he instructed, backing her against the wall. She did as directed, grasping his shoulders with her hands and looking down just in time to see him position the purple tip of his cock at her entrance. He thrust himself into her narrow channel, pinning her against the wall, the impact of his invasion stealing her breath.
He groaned in pleasure as her interior muscles gave way, allowing him to press fully inside her. Laurence shut her eyes at the sensation of being completely filled by him once again. Slowly at first, and then more rapidly, the base of his rigid shaft caressed her, creating friction that had her digging her fingers into the taut muscles of his shoulders. He held her steady against the wall, pumping into her body, and she could do nothing but hold on for dear life, accepting every driving thrust. At last the nearly unbearable pressure crested into a spiral of pleasure, and she cried out as she reached a shuddering climax.
In the aftermath, she could only lay her head limply against his shoulder as he pulled out of her and lowered her so that her feet were back on the ground again.
“Time for bed,” he said, leading her upstairs.
* * * *
“May I touch you?” she asked a short time later when they were in her bed, for she wanted to know his body the way that he seemed to know hers.
“Please do,” he said, lying back and giving her freedom to do what she wanted. Leaning over, she ran her hands across the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest, enjoying the tense ridge of his muscles beneath her fingertips. She twirled her finger over one of his nipples, wondering if he was as sensitive there as she was and soon had her answer, for he drew in his breath sharply.
She put her lips on his right nipple and sucked gently, just as he had with her, feeling the pebbled skin rise to a hard tip in her mouth. He tilted back his head and groaned.
“That feels so good, my love,” he said.
She shifted her mouth to his left nipple, gently biting it while reaching down to take his cock in her hand, squeezing the shaft until he made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. The sound of his passion unleashed something wild and vibrant within her, and suddenly she was the one who wanted to howl with pleasure.
“Enough or I shall spend,” he said, pulling her atop his large body, moving her hips so that her mound was centered directly over the hard ridge of his cock. When he rocked her, she moaned at how good it felt to stroke her clitoris against his unyielding erection.
“That’s it darling, grind into me.” He grasped the cheeks of her bottom to hold her tight against him. “Use me for your pleasure.”
She rubbed and writhed wildly on his hardness, the tingling shards of pleasure growing more intense with each movement. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, and she thrashed against him, seeking release. When she thought she could bear it no longer, she crested at last, her clitoris throbbing against his shaft as the shuddering ecstasy flooded through her.
At the sound of her climax, Matthew flipped her over onto her back and, without further ceremony, thrust himself fully inside her, pounding her as the bed squeaked wildly.
He stiffened and cried out, pulling his cock from her as the white fluid of his release covered her belly. In that moment, she wondered how it would feel to have him fill her body not only with his semen but also with his child.
Chapter Twelve
Three days later, Matthew entered Laurence’s office without warning, slamming the door shut and flinging a stack of documents on her desk.
Laurence looked up at him in surprise. “Does something have you on the high ropes today?”
“Don’t try and play me for the gull,” he said furiously. “Information that I shared with you, and only you, was included in a letter of demand sent from someone named Emmeline Winthrop in an attempt to extort money from Lord Worrell. Who, in case you have forgotten, happens to be one of our best clients.”
She regarded him closely. “What exactly are you on about?”
“Do you deny that you shared information about a client—confidential information no less—with a third party? Tell me the truth right now, or so help me, I will take this to the Lord Chancellor and have you brought up on charges.”
She stood up. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner,” she said, furious now. “Whatever has happened between us, do not ever forget that I am still the senior partner here, and you will show me the respect of my position.”
“I’ll show you respect when you’ve earned it,” he fired back. “Wheedling information out of me to use on behalf of someone else is morally and ethically wrong, and you know it.”
Laurence took stock of the unyielding expression on his face and realized she had no choice but to be honest with him.
“Sit down,” she said abruptly. “I have a story to tell you.”
“This is no time for stories, Laurence,” Matthew said, his anger palpable even from across the desk.
“You will indulge me for just a few minutes, and if afterward you are of the same mind, then I give you leave to take whatever action you deem best,” she said.
“You have five minutes to convince me, but that is my limit,” he said, taking the chair in front of her desk, his expression stony.
“When Lord Worrell’s stepmother died, his fourteen-year-old stepsister Emmeline became his ward. Instead of looking after the girl and protecting her like a brother should, Worrell took advantage of the situation in the most vile and disgusting manner.”
“I’m listening,” Hastings said.
“First, he stole the funds she had inherited from her mother.”
“That is what she alleges in her letter,” he acknowledged. “That doesn’t make it true.”
“May I be allowed to complete the story without your snide commentary?” Laurence asked him.
“Apologies,” he said sarcastically. “Pray, please continue.”
Laurence gave him a pitying look. “What the letter did not say is that shortly after Emmeline went to live with Worrell and his family, he began forcing himself on the poor child. Night after night, as his wife and children slept, he would go into the girl’s room and violate her, threatening all manner of dire consequences if she told anyone of his abuse.”
Hastings was looking increasingly grim, Laurence was pleased to note.
“When she fell pregnant, still just a child herself at age fifteen, he forced her into a marriage with his estate manager, Thomas Sharpton, who was more than thirty years her senior. Worrell hoped to bury any scandal while still keeping her under his control. Sharpton was a cruel husband who beat the poor girl until she lost her baby. One has to wonder if that wasn’t Worrell’s plan all along.”
“Continue,” was all he said.
“When Sharpton died, Emmeline was left with nothing but debt. With no way to support herself, she went to Worrell seeking access to her inheritance. He informed her that all her money was gone, and when she refused to resume their illicit relationship, he summarily tossed her into the streets.”
“You are making very serious accusations against one of the richest men in England based solely on the word of a girl who more than likely has ulterior motives,” Matthew said. “Laurence, you cannot let a sad story influence you just because you are a woman.”
She looked at him. “I may be a female, but that doesn’t make me a fool!”
“No,” he agreed. “You are the last thing from a fool. Which is why it is so difficult for me to understand why you have compromised your ethics for such a trivial matter.”
“If this were your daughter, would you think this matter trivial?” she shot back at him.
“It is a very sad tale, but she
is not my daughter, nor is she yours,” he said. “I recognize that your motherly instincts, which have gone unfulfilled because of your unfortunate circumstances, may have compromised your thinking in this matter.”
If there had been a pistol handy, Laurence might have shot him.
“Yesterday you had complete faith in my legal opinions, and today I am reduced to stupidity because of my lack of children?” She was furious now. “You may rest easy, Mr. Hastings. This matter was brought to my attention by a very prominent gentleman. Who presumably is devoid of those motherly instincts that apparently now render me incompetent to perform a job in which I have been eminently successful since you were still in short pants.”
Matthew stood up and began pacing the room in agitation. “There’s no need to get personal about this, Laurence. If you are truly convinced that Lord Worrell is at fault, then you should go about this the right way and bring formal charges against him.”
“If you think that bringing charges against an English peer will yield anything, you are painfully naive,” Laurence said scornfully. “While Worrell’s actions are appalling, they are not necessarily illegal or easily proven in court. The girl’s name and reputation along with any chance for future happiness would be completely ruined.”
“I see you have convinced yourself that you, and only you, can save her,” he said.
“Maybe others could, but few will be bothered, yourself included,” she responded. “For many months, I have been searching for a way to bring Lord Worrell to the bargaining table.”
“And you saw your opportunity when I came to you for advice about his land deals,” Matthew concluded. “Did the fact that I had previously worked for Lord Worrell play a role in your decision to offer me a position at Heath & Heath?” he demanded furiously.
“It wasn’t the only reason,” Laurence said weakly.
“But it was the primary one.” His tone was bleak now. “Did you also sabotage my living accommodations so you could spend more time mining client secrets from me?”
“No,” Laurence said. “I have genuinely enjoyed your company. It can be quite lonely at Russell Square.” She realized by the expression on his face that she had said the wrong thing.
“Lonely?” he said. ”Is that what our nights together have been for you, then? An antidote for your loneliness?”
“Don’t be absurd. Of course not. You know that I…that we…” Her voice trailed off awkwardly. Why did she always find it so difficult to express her feelings to him?
“So in addition to being a handy source for information to help you further the agenda of whichever lady has given you her sob story, I am also good company?” he sneered. “What a fool I have been. How you must have laughed when I asked you to marry me.”
“Stop it. You are exaggerating matters far beyond the truth.”
“You have spent so many years of your life lying to the world that I am not sure you even know what the truth looks like,” he said scornfully. “You’ve certainly had no compunction about deceiving me at every turn.”
“I do not blame you for feeling that you have been ill-used, but I couldn’t just abandon Emmeline,” Laurence said, trying to placate him. “I was planning to tell you eventually with the hope that you might join me in my efforts.”
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Exactly what efforts would those be?”
“To help ladies find justice when the legal system lets them down,” Laurence said earnestly. “When a woman can be beaten, have her money stolen, and her children taken away on her husband’s whim, there is something terribly wrong with our laws, do you not agree? When the Emmelines of the world have nowhere else to turn, they come to me.”
“You say that you won’t marry me because it would mean the end of your career, yet every day your actions put not just you but the entire firm at enormous risk,” he said angrily. “And for what? Some sniveling girl with a sad story? If it became known that you were involved in something like this, everything that you have built and claim to love would be lost forever.”
“I cannot turn my back on these women, Matthew, for they have no one else to champion their cause,” she said. “I wish you would try to understand.”
“I understand perfectly,” he said. “While I cannot change the fact that you do not share my feelings or wish to be my wife, I will not let you ruin me professionally. Whatever deceit you choose to practice on our clients is entirely on your head, but you will leave me out of it. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do hear you. Quite clearly.” Their eyes met, and for the first time the vivid blue of his gaze seemed muted. He seemed sad and defeated, and she hated knowing she was the cause. He turned toward the door.
“Matthew…” she said.
He stopped and turned around. “Yes, Laurence?”
“Where are you going?”
“Away from here. As quickly as I can organize myself.”
“Surely you’re not leaving the firm,” she protested.
He gave a short laugh that held no humor. “It’s always about the firm for you, isn’t it? You’re obsessed with making your father proud of you, never mind that he’s been dead for how many years now? No living man can possibly hope to compete.”
“The firm is all I have. It’s all I’ve ever had,” she said.
“That isn’t true, Laurence. You could have had me. We could have had each other.”
“Now who is the one telling falsehoods?” she said. “You don’t want me as I am. You want me as you wish me to be. Dressed in skirts and behaving as the weaker sex should, leaving you to be in charge making the important decisions and doing the meaningful work.”
“Once again, let me offer my apologies for insulting you with my proposal of marriage,” he said, bowing smartly. “Rest assured I will be gone from your home and your life as quickly as feasibly possible. I wish you a good day.”
He left as rapidly as he had arrived, leaving her standing there staring at the door of her office as if by not looking away she might be able to bring him back. The door remained stubbornly shut. Was this the last she would see of him?
It was a thought so painful that she gasped and sat down in her chair, trying to absorb the enormity of the blow without collapsing to the ground. But what could she do? Run after him and beg him to stay? To what end? How could she contemplate giving up everything for this man she barely knew and feelings she did not fully understand?
“Don’t go, Matthew,” she whispered at last. “You are far more to me than just a colleague. Please come back to me. Please.” It was too little too late, she knew.
She took her time walking home that evening, dreading the idea of returning to the empty house and hoping against hope that he would not have departed.
“Good evening, Mr. Heath.” Martin’s cheery greeting at her arrival home felt like sandpaper rubbing against the rawness of her pain.
“Good evening, Martin,” Laurence said, shrugging off her coat and looking around in vain for any sign that Matthew might still be in residence.
“Mr. Hastings left several hours ago,” Martin said, correctly interpreting her look. “He seemed to be in a bit of hurry, sir.”
“Was he, now?” Laurence said, picking up the evening newspaper and pretending an interest she didn’t feel.
“A bit odd the abrupt way he left, if you don’t mind me saying,” Martin said disapprovingly.
“Well, I suppose he had his reasons.”
“Mrs. Campbell left a tray for you in the library as usual.”
“A whisky first, Martin.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.” Within a few minutes, Laurence was seated in the library, a glass of spirits in hand, the dinner tray set up on the desk before her.
“If that’s all you will be needing, sir, I will bid you goodnight,” Martin said.
“Have a good evening,” Laurence called after him, but he was already out of earshot. As the door shut behind the departing servant, she was no
longer able to keep her despair at bay. It rose up within her, constricting her chest until she could hardly breathe. The house, which had felt so alive and welcoming with Matthew in residence, now seemed cold and desolate.
Pushing the meal aside, she climbed the staircase as if in a dream, crossing the hallway to the bedroom where he had once slept. In the three days since they had become intimate, he had spent every night in her room. How was it possible to miss someone so keenly when they had been together for such a short time? She had barely grown used to sharing her bed, and now she dreaded being there without him.
She opened the door to his room more forcefully than she had intended, and it banged against the wall, the sound echoing through a chamber that was unmistakably empty. She held up the candle and looked closely. The bed, the chair, and the dresser were there as always. But every personal sign of the man who had occupied this space had vanished, as if he had never been there at all.
“Damn you to hell, Matthew Hastings,” she cried out to the empty room. “Damn you for making me want you. Damn you for making me dream about things I cannot have. Damn you, damn you, damn you.”
It was only after she had undressed and climbed into her own bed that she discovered the only remaining trace of him. For the tantalizing scent of Matthew Hastings was imprinted on her bed linens. She hugged the pillow where his head had rested the previous night and inhaled her memories of him. Where was he now? Still in London somewhere or on a coach headed back north? He wasn’t here, and that was all that really mattered.
Chapter Thirteen
Four months later
Laurence set down her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. There was no hope for it. Emmeline Winthrop was not going to prevail against Lord Worrell, and there was nothing Laurence could do about it. She had tried her best but was out of ideas.
How she hated to lose—hated it even more when someone as vulnerable as Emmeline was exploited by a bastard such as Worrell. But she had promised Matthew she would cease using the information she had gained from him, and without it there was nothing compelling enough to persuade Worrell to negotiate on Emmeline’s missing inheritance.
