by Lisa Torquay
She eyed him so provocative. “Oh…pity.” She bit her lips with clear intention. “I wanted to…”
“No!” He cut her. The image of her lips on him nearly made him explode.
She leant over him; he found her exposed breast and took it in his mouth, distracting her. He suckled the delicious globe, palming the other, turning her on her back as she groaned, her hair falling around her.
Completely nude now, she cradled him, holding his head on her bosom, head bent back in pleasure. His hand held her ribs, revelling in her smooth skin, going down and down until he found her core, wet, ready. He caressed her with tormenting insistence, as she contorted under him.
“Conrad.” She called.
He continued his torture.
“Conrad.” She asked.
He paid her no heed.
“Conrad.” She pleaded.
Still he went on, suckling harder on her breast.
“Conrad.” She supplicated.
His name on her mouth sounded paradisiac.
“If you do not come here now, I swear I’ll go on punching you!” She demanded.
Only then did he lift his head to her. “My she-wolf’s wish is an order.” He murmured in a half-smile.
He knelt before her, pulling the string that held his pyjamas trousers. It fell, revealing his grandiose erection to her hungry eyes. She fixed it with so much coveting he went harder, if that was possible.
Using her feet, she dragged him to her, joining their bodies deliriously.
He groaned helpless. “You’ll be the merciless end of me!” He moved in her as she sought him ever more ravenously.
Repeatedly, they searched for each other, the intensity of their desire rocketing. He surged in her deeper and deeper, making her arch towards him. It gave him the chance to suckle on her breast some more. She groaned louder, arched more and then cried out her surrender. Her spasms milked him and he let loose his desire, pouring in her countless spurts of climax. Sated, he fell on his back, bringing her with him. He covered them both, as they stayed in each other’s arms for a long time.
Chapter Eight
Aurelia woke up slowly with a delicious sensation of warmth and protection. She opened her eyes to find Conrad awake observing her with a strange expression in his dark eyes. Next thing, she saw broad daylight coming from the window. And startled.
“Oh!” She rubbed her hand over her eyes. She should have been up hours ago!
Heavy rain spattered the window, the slit in the curtain revealing a grey, cold day. Not exactly ideal for outdoor work.
Conrad held her to the bed gently. “Stay.” He murmured in his grave voice. “Coleman can manage.”
Then he grazed his lips on the side of her brow, making it very, very difficult for her to leave her bed.
“I know, but the manor has so many…” His lips slid to her neck, and she sighed, falling deeper on her pillow.
“Just a little more.” He tempted. “You deserve it.” His hand hovered over her breast as he nibbled her shoulder.
His arguments were incontestable indeed. In between moans, she lost the battle to her senses.
From that night on, nights became feasts of sensuality. Conrad came to her in the dark, as their ritual begun, to last through the small hours. He initiated her in varied kinds of pleasure, extracting from her cries of delight. He stayed the night, holding her against his strong body, keeping her warm in the cocoon of his arms.
Apart from that, she skipped sleeping in, except that one time. She strived to maintain her focus and energy directed to the estate, even though Conrad proved to be a temptation almost impossible to resist. Sometimes, in the middle of work, she caught herself remembering the nights, an inadvertent smile coming to her lips. The nights brought steamy excitement that would remain in her recollections forever. The only thing she did was gather these memories for the rainy days. For they would come, she was sure of it.
During the day, he made an effort to go about his lands performing the tasks she could not oversee. He became more and more assiduous in their rural routine; so much so, the tenants started to respect and value his participation. Of course, she clung to the bookkeeping, which she would not relent a fraction. For now, he might be present and constantly diligent, though she forecast it would be short lived. She knew who he was. So, she would not relinquish control, for the life of her. These couple of weeks proved nothing. Nothing!
She avoided nurturing any hope or any trust in the future. Yet, coexistence became smooth these days–and nights, for that matter. They ate breakfast together, dinner in amenable conversation; sat in the drawing room going about the estate’s matters and visited neighbours for tea or dinner. She never witnessed him drinking or gambling. He spent most nights in when they did not go out as a couple. Be that as it may, her heart resisted, obdurate, as if wrapped in a massive iron case. She did not care! The proverbial better safe than sorry sprang to mind. She would not change it, not if she could help it.
Still, if she named happiness, this would be it. If this would be her only sample, so be it. She tried to live her days holding up for these little joys. They would help her survive in times to come, certainly.
With her head immersed in these thoughts, Aurelia startled when Mr Coleman spoke.
“Lady Strafford.” The sun near setting, they rode back to the manor. Mary, one of the tenant’s daughter stayed behind, at home.
“Yes, Mr Coleman.” She turned to him. A man in his forties - half-bald, married with a sturdy wife and father to five - he had a serene temperament.
At the manor’s porch, they dismounted. “My wife wanted me to ask you something.”
“Certainly, Mr Coleman.” She took out her gloves, glad to be able to air her callused fingers.
Coleman picked his hat and wrenched it in his hands, in shy nervousness. “She would like to invite you and Lord Strafford for tea.”
She smiled, relieved it was not something grave. “I would have to talk to Lord Strafford, but I would be honoured to accept her kind invitation.”
The steward breathed a tense grin and put on his hat again. “That’s very kind of you, my lady.” In an impulse, he caught her hands and bowed to kiss them.
His gesture surprised her, but she did not pull her hands. Mrs Coleman governed their cottage and family as an empress and Aurelia perceived the man was rather overwhelmed by his wife at times.
She looked at him as he straightened his back. “Let me give you an answer in the morrow, shall I?”
He nodded solicitous. “Thank you my lady.” With a goodbye, he turned, mounted and left.
Sighing with the fresh weather, Aurelia entered the manor.
From the study window, Conrad witnessed the scene with writhing contrariety. In his eyes, Coleman acted as an infatuated teenager. Jealousy burned sour in him. She never smiled at him as she did at the steward, with gentle kindness. And respect. Day in day out, they spent the working hours together, it being so for the time he, Conrad, travelled. It did not matter a damn fig if this proved to be a fair conception or not. For him, Aurelia was his and only his!
Conrad stood before the window, unseeing the white clouds play with the late afternoon sun. These last weeks had been… paradisiac. He counted the seconds for the night to come, so that he would be with her. Her company, in the bedroom and out of it, entranced him. She started smart conversations, she cared for the people, she revealed to be creative in finding solutions for the many daily problems encountered. In the night, when he sought her, she responded with feverous passion and a captivating receptiveness that just kept him coming for more. Who would have thought such a woman lived right under his roof? His body shared with her proved to be an unprecedented experience. He did not want to lose it. He did not want any man to assume he might take his chances on her. He wished her undivided attention to fall on him, and wanted her to accept him in her life, not only in her bed. She showed extreme guardedness, so withdrawn and suspicious. He had no idea of how to break int
o it.
The movement at the door interrupted his introspections. He turned to see the object of his musings go through the doorway distracted.
Her magnificent eyes looked at him. “Oh, sorry.” She backed away, ready to leave.
“Don’t mind me.” His hands in his coat pockets. “I spent part of the time reading the papers.”
“Yes.” She looked at him with a glint in her eyes that reminded him of their encounter last night. “I just need some of the bookkeeping. I’ll leave directly.” A blush and lowered lashes told him the same crossed her mind.
Was it too early to call it a day? He wondered, as his groins stirred with her mere presence.
The study occupied a good portion of the ground floor. Even being spacy, it felt crammed to her. His presence washed her with giddiness and yearning. Too intimate for her peace of mind. Or body. The scenes of the last nights sprang to her memory, heating her impudently. To break the spell, she hurried to the bookshelf to pluck out what she needed.
“Coleman acts very… familiar with you.” She heard him, his tone picking at her.
She turned to him, a quizzical expression on her face.
“I watched your exchange with him from here just now.” He leaned on the desk, muscled arms crossed over his broad chest; his dark eyes fast on her.
It sounded like an accusation, which vexed her rather intensely. “What is it?” She would not lower herself to the point of justifying her actions under unfounded accusations.
“Nothing much.” He shrugged nonchalant. “I simply wondered if he tried to flirt with you.”
“What if he did?” She lifted her chin defiant.
“I would have to call him out.” His voice deceptively calm.
Her rosewood eyes squinted with irritation. “Call him out?” Her jaw set. “What kind of nonsense is this?”
“I am your husband, as you well remember. I must defend your honour.”
Rage blew out of her like a volcano. “You were not a husband to me for five years!” She shouted, pointing her finger to him. “You have no right to accuse me of this and claim such stupidity!”
“Well, did he or did he not flirt with you?” He pushed from the desk, legs apart, domineering.
At the him, she did not know if she wanted to slap him or use him.
“He did not!” Her fists on her narrow waist. “Where did you get this lunatic idea?”
His lopsided smirk sardonic. “You really don’t know how men covet you, do you?”
“I don’t care about what goes in their head.” She waved her hand at him. “And I don’t care what you think!”
“But I do!” He stated stonily. “I won’t share my wife with anyone!”
She paced the worn out carpet like a jailed wolf. “Your attitude is absolutely ludicrous!” She threw at him.
“Maybe, but I wanted to be sure.” He eyed her intently.
She ogled him raw, crossing her arms. “I have fended for myself for five years. I don’t need and I don’t want your interference!” She paused, and they measured each other as if they were in a fighting ring. “Leave me alone!”
Her anger heated him to red-hot levels. The urge to near her, grab the curvaceous body and take her to bed almost unsurmountable. He merely looked at her hungrily, forgetting to produce an answer.
She walked to the door without waiting for a reply and grabbed the doorknob. “Oh, by the way.” She half turned to him. “Remember not to use the connecting door.” She left, the door flying behind her.
Strategic error, soldier!
Conrad conceived himself as the most asinine creature in the entire world. He let jealousy lead him and he put his foot in it. Until now, he had managed a precarious truce between them, even if she remained aloof. He had gained ground in the process. Enjoyable ground, by the way.
With all that, she did not show to be any closer to forgetting anything she had gone through, it seemed. His clumsy jealousy only made it surface again, when, in fact, he wanted it to fade away. He wanted it put under a balm and cured. His self-loathing went sky-high every time he saw her like this. Guilt ripped him, mixed with a strong wish to be able to go back in time and start anew. Impossible, naturally, as he tried to atone for it now. With little success, he had to admit.
Back to square one, you fool! He concluded mercilessly.
His temper did not help at all. He must cram it under tight reigns or live to regret even more. The problem being how. She unearthed in him strong feelings of diverse kinds. He had been struggling with them since he arrived. No. Since he left, to be sure. The hammering of his mistakes, the memories of her and three years of her steady, levelled presence in his manor came to him. As a tidal wave for the whole of his permanence in India. To return had not been a conscious decision. It felt more like a… calling. His commission sold, heading home had been something he just did without much rational thought. Definitely not a mistake, rather the most difficult mission life had assigned him.
The worst would be to stay away from her. He approached the window, raking his hand through his midnight wavy hair. To stay here boiling in his past and present mistakes would not help. Abruptly, he left the study for a walk to the lake.
If there was hell on Earth, this was it! Conrad realised, spread on the sheets trying to get a modicum of sleep. Both hands under his head, he stared the shady canopy, while the fire died in the fireplace. He heard feint noises earlier, but now everything went still. She probably fell fast asleep. Unlike him here. Impossible not to remember their moments together and wish for more.
He tossed and turned in bed, thinking and desiring, until the small hours took him to an unsatisfying slumber.
Conrad was wrong. She did not fall asleep. She lay in her chambers cold and lonely as repose would not come so easily. After a long day, tiredness should have prevailed, but it did not. She did not fathom how she came to this humiliating point. How could she want a man she did not trust, a man she did not love anymore, a man she strove to keep distant from at any opportunity? This was unfair, utterly unfair. Her body craved him like a vital nourishment, without which it would not survive. Outrageous! Irrationally outrageous. The more irritated she got, the more sleep eluded her. Damn him to blasted hell! The man she once loved got her hyped for him. Falling under his power in this dejected way would do her no good! What would happen when he reversed back to his old–and usual–ways? She would be here cast aside again, like a ragged doll. No, oh no! This would not recur. Not in a million years! With that in mind, she turned to the side and finally found slumber.
Chapter Nine
As the days, and nights, passed by, the difficulty of not noticing him escalated, to madness point. She found herself in constant alert for his movements, senses sharpened on him. She tried to ignore it, ignore him. Her awareness would not abate though. She intensified her routine at the state. She took on the most tiresome tasks in the hope of fainting in bed at night. To no avail. Next day, she would see him riding his horse and her body responded as if she was an emotionally starved woman. She cursed him with all her might. Worse, she cursed herself for being so senseless as to allow this to happen.
If Conrad spent one more day–one more hour, one more second like this–he would burst! He could foresee only that. The want of her burned in him. Each night in the chamber next to hers proved to be the most gnarling experience of his life. After tasting her and the combustion of their encounters, he wanted it, her, with ever more desperation.
Of course, she had been avoiding him! She needed no excuse for it. Now, there was no reason for her to consort with him he must admit. He missed his wife, a hell of a lot. Their easy conversations, their simple coexistence, the little things of daily life. Everything.
Aurelia turned in her bed for the hundredth time a few nights afterwards, realising she would not conjure sleep so surely. Bed covers flung aside, she wrapped one of her wool-knitted shawls around her shoulders. Maybe reading would help. She left her chamber for the library, holding her
candle, her long rosewood tress falling over her shoulder. In the library, she placed her candle on the long reading table, reaching a shelf nearby.
“Contracted insomnia as well.” His deep voice sounded from the other side of the room, statement more than question.
Startled, she turned to him, sitting in the shadows, barely lit by her candle. Aurelia breathed a very unladylike imprecation. The more she ferreted out to avoid him, the more he crossed her way.
“Good evening.” She tried for an aloof treatment. A twitching sounded on upholstery followed by him entering the candle light radius. For a moment, she only gawked at his attractiveness accentuated by his white shirt and breeches. His tall frame exhibited the unbuttoned shirt, revealing his muscled, delicious chest. A flash of them in the height of passion in her bed popped up in her traitorous memory, zinging electricity through her.
Blindly, she extended her hand and took the first book it landed. Pulling it from the shelf, she turned to the door. Strategic retreat, her mind commanded. Immediately!
“I came for a book.” She lifted the tome to show it to him. “I will go back now. Good night.” Done elegantly, she congratulated herself.
His tall frame neared her, blocking her access to the door. “Running away again, are you.”
He advanced more steps; unashamedly, she backed away colliding with the reading table in the same way her heart collided with her ribs.
“I wonder if you fear me.” He drawled, his voice huskier.
She held the book in front of her as a shield. “I cannot fear someone I despise!”
He emitted a lopsided smile, his midnight hair falling on his brow, making him seem more devilishly mesmeric. “It did not show a few days ago–oh sorry–nights ago.”
