DisobediencebyDesign

by Regina Kammer

  Her door was unlocked as he knew it would be. He didn’t give a damn if the servants saw him slip inside.

  Henny stood in the middle of her bedroom in her chemise, the soft glow of an oil lamp exaggerating every shadow made by her curvaceous figure, her pretty, pink-tipped breasts buoyant under the filmy linen.

  He started toward her.

  “Uh-uh,” she said, holding out her hand. “You have to take off your clothes, Arthur darling, before you can touch.”

  “Termagant.”

  He held her gaze as he hastily shed his clothing, her smirk dissolving into lust as each article dropped to the floor. And when he stood before her utterly nude she stared at his exuberant cock bobbing in the air, the tip of her tongue flicking over her lips.

  He had no time for games. He peeled off her chemise, picked her up and deposited her on the bed, bouncing onto the mattress beside her. She squealed in delight as he pecked her face, her neck, her shoulder. He cupped a firm, round breast, eliciting a breathy sigh, then pressed his mouth to hers. She yielded under him with a soft moan, her body growing more pliant with every caress, letting him slip between her legs, allowing his cock to rub against her quim. He rolled his hips, nestling his erection in her wetness.

  She stiffened and grabbed his face between her hands. “Arthur, I’m not ready.”

  He kissed her cheek. “I understand, darling.” He only sort of did. “We’ll wait. There’s no hurry.” Except his balls were at bursting.What a shame girls were taught to wait until their wedding night, even worse that they should expect a horrific, painful event.

  She relaxed. “Thank you, love.” She pecked the tip of his nose. “I’m just too old-fashioned.” She kissed his lips. “Maybe we should have gone to Scotland. No one would have known and we could still have a church wedding. And I wouldn’t have these silly qualms.”

  “It would have raised a great deal of suspicion had you and I gone to Lamberton together.” He laughed. “Your qualms aren’t silly. I’ve asked far too much of you already. You’re too generous.”

  He slid down to kiss her breasts, pressing them together as he licked her excited nipples, drawing one into his mouth. He sucked relentlessly while working the other peak, pinching the tender tip. She writhed under him, threading her fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands, moaning gently, encouraging him to move lower.

  He trailed gentle kisses down her body, nipped her belly, still kneading her soft bosom. He reached the hair of her mons and she breathed her consent.

  “Oh darling. Yes please.”

  He was rock hard. He pushed her knees up and out, exposing her, and became harder still. He ground his cock into the mattress, expecting to spend at any moment.

  He licked his lips then delved in, slipping his tongue through her plump sex. She was deliciously sticky, growing wetter as he feasted on her, squirming beneath him, mewling entreaties. He nibbled on her clit and she thrashed ecstatically, heaving her hips against his mouth.

  God, he needed release.

  He reached for his rampant cock, moving abruptly as he did so, breaking the spell she was under. Henny lifted her head then curled and curved on the mattress.

  “Let me,” she said.

  He twisted around to meet her, straddling her, his erection pointing toward her face. She gripped him and slowly drew him into her mouth.

  He uttered an oath against her quim as heated wetness surrounded his cock then practically came as she sucked the full length deeper, her tongue stroking along the shaft, her lips tightening and loosening as she moved her head up and down. He no longer knew what he was doing to her but she continued to moan around him, the delectable vibrations stimulating even more. He was going to spend but for an even sweeter climax, he needed her to spend too.

  He sucked on her clitoris, frantically flicking his tongue against the nub. Her breaths puffed unevenly, her attentions to his pleasure grew chaotic. Her hips undulated in a frenetic cadence, every thrust against his mouth brusque and jerky, when suddenly she pressed up and screamed around his cock. But he did not stop, he could not stop. He sucked on her clit as his orgasm welled within, propelling him forward in a whirlwind of bliss to erupt without warning, emptying his seed in her willing mouth as he tumbled down into a rapturous abyss.

  They lay in a tangle of limbs and satisfaction, panting, until she pushed him off with a friendly groan. Arthur gathered her in his arms and nuzzled his nose into her hair.

  “That was marvelous, Henny.”

  She sighed, her breath hot on his chest. “I can’t wait until we’re married. It will be so much fun, won’t it?”

  He chuckled and gave her a squeeze. Henny had proved over and over how much she enjoyed bedsport. “Yes it will.”

  * * * * *

  Sophia had to admit the Duke of Royston was at least a good dancer. His carriage in the waltz was strong, his steps practiced, his lead unwavering—so much so she could practically close her eyes and think about Mr. Joseph Phillips.

  And two hours later—far too much of that time spent with Anna undressing her with painstaking care, fretting about fashion as she removed Sophia’s elaborate underwear—and finally in bed, Sophia could fantasize about Mr. Phillips freely. She imagined the kiss they almost shared, pondered how two women could possibly make love, wondered how on earth Mr. Phillips could be a witness to such a “wondrous act”.

  She pulled up her nightgown and cupped her hand over the hair between her legs. Whenever she and Geoffrey kissed a pleasurable heat grew there. Pressing her palm into her mound and her fingers against the dampness always relieved her agitation. But tonight her body yearned for a satisfaction she did not understand. She needed something more than just a press of her hand. She squeezed her thighs together, finding a momentary release. She did it again and again, each squeeze resulting only in increased desire.

  Fantasies of Mr. Joseph Phillips apparently required desperate measures.

  She had never dared to delve a finger inside. Virginity was too much of a prize. But what if she fondled herself a little? Surely touching the outside would not be harmful?

  She stroked the plump outer flesh, tangling in the damp hair, then ever so tentatively slid a finger over the slit, working her way slowly between the folds. She was stickier than she had ever been. She drew her finger back and forth through the wetness, wishing desperately she could insert a finger to relieve the pulsating throb vexing her deep inside.

  She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Joseph.

  He was looking down at her, his gray gaze flicking between her eyes and her mouth, his lips parted ever so slightly, enough that the tip of his tongue toyed with the lower lip, wetting it. He placed his hands on her shoulders, slid them down her arms to her elbows, his touch exciting her, stiffening her nipples. He grasped her at the waist, his hold secure and strong.

  “Where shall I kiss you?” he murmured, lowering his head. “In the garden?” His head tilted slightly to the right. “Or on your lips?”

  And then his mouth covered hers, his body enveloped hers. Her mouth fell open, yearning for his tongue, her nipples ached, yearning for his touch. And then she was Callisto, among the stars, spinning in the heavens and he was dancing with her, surrounding her, on top of her. Her feminine passage flexed and squeezed, yearning to be filled. And then he was inside her and she squeezed him with all her might until the force of it flung her bodily, to burn amongst the stars.

  Sophia woke with a start, panting, confused…

  Mired in that feeling again. She rarely experienced it, and only after Geoffrey had kissed her with more than his usual enthusiasm. A feeling so wonderful and luscious and exhausting and energizing all at once. And tonight so much more splendid. If there was only a way she could control it.

  She heaved an exhale then laughed softly to herself. She would blush terribly the next time she saw Mr. Joseph Phillips.

  Chapter Two

  From the wingback in his study, Arthur peeked over the afternoon
paper at Geoffrey, who sat behind the grand desk shuffling documents and muttering to himself.

  “My sister said she barely got in a dance with you at her birthday. And never got the thorough tonguing she was hoping for.”

  Geoffrey stopped cold and stared at him. “She said nothing of the sort.”

  “I really should be defending her honor.”

  “You’re not supposed to know.”

  “Henny thinks it’s marvelous.”

  “Ah.” Geoffrey shook his head and resumed sorting the piles on the desk.

  “Anyway, apparently when she couldn’t find you she ended up on my terrace with Joseph.”

  That got a rise out of him. “Who?”

  “Phillips. The American. You might have some competition.”

  “Well, he’ll be sorry as neither one of us can win that game.”

  A tentative knock sounded at the door.

  “Speak of the devil,” Arthur murmured. “Come!”

  Joseph entered, his hair slightly disheveled, his rumpled jacket stretched a tad tightly on his bulky form. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t realize how exhausted I was from the voyage.”

  As always, his accent was simply charming.

  Geoffrey stood, unfolding his lanky height from behind the desk. “You must be Joseph Phillips.”

  Surprise flickered briefly on Joseph’s face as he took in Geoffrey’s stature. “I am.”

  Geoffrey strode forward, ably covering the length of the carpet with only a few steps. He held out his hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Phillips. Geoffrey Peel.”

  “My solicitor,” Arthur said, getting up from the wingback.

  The two men shook hands. Geoffrey returned to the desk while Arthur motioned to the other wingback.

  “There’s still some tea left. Unless you want sherry. It is after four,” Arthur said.

  “I think I’m supposed to get used to tea.” Joseph sat heavily in the chair.

  “It’s very good. Next time think twice before you dump a shipload into the harbor.”

  He laughed—a hearty, genuine, American laugh. Arthur handed him a cup and Joseph relaxed into the cushioned upholstery.

  “Right,” Geoffrey announced as he patted three stacks of paper on the desk. He picked up two stacks, handed one to Arthur and the other to Joseph.

  “What’s this?” Joseph put the tea down on the side table and took the sheaf of papers.

  “Lord Petersham’s contract,” Geoffrey said with a flourish. “The initial private partnership.”

  “That which binds us together,” Arthur said. “Like a marriage.”

  “Except,” said Geoffrey, “you can sever the ties that bind when the relationship is no longer profitable. You don't need an Act of Parliament.”

  “And there will be three of us.” Arthur chuckled.

  Joseph grinned then flipped through the pages. “I’ve already read it, haven’t I?”

  “Yes yes, it’s the same document.” Geoffrey paced before the desk, crossing the distance in only two strides. “I had official copies made. That’s yours. We should go ahead and sign them now.”

  “I can trust him, right?” Joseph jested as Geoffrey laid out the signature pages.

  “I do,” said Arthur. “Even with my sister.”

  Joseph colored slightly. “Are congratulations in order, Peel?”

  Geoffrey let out a sharp laugh. “Ah, no. But I’ve known the family so long, I’m allowed certain liberties.” He winked.

  The three gathered along the desk, each signing his name in turn as partners in Harwell & Co.

  “Now what?” Joseph sank into the wingback.

  “Arthur and I will draw up a list of potential investors, get an idea of interest.” Geoffrey leaned against the desk. “That sort of thing.”

  Arthur took the seat opposite. “We already have a short list of initial backers.”

  “I’ll draw up a separate contract establishing the joint-stock company. Eventually, we’ll have to conform to your American laws as well.”

  Arthur turned to Joseph. “I’ve set up a studio for you, away from the house. Very private. There should be everything you need for drawing preliminaries. We’ll present drafts of the plans to the investors, show off your talents so they’ll have more confidence in the scheme. We’ll have official plans made up for manufacturing purposes later.” He angled forward, his elbows on his knees. “If you need anything, anything, do not hesitate to ask. I have no idea what sort of materials engineers need.”

  Joseph looked a bit stunned. Perhaps overwhelmed. “Thank you, Peel. Thank you, Arthur.”

  Geoffrey started at that. “‘Arthur’?”

  Joseph flushed. “I just made a faux pas, didn’t I?”

  Arthur shook his head. “We agreed in New York that titles didn’t matter between us.” He sighed. “But Geoff’s right. In company, especially when business is at stake, you should probably be a bit more formal. Definitely call my parents by their titles. I insist on it, really.”

  Joseph turned to Geoffrey. “Do you have one?”

  “Not yet. I have to wait for my father to die.” He chuckled. “He’s rather hale and hearty so I don’t expect it to be anytime soon.” All of a sudden he snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot.” He opened a tooled leather portfolio and searched the documents. “Ah. Here it is.” He placed a document on the table and offered the pen to Joseph.

  Joseph furrowed his brow. “Something else for me to sign?”

  Arthur slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Of course! I almost forgot as well. Thank you, Geoff.” He grabbed the pen and dipped it in the inkwell and signed. “I’m selling my property in Lamberton to you. To give you a foothold here. Well Scotland actually, just over the border. It’s a small cottage, no great tract of land. But it’s the only land I own that’s not entailed in some manner.”

  Joseph blushed. “But I don’t have any money.” He took the pen gingerly.

  “I’m loaning you the money or rather the corporation is loaning you the money. Anyway I don’t need the property. You’ll like it up there I’m sure. Green and rural. Near the coast. Take the Great Northern to York then the North Eastern. Lovely ride.”

  Joseph signed and handed the pen back to Geoffrey. “So if you don’t need it, why did you buy the house in the first place?”

  Geoffrey laughed. “Arthur thought he might secure an irregular marriage when he first met Henny.”

  Arthur flushed at his foolhardy impulse. “You can marry whomever you choose in Scotland with the simple act of living there for twenty-one days. Henny was not of age when we first met.”

  “And not properly yours,” Geoffrey added.

  Arthur flashed him a chiding look. “Visit whenever you want,” he said to Joseph. “I keep a steward and a housekeeper. Briggs is an old widower and Mrs. Reed is his sister. Endearing pair. You should keep them.”

  “By all means.” Joseph chortled.

  Geoffrey held his pen over the inkwell, more documents spread before him. “As your New York address legally belongs to your landlord, we’ll establish the Lamberton house as your place of residence on the corporation contract. Once we have you set up with an office in New York we’ll amend the paperwork.”

  Arthur returned to his teacup. “By the way, are you staying for dinner, Geoff?”

  “Absolutely. Any chance to see your delightful sister, Petersham.”

  Arthur grinned. “Don’t get your hopes up. Royston’s still here.”

  “Of course he is.” Geoffrey laughed. “Free meals and endless coal. Anything to economize on his own expenses. Does your father send over his tailor while he’s here as well?”

  Geoffrey’s assessment was too cutting but he merely said aloud what they both felt about the man.

  “Who’s this Royston fellow anyway?” Joseph asked. “You mentioned him the other night. Your sister did not look pleased.”

  “Friend of the family. He stays here an awful lot, presumably to court Sophia bu
t Geoff’s not half wrong either. He may be a duke but he’s practically in the poorhouse.”

  “He simply ill-manages what’s left of his estate,” Geoffrey said.

  “And he’s a bad investor,” Arthur muttered into his teacup.

  “That as well.”

  “You’ll meet him tonight, Joseph. You’re coming with me to dinner at the main house.”

  Joseph grinned. “Am I also allowed to say ‘any chance to see your delightful sister’?”

  Geoffrey guffawed.

  “Both of you will have to behave. There’s a houseful of guests.” He eyed Joseph. “You do have dinner dress, do you not?”

  “I think I might have something nicer than what I have on.”

  “Bollocks.” They were about the same height but Joseph was wide in the shoulders, with thick arms and chest. Geoffrey was taller and thinner than either of them.

  “This is bad, right?” Joseph crinkled his brow.

  “Stand up, Phillips.” Geoffrey circled thoughtfully around a mystified Joseph. “Right. I have to go home to dress anyway. I’ll bring you something of my father’s. You look to be about the same build.”

  “Hale and hearty?”

  Geoffrey chuckled. “Similar sense of humor as well. He’s got more around the middle though.”

  “Thank you, Geoff. We’ll make do. I’ll have to set you up with my tailor soon, Joseph.”

  “You make me feel like a duke, my lord.”

  Arthur’s jaw dropped and Geoffrey roared with laughter. A shared private joke was the perfect beginning to their partnership.

  * * * * *

  Dining every so often with the marquess and marchioness would be necessary, Arthur had said, and Joseph agreed to comply with his wishes, albeit with a little reluctance. Insipid, polite chatter while liveried servants watched and listened was disconcerting. But he would have to get used to such surroundings and mingling with the aristocracy if he and Arthur were to have any success. Besides, Lady Sophia would be in attendance. The opportunity to gaze at her would be a pleasant diversion.