Nash's Niche (Behind Closed Doors)

by McAllan, Raven

  He pinched her, and she tried to pull back even as the sensation of a climax began to roll through her. Felicity had oft thought how lucky she was to know what the tingles and goose bumps that bombarded her could herald, how to enjoy every last nuance until her juices coated whatever digit or toy she used, and let her body shudder in completion. Only once had she known a true climax—well, not once she allowed, but one night. However, now wasn't the time to think about that. Now was the time to extract herself from this predicament.

  She screamed, even as she matched his movements.

  There was a growl, a growl for heaven’s sake, what sane man growled, and those magic fingers moved ever faster. She couldn't help but match them. Then he said the silliest thing ever, and told her not to move. Felicity thought there was as much likelihood of that happening as the King recovering. She ignored him and thrust against him. She was so very close to coming, and surely he wouldn't deny her?

  It seemed he would. The deep velvet voice flowed over her, and increased her arousal. The words did stop her in her tracks though. "I have a weapon, and I will use it."

  If anything was guaranteed to stop her coming, those words were it. Felicity's arousal disappeared as fast as a pickpocket with a fob watch. She heaved a sigh and pulled as far away from him as possible. There was a rustle and the mattress shook, before she heard the noise of a match scraping over a tinderbox. A flare of light as it caught, and then a candle sent long shadows dancing over her skin.

  Felicity narrowed her eyes and watched as a man—a tall, dark-haired, and incredibly handsome man set the candle into a sconce. She looked him up and down, and couldn't help the chuckle escaping.

  Apart from a fine linen shirt, he was naked. And just below the hemline that seemed to frame it, his long, thick, and hard cock waved a welcome. Felicity looked at his face, then let her gaze drift lower to admire his prick. Then she stared back at his face again. Her stomach churned, as the gentleman—even only wearing a shirt, and with a rampant staff that stood out proudly from his body, he couldn't be anything else other than a gentleman—stared at her. Her pulse jumped. She would bet her pin money she knew him—in the biblical way. If only her brain wasn't brandy-fuddled and his shirt would lift just one more inch, she could be certain. However, even in the flickering candle light Felicity was sure. It was the one man she had glimpsed heaven with, and vowed to leave well enough alone, who threatened her. She thought quickly. He had no idea who she was, and she intended to keep it that way.

  "Well now," she said slowly. "You're right, you most certainly do have a weapon. I do hope you know how to use it properly."

  Then he also looked at his cock. With one hand he stroked it from root to tip and swirled his finger through the dewdrops of liquid that collected there.

  "Oh, you mean this?" His hand caressed himself once more, and he raised one aristocratic eyebrow. "This most certainly does work. But, my dear, I didn't mean my pego. I meant my pistol." Almost before she had time to register that he'd even moved, a pistol appeared in his other hand.

  To her annoyance, Felicity gasped. Was this how she was going to end up? How ignominious, shot through the heart by a man with an impressive weapon. Correct that, weapons. She wasn't sure whether he did indeed have three hands, or two heads, or the brandy was showing her the error of her ways. Whichever it was. it wasn't in her nature to give up without a fight.

  "Very impressive," she said as she thought fast how to calm the situation. That notion was followed immediately by an idea of how she could defuse one of the weapons. Her breath hitched, even as a fresh surge of arousal increased her juices again. Only once before had she ever felt so alive, her body singing and her nerve ends tingling with sensation. "Two weapons both primed. Which one will you use?"

  She couldn't believe her temerity. She, Felicity Oakley was indulging in sexual badinage with a semi-naked man who trained a pistol on her. Not only that, the exchange was making her hot and inflamed and not quaking with fear. Arousal was a funny thing. Surely she should be in tears and begging for mercy, not wondering if the evidence of her excitement was showing on her mound and thighs?

  He swayed and laughed. "How many of you are there?" The pistol wavered from side to side, but not enough to miss her if his finger tightened on the trigger. All the while he stroked his cock. Felicity wondered it was some fetish of his, to keep one weapon aimed while he primed the other.

  "Stop moving," Nash said. "How can I shoot you if you won't stop still?"

  All at once the alcohol left Felicity's system, and her head cleared. He's drunk. Worse than I am. It helped her stay calm. "I'm still sir, but I fear one touch and you will fall over. Perhaps you could point your weapon elsewhere?"

  He sniggered. "Which one?"

  Felicity scrambled onto her knees, and for the first time was conscious how abandoned she must look. Her skirts had caught around her knees, and she suspected her garters were showing. Not only that, her hair had long lost its pins, and now tumbled over her back, and at some point she had shrugged out of her jacket. The thin muslin of her gown was crumpled and twisted, and stretched tight over her nipples, which were pushing at it as if to demand freedom. She hoped there was nothing about her to remind him of their previous meeting. She remembered his question.

  "Both of them?"

  He tilted his head to one side. "Hmm, first of all, I have questions." Her lover, she was now certain it was he, shook his head. "Damn, why did I imbibe so freely? No, that is not a question for you. I know the answer. Stupidity. I want to know why you're sleeping in my bed. I can't believe Randall left you for me as a present. And who you are. After all how can I fuck with someone whose name I don’t know?"

  You did last time. For one horrified second, Felicity thought she had spoken aloud. As she had no idea who Randall was, Felicity stayed silent. She suspected his words were not directed at her anyway. His next sentence confirmed it. "So, if it wasn't Randall, and she isn't an apparition, maybe I need to ask? Or maybe I need to sit down and then…" His voice trailed away. As she watched, fascinated, he closed his eyes and his grip on the pistol slipped. Felicity leaned forward and took it out of his slack fingers.

  He blinked owlishly, and smiled. "I do think I need to know … need to know…" Almost in slow motion his upper body began to move toward the bed. Felicity only just had time to put the pistol under the pillow and move to one side as he hit the mattress with a thud.

  There was a loud and very unromantic snore.

  She giggled behind her hand. The one thing Felicity was sure of was that he'd have a terrible headache once he woke up. She studied his back. The least she could do was help him onto the bed and make him comfortable before she made her escape. It was obvious she was no longer able to stay there, neither in this room or her own.

  With considerable effort, Felicity lifted his legs up onto the mattress and rolled him onto his back. He might be asleep but his cock wasn't. It still stood up hard and proud out of its thatch of hair. To her annoyance his shirt still skimmed the very top of his prick. She contemplated his comatose body for a few seconds. It was no good. She had to know. Very carefully she took hold on the linen shirt and lifted it higher. Even in the light of the candle she could see what she was looking for. In the center of the hair that highlighted his staff, was a patch denuded of anything except a tiny tattoo. Felicity gently traced it with her finger. That night was the one shining beacon in the last few months of greyness and despair.

  Was it wrong to be happy he had done as he vowed? To keep the tiny, inked heart with the letters N and F entwined in it, free from hair in remembrance of their night together?

  Carefully she left his shirt fall and slid over the mattress away from Nash. She'd almost reached the far side when a large male hand circled her ankle and tugged. She fell onto her front with an ooft, as the unexpected attack took the breath from her.

  "Oh no you don't. My bed, my choice. I choose you." The voice might still be affected by the amount of drink taken, but h
is strength wasn't. Slowly Felicity felt herself pulled back over the covers toward Nash. She tried to grip onto the edge of the mattress, but the silky coverlet gave her no purchase. As she was moved closer to him, her skirt rucked up even higher. Now he'd have a fine view of her arse. She closed her eyes and waited for what happened next.

  Three sharp smacks to her buttocks made her jump, even as her body welcomed the sharp sting of his hand. Felicity couldn't help herself; she groaned her appreciation of the pleasure-pain.

  Chapter Seven

  The soft skin under his hand was real. Up until then Nash hadn't been sure if he was awake or indulging in wishful thinking.

  Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he'd felt himself falling and tried to brace himself for a hard surface, sore knees and a bruised prick. Instead he'd hit silk and softness, and been maneuvered into a comfortable position. It had seemed like all his birthdays had come at once, when soft fingers had lifted his shirt and traced the outline of his tattoo; the one he and a very special lady had designed and executed together. How did this lady know of it? Had she merely been curious enough about him to want to see more of him, in a literal sense? Whichever it was, Nash gave thanks. It was only as she began to inch away he decided he needed more.

  To spank her had been an impulse. To see her writhe and hear her pleasure as his hands touched the soft skin of her backside had been perfect. He'd repeated the gesture twice more, and been repaid with another groan of appreciation. Nash itched to see if her skin was beginning to turn rosy under his ministrations. However, he was under no illusion that if he let go of her to draw the candle nearer she'd bolt, and he had no idea if he'd locked the door to the corridor or not.

  She squirmed and Nash realized the movement was bringing her pleasure as the cover rubbed her quim. If she wants pleasure it will be by my hand and my cock, no other way. Nash ran his hand up her leg to the apex of her thighs and wasn't surprised to feel her wet under his fingers. She was so ready for him that he knew he had to give her what she wanted.

  "Get up on your knees." His tone was authoritarian. To his delight after a brief hesitation, she obeyed him. The sight of her arse presented to him so perfectly teased his memory. From where, he had no idea, and he wasn’t going to try and decide why at that moment. It could wait, but fucking couldn't.

  "I'm going to fill your cunt and screw you hard," he warned her. "It won't be a slow, sweet loving. It will be a hard and fast ride. Are you ready for that? Will you be with me every step of the way? Over and over, until I spill and almost fill you. I won't pull out until the last minute. Will you accept that?" He could hardly breathe, as he rubbed his cock over her crack. One day, he promised himself, one day.

  "Perhaps if you fucked me instead of prosing about it, you'd see how ready I am my…sir." She wriggled her arse and spread her legs a little more. The position gave him better access. With more haste than finesse he readjusted his cock, found her cunt and pushed.

  Her high-pitched keen was all he could ask for. The scream that followed as he moved one hand to nip the tiny bud, and soothe the pinch, was enough to waken the servants, but Nash had no thought other than it increased his arousal. His bollocks hurt with the effort of not coming, but he was determined his companion achieve her release first. With the amount of brandy still in his bloodstream, he wasn't sure he'd have the strength or the nous to be able to help her after he was sated.

  "Come for me, come now."

  She was shaking, and he could see a fine sheen of perspiration on her arse as it glowed under the soft candlelight. Her back was still shrouded in material, and Nash wished he'd had the forethought to rip the garment off her and bare her all. Then maybe he'd get a clue as to who she was. He surged hard and fast until his balls slapped her body, and it was enough to thrust her over the edge, and she sobbed, "Yesss oh sweet lord yes…"

  Her perfect words and the way she milked his cock was enough for him to let go. With one more powerful movement, he felt his own climax build and almost overtake him before he had time to be the gentleman and spill on the covers, as far away from her as he could.

  Nash shuddered and groaned as arrows of fire and hot stings covered his skin. His body sang with the gratification it had received and a ringing in his ears told him he had nigh on passed out, this time with pleasure. He gulped in air, desperate to make his lungs work. They felt as if someone had sat on them, and emptied them of wind, to leave him gasping like a codfish.

  He slumped onto his lady for a brief second and then pulled back on to his shaking arms. The knowledge that he already thought of the unknown woman as his didn't worry him as much as he thought it would. Instead it filled him with a warm glow of satisfaction. Not since that one amazing night all those weeks ago had he felt so certain of anything. His lady … his. If he were a cat he would have purred.

  "I'm about to move," he warned her, and suited his actions to his words. The minute his cock was safely out of harm's way, she slumped forward, her arms limply at her side.

  "I am boneless," she told him in a soft slur. "Nothing left in me. Not even the brandy."

  Now he knew why she had been so compliant. She was as slewed as he was. Jittery darts of panic skittered up his spine. What if she hadn't been as compliant as he thought? He'd find out somehow, and pray that his worries were unfounded.

  "Ah brandy … I know it well. Wait there whilst I get a cloth." Her murmured agreement was enough for him. Somehow he thought this lady was someone who kept her word. Nevertheless, Nash didn't dally in his bathing chamber. He spent enough time to clean himself before gathering a dampened flannel and a towel and returning to the bedroom.

  She hadn't moved a muscle, although she must have heard his footsteps because she waved one hand in his direction. "I'll do it."

  "No," he corrected her. "I will. Roll over."

  The lady hesitated, and Nash wondered if she was going to argue. She shrugged her shoulders, and rolled onto her back. "As you wish, My Lord." She sounded resigned about something. Nash decided not to comment. Instead he lifted the skirts that she had pulled decorously over her knees, covering her body down to her garters.

  "It's a bit late for modesty now, love. I've played with your cunt, fucked you until they could hear you scream at the great house, and slapped your perfect ass until I hope it was rosy. We are past milksop maidenly attributes, surely?"

  She sighed. "As you say. After such sensation and pleasuring as I have just experienced, there is no way I can pretend innocence nor would I wish to."

  He waited but she said nothing else, and a small wry smile played around her lips.

  "Lift your arse, so I can move your skirts. I'm sure you'd prefer to be fresh and not sticky?"

  "I'm sure I would as well, but…" Her voice trailed off. "Ah, why not." She lifted her body off the bed, and let him move her skirts to her waist. Before he had more than a brief glimpse of the curls he had ruffled and played with, she clenched her thighs together and covered her mound with her hands. Nash laughed.

  "Too late, I've explored already." He climbed onto the bed and nudged her knees apart. "Let me do this for you. It is part of my care, and my pleasure."

  She nodded. "On your head be it, My Lord, on your head."

  The way she spoke made him stop with the flannel just above her quim.

  "So you do know who I am?"

  "Not your name but otherwise? Yes, I do now."

  He wiped her legs. "Then you have the edge on me." He waited for her to introduce herself. The last vestiges of his brandy fug had left him, and he realized how his behavior must seem to her. Had he forced himself on her? Made her perform acts that she thought despicable? Nash knew he was going to have to ask her, and he accepted that he didn't much like himself at that moment.

  "Spread for me, love. Let me remove anything I may have left upon you. I trust to god I withdrew in time, but sometimes, well sometimes it may not work." He let the cloth cover her cunt and then tease her curls. "I have to ask, did I force you in any
way? Upset or disgust you?"

  "Pardon?' she was startled. "Not at all. Did you not hear my encouragement and my pleasure?"

  "I thought so but I had to ask. I paid scant notice to whether you were experienced or not. Indeed I confess I was so aroused, if you had told me you were a virgin, I'd've persuaded you not to be for a second longer." He lifted her skirts to her waist and moved the flannel to check she was clean and comfortable. Stared, and dropped the washcloth onto the floor.

  She giggled. It was such an unexpected sound. "Now you know why I am no virgin, My Lord. And why I enjoyed everything we did."

  He could scarcely believe his eyes. "Madame Felice?"

  Chapter Eight

  Felicity leaned up on her elbows and looked at his shocked face. "As you say."

  He cleared his throat. "But why?"

  "Why what? Why am I Madame Felice or why am I here? Why did we have such a perfect night together, and then I disappeared?"

  He scowled. "All of them. Oh wait until I find a lamp, I wish to see more of you."

  She giggled. The situation might be grim, but to her the statement sounded silly. "My Lord, I don't think there's any of me you haven't seen. Then or now." Was this really her talking with such brazenness?

  "Perhaps, so I'll modify that to I wish to see you more clearly." She watched as Nash lit a lamp and brought it closer. The bright light made her blink. It might mean he could see her better, but it also meant she could see him. And he, she decided, was magnificent. His body was toned and muscled, with a fine sprinkling of dark hair on his chest that arrowed down to… Felicity swallowed. She didn't need to look to remember. He chuckled.