As she watched, Darryl lay back against the upholstery and almost immediately, his long dark lashes fluttered down. Within a moment or two, it was obvious he was fast asleep.
Now that’s both of them who are keeping their distances. Hettie sighed as her companion’s breathing grew deep and steady.
And yet she felt no irritation with him, just an intense relief. A great burden of temptation had just been lifted from her.
Am I dreaming? I think I must be… Per Dio, please don’t let me wake up!
Darryl’s heart began to race as Hettie leaned gracefully towards him for a kiss, and in the split second before her lips met his, his cock leapt to full, throbbing hardness.
Her fingertips traveled over his body beneath his T-shirt, and he gasped as her thumbs flicked lightly at his nipples. This was the sort of thing that men did to women but it was wonderful that it pleasured his male body too. What would it feel like if she did it while his cock was inside her?
Carefully, tentatively, he began to repay the compliment, tugging at her silky black top. His fingers shook, but the silk came out easily and seemed to puff away from her skin it was so light.
Hettie’s breasts were exquisite when he lifted his hands to caress them, the curves firm and resilient, the nipples like small stones that bored into his palms. He squeezed and she matched his groan with one of her own, arching her back so she could push herself forward.
She wriggled wildly in his hold, and he felt her fingers scrabbling at his body, nails digging into his rib cage as a giant shudder went through her. For a second her thought he’d hurt her, but she was still gasping with obvious pleasure. Her beautiful face twisted as she arched and threw back her head. He didn’t have to be told she was climaxing.
His cock was burning now, stiff in his shorts like a bar of superheated iron. Any suffering he’d felt a moment ago was forgotten, swamped by a greater suffering that was also glorious and welcome. His whole body seemed to ache for her and he felt a powerful urge to double up around the engorged agony in his penis.
Emerging from her own pleasure, and clearly sensing his need, Hettie reached for the hem of her waterfall skirt and drew it up slowly and elegantly.
Beneath she wore tiny black panties, a high-cut wisp of lace that barely covered her pussy and seemed ruder somehow than if she’d been completely naked. The leg line swooped up to her waist and as she shifted her weight to flip her skirt from beneath her, he saw the whole of one sleek white buttock. Placing her hands on either side of her slender hips she slid her brief panties down her thighs.
Darryl felt like a frozen dummy, unable to move. He groaned when she edged forward on the seat, opened her thighs even wider and reached in to tease apart the lips of her cunt with her fingers.
And even when she took her fingertips away, her body still pouted at him. His hand felt limp in hers as she took it and drew it to her.
She was like damp silk to his touch, and feeling dazed he let his fingers rest where she’d laid them. He was touching the most sensitive and precious part of her and he had to force himself to breathe.
Controlling his trembling, Darryl let his fingertips skate over her, exploring the folds first then pushing one finger into her pussy. She whimpered softly when he pushed a little harder, and with a clever feline little swivel, seemed to screw herself down on his digit and get it even deeper inside her. The passage was easy, very easy, because she was very wet.
With a gasp of pleasure, Hettie tossed her head from side to side and Darryl knew that he’d got her. That he’d touched her how she wanted to be touched. Needed to be touched. He swirled his thumb and she crooned in response, undulating in that oh-so-telling way as her hot flesh grabbed at his finger in orgasm.
When her body finally stilled, she wriggled slightly and disengaged herself from his fingers, her eyes fluttering open as she did so. Her pupils looked hazy and dilated, but she seemed to sharpen up and take notice as her gaze panned slowly down his body. Following her eyes, Darryl saw to his amazement that his free hand was clamped at the apex of his thighs.
As his heart revved up to treble time, Darryl watched entranced as Hettie’s slender fingers went to work on his belt and the zipper on his jeans. Quickly and deftly, she began to work his jeans down over his hips and thighs, giving him an “up!” to make him lift bottom from the seat and let the tight denim slide on its way.
He felt faint and helpless as she bunched her voluminous skirts in her left hand and threw one long milky thigh across both of his. It was like watching an erotic ballet, and he saw Hettie’s thighs tense as she held herself above him for a moment while she reached down and took hold of the head of his cock.
Her touch felt like swansdown as she lowered her sex slowly onto him, feeding him delicately into her moist heat as she descended.
Darryl felt like screaming, weeping and throwing himself bodily up into the air to get deeper inside her.
He was enclosed in a liquid sweetness that seemed to ripple and grip and caress him. It was nothing like masturbation and nothing like he’d expected. He was in two kinds of paradise at once, floating on a cloud and sliding down, down, down into the deepest well of exquisite drowning sensation. He knew he could last only seconds. It was too good, too intense, too much—he could already feel his spine dissolving and a great white ball of pleasure going critical in the pit of his loins.
As Hettie began to bounce on him, he saw her grimace slightly and heard her make a long low indecipherable sound of satisfaction. Settling into a quick deep rhythm, she put her hands down to the juncture of their bodies and Darryl watched in wonder as she flicked her own clitoris in time to their bumps and grinds. He wanted to do it for her, or to hold her breasts again, but suddenly she was moving too furiously and he seemed to have no strength in any part of his body but his cock.
Then suddenly the world dwindled to a minute black point that exploded out again to every part of him at once. His balls jerked and his semen came scalding up out of them. Shooting out of his sex into hers.
“Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!” he murmured, the words growing faint as pleasure obliterated him and the magic world of his dream drifted away into slumberous darkness.
Chapter Six
Should I have said something? Hettie asked herself, finding it hard to stop herself from grinning as she put clothing into the top drawer of her mahogany dresser.
Watching Darryl sleep had been a revelatory experience. His erotic writhing had left her in no doubt that he’d dreamed about sex. And in her sensitized state it had been an irresistible turn-on. She’d found herself gripping her own crotch as he’d gripped his, and it had been difficult to keep herself from crying out as she’d worked herself to a quick, light orgasm. But she’d remained silent. To wake him would have embarrassed him profoundly.
As it was, he hadn’t woken and after coming to the inevitable conclusion of his wet dream, he’d seemed to drift into an even deeper level of slumber. And when he did wake, he hadn’t shown the slightest hint that he was aware of what had happened.
Starr too had shown no signs of emotion when the extended car journey was over, and had simply regarded his passengers with his usual inscrutable politeness.
No change there, then.
Hettie had frowned and her eyes had followed his tall, dark-clad form as he’d set about disposing of their luggage and going about all the usual jobs involved in opening up the beautiful country house. She would have given anything to be able to read the thoughts contained in that strong, close-cropped head of his.
Dragonwood had been partially closed since Piers’ death and with the regular staff on extended paid leave, Starr had arranged for a couple from the nearby village to come in for a few hours each morning and do a few basic housekeeping jobs.
Hettie was grateful for this and was rather looking forward to them fending for themselves around the house. Doing things like sneaking down to the kitchen for a sandwich whenever she felt hungry, making her own bed, taking morning cups of te
a to Darryl and Stevie. If Starr would let her do any of that, of course. She was the “Lady of the Manor” in his eyes, and must not be seen to be roughing it!
She’d also been hoping that Starr would assign himself a room near hers, but no such luck. He’d taken his usual room—in the staff wing—which would be a good two-hundred-yard tiptoe away in the dark! As it was, Hettie had Darryl on one side and Stevie, when she arrived, on the other.
Still naked after she’d washed the dust of travel and the stickiness of masturbation from her body, Hettie went on unpacking with only half her mind really on the task.
Darryl had looked so sensual! Watching him bring himself off could get to be a dangerously distracting habit. It would be far too easy to indulge in such delicious, self-indulgent voyeurism—and avoid facing the major issue that troubled her.
Starr.
She sighed. It would probably have been a better idea to take herself off to a chaste, monastic retreat somewhere and think things through rather than come down here and immerse herself in hedonism.
She took a black wet-look bikini out of her case and wriggled into it. The suit was minuscule and clinging, and she might as well have been nude, as Stevie had suggested. Hettie frowned in front of the mirror for a few minutes, but no amount of tugging and adjusting could make the suit look any less indecent. And unfortunately, she had no other swimwear that was any less revealing.
But does it matter? She grimaced at her reflection.
It won’t make the slightest bit of difference to the way Starr behaves if I really do parade around naked. And I’m sure Darryl would still fancy me if I wore a feed sack!
Shaking her head, she slid her body into a thin black wrap and her feet into flat sandals. Grabbing a bottle of sunblock and a towel, she left her clothes half unpacked and made her way down the stairs and along the length of the main hall.
She felt an intense longing to take the bull by the horns, and to find Starr and confront him. Speak her mind and her heart while the urge was upon her and before she could lose her courage—but neither the kitchen nor any of the utility rooms revealed him. And when she backtracked towards his quarters and knocked on the door, there was no answer there either. He was most probably working somewhere else around the house, or in the garden. Or maybe he’d even gone into the local village for additional provisions. But wherever he was, it felt as if her tall, blond servant had simply vanished off the face of the Earth!
“Screw you, then!” she muttered. Her sandals flapping angrily against the tiled floor, she strode through the house, heading for the terrace, where they were supposed to be having lunch. That was if the elusive Starr had made the preparations before he’d gone his own sweet way.
The terrace was an inviting stone-flagged area that hugged one side of the house and was flanked by a broad flat-topped parapet. A set of shallow stone steps led down towards the swimming pool and the tiered and landscaped gardens beyond, and a trellised canopy at the far end provided a welcome area of shade on sunny days.
Some instinct or premonition made her pause on the path by the garden wall. She stopped and slid off her sandals, then clutched them in her hand with her sunblock and her towel. Moving barefoot on the narrow grass border that ran beside the gravel path, she padded along stealthily, managing to reach the stone-flagged terrace without disturbing its single, sun-worshipping occupant.
In the open, unshaded portion of the terrace, Darryl was stretched out on a lounge chair. He was naked, but for a skimpy pair of black bathing trunks and virtually motionless. He’d clearly not spent as much time dithering in his room as Hettie had because his lean bronzed back was shiny with sunblock and his steady, even breathing suggested he’d already fallen asleep. Silently putting down her belongings, Hettie moved as close she dared risk without waking him.
Standing like a statue, she had an intensely female urge to stroke his glistening shoulders, and simply worship his youth and his sun-graced perfection. He was male and he was beautiful. And he was here, in front of her. Unlike that other glorious man who kept making her so angry and confused.
But before she could do anything rash, Darryl stirred, then tensed and suddenly turned over.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he gasped, sitting up, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. It’s just that the sun felt so good on my skin and it made me feel drowsy.” Swiftly, he reached for his towel and flung it across his hips—but not before Hettie was treated to an eyeful of a magnificent stiffening hard-on straining at the shiny fabric of his trunks. Looking swiftly away, she felt her blood surge in her veins as if fired by lightning.
“Come on let’s sit in the shade for a bit,” she said quickly, “It’s better for me, and I could do with a glass of something.” She nodded towards the seating area and the rustic table spread out with buffet food set over chill packs, and to the bottles that stood cooling in a stainless steel ice bucket. Clearly the ever-efficient Starr had already been here and prepared the lunch, although God alone knew how he’d managed so much in so little a space of time.
Darryl was quite pink-faced when he followed her into the shade, a pair of baggy, multicolored surf shorts now preserving his modesty. “I really am sorry,” he apologized again, biting his lip, a picture of horny bashfulness, “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I hope I haven’t embarrassed you.”
“Don’t worry. No problem,” said Hettie, attempting to sound unperturbed but knowing she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. The afterimage of his perfect male body so obviously aroused was doing wicked things to her nervous system, “You’ve got a wonderful body, you shouldn’t be ashamed of it,” she went on lightly, “Now…do you want water, or wine or fruit juice? We seem to have everything here, thanks to Starr.”
Darryl requested water and she handed him a bottle, then poured a glass of wine for herself. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but right now she needed it.
The wine tasted dry and light but its crisp, almost sharp tang couldn’t cut through her thoughts and distract her from them.
What the hell is wrong with me? I think I’m in love with Starr and yet here I am with Darryl and I find him attractive too. How can I be like this? It just doesn’t make sense.
Things would be so much more clear-cut if I could force myself to speak to Starr. Make him listen. And make him answer me and tell me what he’s feeling… Rather than the two of us continuing to dance around each other in this nonspeaking, all-fucking puppet show!
Recklessly, Hettie drained the whole glass at once, and as she reached out for a refill she nodded that should Darryl drink his water.
As he raised the water to his lips, his gorgeous mouth suddenly captivated her, and to her acute consternation, she found herself imagining what it would be like to kiss it.
Stop it! She glowered at the bottle of Frascati she’s just picked up and put it back in the cooler. Enough already, or you’ll do something you might regret, Hettie!
But when Darryl put down his bottle, his face suddenly paled beneath the gold of his tan. He stared at the wine bottle in the cooler with a look pure shock on his face.
“Frascati,” he said, the words barely more than a whisper.
Why would the name of the wine bother him? Hettie glanced at the bottle too, but there was nothing unusual about it.
“Yes. It’s very nice,” she said, at a loss, “Would you like to try a taste?”
“I’ve drunk that wine before,” Darryl murmured, almost as if he hadn’t heard her.
She looked at him closely. Beneath his tan, his face was pinched and taut. Was something coming back to him?
“At Renata’s?”
“No! Before!” Like an automaton, he moved closer, picked up the bottle and tried to refill Hettie’s glass. But he was shaking so much that the golden wine spilled all over her hand.
Hettie took the bottle from him and mopped up the mess with a towel. Then she guided Darryl to one of the garden couches and hunkered down beside him.
“What is it, Darryl?”
She put an arm around his bare shoulder.
“We had Frascati. We used to sit at this old wooden table and eat pasta and drink a glass of wine together. All day out in the sun… Or digging…somewhere… We’d be tired by suppertime…but so happy. Full of a sense of achievement.” His handsome face crumpled suddenly and to Hettie’s horror, she realized he was fighting tears. “Oh Hettie, I miss him so!” Moved by his plight, she hugged him closer.
He’d obviously remembered his adoptive uncle. And from the depth of his anguish it was also obvious that Darryl was now aware that his beloved relative—his father figure—was dead.
Hettie felt tears well in her own eyes.
Oh Piers!
Suddenly an immense bolt of loss stabbed at her heart. It was the same. It hurt so much. The pain of knowing that the most important person in your life was gone forever. That was the pain that Darryl was feeling right now—the same pain she’d felt when the doctor had pronounced Piers finally at peace.
As she held the grieving Darryl, Hettie suddenly wondered again where Starr was. He was the one who’d been there when she’d needed a pair of arms around her. Without him, she would have fallen apart she’d been so lost and alone.
Confused urges jostled her. Unconsciously, she began to rock Darryl in her arms, just the way she would have done with anyone who was suffering. And yet at the same time she was acutely aware of his intense masculinity. The heat of his skin. The strong musculature of his lean but well-shaped limbs. The perilous proximity of that splendid cock she’d been unable to tear her eyes away from just a few moments ago.
Darryl smelled good. He felt good. She couldn’t imagine it not being good to make love to him and have him make love to her. And she knew from personal experience the healing and restorative powers of good sex.
She was trembling. In another world, she might have welcomed this beautiful man into her body to help heal his sadness.
But of course she couldn’t. This was the real world, and to sleep with Darryl was beyond unthinkable. Because of her own memories of being comforted the same way while Piers was ill. She couldn’t do it because of the man who’d comforted her then.
Lessons and Lovers Page 9
