by Lavinia Kent
He reached to the side, unbuttoning one side of his flap and then the other. “Yes, your mouth.”
Her eyes stayed focused downward. He folded back the material of his trousers, watching her eyes follow his every movement. Her lips parted, drawing his complete attention. “Kneel now, on the tarp.”
She began to lower herself but wobbled slightly. He reached out and with great care helped her down.
And wasn’t that the image he’d dreamed of all these last nights, his angel on her knees, her hands and breasts bound, her lips parted and damp.
Wrapping his fingers about his length, he drew himself out.
Her lips opened farther.
He could feel the soft flow of her breath upon him. A single drop of cum seeped at the head of his prick. “Do you know what I want you to do?”
Her tongue flicked out. “No.” It came out a sigh.
“Can you guess?”
Her eyes darted up and then back to his cock. Another lick. “No.”
“I think you can.”
—
Could he mean what she thought? Angela gazed down at his penis and considered, her eyes lingering on its powerful length, on the deep color, on that drop of moisture marking the tip. Her mouth watered. He was beautiful, beautiful and strong—so strong.
She leaned forward, trying not to overbalance. The strain of having her arms behind her was beginning to tell, the tightness making her very aware of the arch of her back, the thrust of her chest—of her utter helplessness.
They ached but not too badly—and there were other parts of her that ached far more. She peered up and realized Colton was staring down at her, his attention focused solely on her mouth.
She wet her lips again and saw his eyes follow her tongue.
Oh, he did mean that. He definitely meant that.
And she had no choice. She was his captive. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as she focused on him and let her imagination roam.
The drop of seed still clung to the tip, his hand stroking up and down slowly.
She wanted to, but did she dare?
More moisture pooled between her legs as she pulled against her bonds. She was his. If he wished, she would do anything. She was in his power and therefore her decisions were not her own; she was free from worry.
And what did it taste like?
Curiosity formed deep in her mind. Her mouth watered. She could touch him. She could taste him.
Without awaiting further command, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue across the tip.
His whole body jerked.
She licked again. Another jerk.
This time she parted her lips slightly and sucked.
His thighs squeezed about her shoulders, causing her to fall forward, her face pressing against him. She tried to shift but had no leverage, no way to push herself.
Colton’s hands came down upon her shoulders, pushing her—but not all the way. “Open—and no teeth.”
Her breath caught, but she obediently parted her lips. He lowered her again, one hand positioning himself to slip between her lips.
Velvet. He was like velvet. She closed her lips slightly, savoring the experience. Her gaze went up to his. His eyes were half closed and hooded, their intensity almost frightening.
His hands slid from her shoulders, up her neck to cup her cheeks. She opened her mouth, taking him in farther, and then a little more.
An ache grew between her legs as she kept her eyes on his face, his want becoming her want, his need her need.
She slipped more of his hard length between her lips. There was not much more she could take—and she really didn’t know what to do next. Her tongue slid against the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock.
Colton’s hands directed her face to pull back and then forward again. “Wrap your lips tight. Suck. Use your tongue.”
She did her best to comply, her lips closing hard about him, enjoying his thickness, hardness.
He pushed down farther. She opened wider, trying to take more of him, working to time her breathing as he lifted her head. A gasp in and then down again.
The muscles of his thighs pressed tighter, encasing her. She could feel the strain grow in him. His hips began to thrust from the bench, rising to meet her each time she lowered her mouth.
Her whole being became him, his smell, his taste, his feel. Her eyes closed.
She felt the ache in her arms, knew the desire that pooled between her legs, experienced the cold of the stone floor seeping through the tarp, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was Colton; everything was Colton.
His fingers gripped tight in her hair, and tighter still. He urged her to move faster, to take him deeper.
And then his hips rose high even as he pressed her down. She couldn’t breathe.
A moment of panic. And then she forced herself to calm, took all that he had to give. She was his. If he needed this she would surrender; relaxation filled her even as the demands of her own body grew.
His body jerked and stiffened.
Her name filled the folly, not loud, but clear.
She felt the pulse, the spurt, tasted his essence, his seed, swallowing as best she could as the orgasm took him.
His thighs settled back to the bench. She could feel his muscles relax.
A deep breath shuddered through him. He ran a finger across her cheek, stroking the tender flesh. “Turn about,” he ordered. “Let me loose you.”
She stared at him blankly, her mind not catching up with his words.
“Do as I say.” His tone had lost any softness it had, and already he was tucking himself in and fastening his trousers.
With unsteady knees she obeyed, bit by bit.
His hands made quick work of loosening the ropes. The first deep breath filled her lungs.
She started to turn, to tell him of the joy she’d taken in bringing him such pleasure, but his face stopped her.
Cold.
He looked cold, and not because the wind was beginning to gust off the lake.
His eyes focused beyond her.
Her pleasure and fantasy fled.
“Put on your clothes. I’ll help with your laces.” His voice was filled with ice.
“But—”
“Not now; you don’t want anybody to worry after you.”
She stood, praying that her legs would not shake, would not betray her. She hurriedly grabbed her chemise and pulled it over her head. Then her corset. She pulled on the dress and turned, waiting for his touch. She wished that she could have just left. His sudden anger—yes, that was it. He seemed angry. His mood change hurt her far more than she had expected.
How could he ask that of her and then change more quickly than the weather?
The moment he was done, she pulled away and moved to leave.
“Angela…” he began, more softly, and then trailed off.
“What?” she replied.
“Never mind, just go. Be sure you fix your hair.”
She ran, feeling she was leaving a part of herself behind.
Only as she reached the edge of the wood, where the trees began to thin, did she slow, patting at her cheeks, attempting to dry the few random tears that fell.
—
Colton stood for a moment, watching Angela flee, the light cotton of her dress fluttering in the rising wind. Blast and damnation. That was not what he had wanted. He watched until it became impossible to see the flicker of her gown between the trees. That had not gone as he expected. He waited another moment and then he walked back to the bench. The sun had dropped lower, and only a little direct light still danced across the floor. He placed a foot upon it, drew in a deep breath.
“Lord Thorton,” he called. “I do believe you can come out of hiding now.”
Chapter 16
Colton stood gazing out at the water, trying to slow the waves of fury flowing through him. His heart beat fast and steady in his chest. His fingers curled and released.
He heard th
e shuffle of new-fallen leaves and still did not turn. He could feel Thorton’s presence but had no desire for this moment to come any more swiftly than it needed.
“I was not sure you had seen me,” Thorton said, a slight sneer marking his voice.
“You were rather hard to mistake.”
“As were you.”
His hands formed fists. He would like to beat the man. He was not normally given to violence, but he’d seen Thorton’s expression as he gazed upon Angela’s naked body and willing lips. Yes, by God, he’d like to pound him into a pulp. “May I ask what you are doing here?” he said through gritted teeth.
“I saw Miss Ripon wandering alone and was worried that she might not realize the woods can be dangerous.”
“What, were you afraid the squirrels would attack her? Or perhaps the rabbits?”
Thorton walked forward, his boots clattering on the stone floor of the folly. “I was thinking more of wolves, and I do believe she may have found one.”
He forced himself to ignore the insult. “I do not care what you think, Thorton. What happened here is none of your business.”
“I would beg to differ. I find it very much my business.”
Colton lowered his foot from the bench and turned, wondering if Thorton would see danger in his eyes. “And how do you figure that?”
Thorton tapped a walking stick upon the stones. “On any number of levels. I see there are two—or perhaps three—possibilities. One, you are a true fiend and forced yourself upon Miss Ripon. She did seem distressed as she ran from you. And the ropes, the ropes would certainly support such a claim. And yet that does not seem quite right, does it, Colton?”
Colton did not answer. A dozen ways to silence Thorton formed in his mind.
“I’ve always heard you had a taste for such things, and I’ve noticed who you spend time with at Madame Rouge’s, but this is taking things a little too far.”
“I still do not see what business it is of yours.”
“I rather think it is the business of any gentleman of quality if you have taken to forcing yourself upon the sweet maidens of our class.”
“Did she look forced to you?” He spit out the words before he could think—and great thought was needed. He had no desire to ruin Angela, but it was hard to think when he’d just had the best orgasm of his life and opened his eyes to see Thorton staring at him from the bushes.
“That is hard to tell—and there are so many types of force. I hardly think a lady like Miss Ripon would come to you and beg to be bound.”
I’ll do whatever you wish. Angela’s words, and fantasies, ran again and again through his mind. No, she had not directly begged, but…“And again, I will ask what concern of yours it is.”
“Do not be tedious, Colton. If the lady was forced, it is very much my business.”
“She was not forced.” He spit the words out.
“Ahh, I rather thought it appeared not.” Thorton tapped his stick twice. “I suppose that brings us to the next possibility: that you deliberately set out to seduce a maiden.”
“I do not care to play this game, Thorton.” Colton walked to the edge of the folly. “Unless the lady cries foul, I would suggest you keep your mouth closed and forget that this happened. I still do not understand why you felt the need to peek at us. I am quite certain that you understood at once what was happening and had no need to watch. Or do you take pleasure in such things?”
“I can assure you I took no pleasure,” Thorton stated firmly, but something in his tone said otherwise.
“Yet you seem so pleased as you recount my possible faults.”
Thorton’s face grew red. “I cannot believe you do not recognize your guilt.”
Should he feel guilty? Colton stared at the older man and briefly pondered. It would be hard to defend what he had done with Angela, but somehow the guilt would not come. “And I cannot believe you did not leave immediately when you knew what was happening. You say that you followed Miss Ripon from the house; does that mean you watched the whole time?” His mouth filled with a foul flavor at the thought.
“Do not pretend you object to that. It is well known in what direction your tastes lie.”
“What I object to is your pretense of caring for Miss Ripon and her reputation. If you believed that I was either accosting her or seducing her, why didn’t you stop me before her clothing was off? That hardly seems the mark of a gentleman.”
Thorton pursed his lips and drew back his shoulders. “Do not insult me when you are the one in the wrong. I needed to be sure of what I saw. It was possible that Miss Ripon was the one seducing you, in which case I needed to be sure so I could warn my friends and all of society. It would not do for any to marry her without knowing the truth of her character.”
“And do you believe you know the truth of her character? I am getting a good idea of the quality of your character, Thorton.”
Thorton took a step forward. “And I yours. You claim the lady was willing, and yet you act affronted that she should have been the seductress. I take it, then, you mean to marry her?”
—
Her eyes were red. Angela peered into the mirror and then held the cool, damp cloth to them again, wishing the swelling would subside. She’d arrived at the house flustered and mussed and had barely made it to her room without being seen. Even after her best efforts, her hair looked—well, her hair looked as if she’d been doing exactly what she had been doing. She began to pull the pins out of it. She’d tell her maid she’d had a headache and had let down her hair, trying to ease the pain.
And her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and those much-too-red eyes? She could say she’d gone for air, hoping that would help with the headache. That was not unreasonable and would cover if any had noticed her absence from her room. That would explain the flush, but what of the lips and the eyes that had all too obviously been crying?
A bee sting.
She’d once seen a girl swell up dreadfully after being stung. Could she pretend such a malady? It would certainly explain the tears—although perhaps she could blame them on the pain in her head.
Were her lips really that bad?
She picked up her silver brush and began to run it through her hair, yanking at the tangles. Once her hair was smooth, she slipped out of her dress, hanging it over the back of a chair. She wished to never see it, and its memories, again. She walked to the bed in her chemise and corset and sat, wishing she could have the day to do over.
And just when she’d been truly giving up her plans for vengeance, been ready to admit there might be something more between Colton and herself. Blast. Blast. Blast.
Did she know him at all?
A scratch at the door and her maid entered, carrying a fresh pitcher of warm water. “It’s time to dress for dinner. What…You look like you’ve been fighting with a bag full of cats, miss.”
Her own descriptions would not have been so colorful, but it was hard to deny the truth. “I am sorry, Maggie. My head is pounding and I am most afraid I’ve been pulling at my hair.”
“You should have rung for me. I could have brought you a nice cup of willow tea. Nothing helps like a cup of willow tea.”
“I kept hoping if I could sleep it would pass away. I did not want to trouble you. I am sure Mother had you busy with the gowns for this evening.”
“Nonsense. Your health comes first, and you know your mother would agree. Do you have a fever? You do appear most awfully flushed.” Maggie walked over and touched her brow. “No, a trifle cold and clammy perhaps.” She picked up the damp rag. “Although this might explain that.”
“I was trying to ease the pain.”
“Lie down again and I’ll fetch some cooler water—and some tea.” Maggie turned and hurried out the door.
Angela slipped between the covers of the bed, glad that Maggie had not noticed how neat it was. A single glance and it would have been clear that Angela had not yet lain down.
A light tap and her mother entered. “Maggie say
s you are not well.”
“Perhaps I had a trifle too much sun.”
“You are red. I wish you would be more careful with wearing your bonnet. No gentleman wants a red-cheeked girl with freckles.”
“You are right, Mother.” Angela laid her head against the pillows. “Perhaps the color will have faded by tomorrow.”
“One can hope. You are not falling back into the doldrums, are you? I had just begun to believe you had recaptured your former spirit.” Her mother came and patted her cheek. “Now, will you come down for dinner or should I send for a tray?”
That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. She knew that several gentlemen had arrived during the afternoon and had thought her mother would compel her to the meal. “I must admit that it sounds like heaven to keep my head upon the pillow.”
Her mother tightened her lips, but not with annoyance. “I do worry about you, Angela. You have such a tendency to take things too far, to do too much. You will need a strong man to keep you in check.”
“So you will not mind if I miss dinner?” she asked, ignoring the last of her mother’s words, which hit all too close to the thorn that pierced her heart.
“Of course I will mind, but it is better that you rest and feel well.” Her mother gave a gentle smile. “Besides, you don’t want the gentlemen to see you when you are not at your best.”
“Yes, that would be a disaster.”
Her mother’s nose wrinkled. “Yes, quite horrific.”
“I promise to be better on the morrow.”
One last pat and a soft stroke. “I am sure you will be—and I will try not to leave you too long with Lord Thorton again. His stimulating conversation must have overtaxed you.”
She would have smiled if she were not pretending to be so ill; it was not all pretense, though. Whenever thoughts of the afternoon entered her mind, she did feel the most awful pain, although perhaps nearer to her heart than her head. She kept trying to tell herself that Colton had acted so badly because he had once again decided to do what he thought was right instead of what he wished—only this time it did not ring true. “Thank you, Mother.”
