“I have judged you harshly,” she said at last. “I should not have.”
She came to his room to tell him that? he wondered skeptically. It was no small matter for a woman to knock upon the door of a man in the dead of night.
“They believe us to be husband and wife,” she explained as if reading his thoughts.
“And you did not dissuade them from their assumption?” he inquired.
“I had not the opportunity. I had started to with Mrs. Pettigrew, but perhaps it is just as well they presume us to be married. Yes, it is best. It would be otherwise difficult to explain to Mr. Pettigrew...”
Her cheeks grew red referencing their kiss.
“Your secret is safe with me, madam.”
“Thank you. I know you not to be without some sense of decency, though my words might lead you to deduce that I think you a worthless wanton when the truth of the matter is—that is, I do not mean to cast aspersions on your character. I do not condone what you do, but you are not immoral for indulging in the—the pleasures of the flesh.”
The last words tumbled from her mouth quickly, and she took in a deep breath. He studied her with interest, wondering where her words were intended to lead.
“We are all of us fallible,” she continued. “And the, er, pleasures of the flesh is hardly the worst of sins. At least not in my regard. Quite the contrary. I think it a relatively harmless sin compared to greed or a disregard for the fellow man. Or one of the other seven deadly sins, though I cannot think what they are at present.”
Phineas curled his fingers around the edge of the writing desk. If she did not reach her conclusion soon, she may not have the opportunity—for a man could only be well-behaved for so long when faced with a half-dressed woman in his room.
“I have not been without sin—that is, I...” She stared once again towards the floor. “I hope you will pardon the disparaging remarks I have made. I am not in the main so critical, but you seem to try my nerves such that I am beside myself. But I—I hope you will pardon me and—and kiss me again.”
He nearly slid from the table. She glanced up at him, and he could no sooner deny her than he could the earnest faces of the girls at the asylum even if he did not already have the desire to do just as she wished.
“Are you sure that is what you want, Countess?”
Silence settled between them and he regretted his question and the opportunity he had given her to reconsider her request.
“I wish for you to kiss me,” she pronounced more firmly.
Spoken without hesitation, it was almost a command. The blood surged in his groin. He went to stand before her. Taking her hands in his, he lifted her to her feet. He cupped her face, tilted her mouth towards his, and took a deep breath of the nectar he was about to drink. His mouth hovered above hers as he soaked in the anticipation. Then he brushed his lips to hers. Her eyelids flickered and he sensed a sigh from her.
How sweet these lips! Supple as a ripe summer fruit, sweet as the purest Caribbean sugar. He moved his lips deliberately over hers, patiently plumbing the depths of her mouth, his probing tongue leaving no spot unturned. She attempted to return his kiss at first but soon conceded the effort to his mastery. This kiss was his to command. His to lead. She need only succumb.
When he had sufficiently worked her mouth, leaving her wet and breathless, he swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed. There he continued the kiss, less tenderly and more forcefully this time. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, then to the soft area beneath it. Her back arched in response, pushing her bosom against his chest. He kissed and sucked the top of her neck, just below the ear. She let out a lilting gasp. Playfully he nipped her earlobe before digging his mouth down the side of her neck and tonguing the length of her collar bone. He tossed aside her shawl and pulled down the flimsy fabric of her gown to reveal her breast.
Heavenly, he thought to himself as he stared at the large brown areolas, somehow familiar to him. The nipples, already hardened, pointed boldly at him. He licked his bottom lip before encasing a teasing nipple with his mouth. He swirled his tongue against the little nub and elicited a whispered moan from her. Cupping the bottom of the breast, he pushed the orb more fully into his mouth. He took as much of the flesh into his mouth as he could. Soon his suckling had her writhing into the bedsheets. Her pelvis pressed against him, making him all too aware of the tightness in his own groin. But his desire would have to wait.
Her stays laced in the front, and he went back to kissing her upon the mouth as he untied them. He pushed her gown down past her shoulders, which he caressed with his lips. He freed the other breast and took it into his mouth. The candle beside his bed sputtered its last, but not before he noticed the mark beneath the nipple. How curious...
He was tempted to light another candle for a closer look, but he had worked her into a light frenzy. Her panting and moaning had become one. Reaching beneath the hem of her gown, he skimmed his hand along her leg. When he brushed against her thigh, she shivered. He moved his hand across the smoothness of her belly before nestling between her legs. He waited to see if she would object. She stiffened but said nothing. He brushed his thumb against the nub of flesh between her folds. She was more than damp, her desire having pooled quite a reservoir between her thighs. He stroked her clitoris lightly. Her body relaxed, and she murmured her pleasure. Gently he grazed the clitoris with his thumb and fondled it between the knuckles of his forefinger, gradually increasing the pressure as he saw her pleasure mounting.
He began rubbing her more vigorously, though he sensed some of her tension had returned. Her brows knit in concentration, and her body seemed poised above the precipice but did not spend.
“Pray do not persist if you should tire,” she mumbled.
He stared at her. Phineas Barclay had never left a woman unsatiated. But he tentatively ceased his ministrations. She whimpered.
“Do not resist the inevitable,” he said softly into her ear as he passed his finger across her pleasure bud. “Surrender to the pleasure...for it is pleasurable, is it not?”
She nodded vigorously.
“Ease your mind...let the flesh indulge in what nature has imbued in our bodies...”
Her fingers curled into the sheets beneath her. He could see her attempting to comply, but a part of her still resisted. Her climax was no easy matter. He could not remember one as challenging save for his early years as a lover, before he knew how to read a woman’s body. Still strumming his fingers against her, he lapped at her breasts once more. How familiar they felt.
Rising onto his knees, he removed his banyan, then dove his face between her thighs. She yelped in surprise, but he held fast to her thighs with both hands. Taking in her delectable musk, he pressed his tongue between her folds. She quivered. He licked and teased until the wetness of her desire coated him, mouth and jaw. He found the spot that elicited the greatest gasps and extorted it mercilessly. Her body erupted in spasms, her thighs knocked against his ears, and a cry tore from her throat. He wrung the last of her climax from her before easing off his tongue.
His ardor stretched painfully in triumph, but he needed to see that she fared well. When she opened her eyes, they seemed to glisten with tears. She gave him a meek smile.
“Thank you,” she said.
What an odd thing to say, he considered.
“I am fortunate you are...persistent,” she added.
“Has it been that long since last you spent?” he asked. “Do you not pleasure yourself?”
“I—it requires some time,” she answered. Despite the darkness, he knew her to be blushing.
“Show me.”
“Wh...”
“Show me how you pleasure yourself.”
She hesitated but then reached two fingers between her legs. She stroked herself a few times, then retracted her hand. He caught her hand and returned it to her quim.
“Do not stop.”
He heard her swallow, but she obliged, timidly caressing herself. He
undid her stays completely and freed her body from its confines. At last he could see the full shape of her. The voluptuous curve of her hips. The subtle swell of her belly. He caressed her through her nightgown. Her stroking became more earnest. Locking his lips to hers, he reached his hand to join her hand. They bumped hands but soon found a fitting division of labor. She attended the top of her clitoris while he strummed the bottom. He slid his finger into her cunnie. Her body arched off the bed as she spent, her other hand grasping his arm. After a few final jerks, her body settled back into the sheets.
Her face glowed with tiny beads of perspiration dotting her forehead and nose. Her cheeks had a beautiful flush. Even the disarray of her hair added to her appeal. He would have her looking thusly always. She took many breaths before smiling once more at him. If any man could see her now, he would not deem Gertie Farrington to be plain. She was lovely, and Phineas felt his heart swell to think that he alone might be privy to this beauty.
She sat up. “And now I believe you to merit some attention.”
“That is unnecessary, Countess,” he replied, but she had already crawled onto her knees and approached his still stiffened rod. “My glory was to see you spend. I can care for myself.”
“But that would not be as pleasurable,” she objected, reaching for his erection.
It pulsed at her touch. Before he could utter another word, her mouth had descended upon him. He groaned as warm wetness engulfed his member. She swallowed him as if practiced in the art. Where and how could she have attained such a skill? But his capacity to think ebbed away as she moved her mouth up and down his shaft in a scintillating rhythm. He threaded a hand into her hair, wanting nothing more than to thrust his hips harder at her and drive himself as far down her throat as he could. He would never have guessed to find Lady Lowry on her hands and knees performing fellatio as if she were a common strumpet. With more exuberance than a common strumpet...
With great reluctance, he eased her off of him. Her lips glistened, and a small string of saliva hung between her mouth and the head of his shaft.
“Countess, pray do not be obligated–” he began.
She stared up at him with large, earnest eyes.
“Ravish me,” she said.
THE WORDS ECHOED THROUGH her own ears as if a foreign voice had uttered them, and Gertie could tell that her directive had caught Barclay by surprise, but she felt no hesitation. His obvious arousal had lifted her confidence, and she knew when first she knocked upon his door what she intended, what she wanted. The wine had worn off, and still the desire had remained. Their kiss had lingered with her for hours, burning her body, a flame that she could not quell despite her best efforts to sort her thoughts into tidy analyses. It was not her body alone that wanted Barclay.
As upsetting as his words had been, she had to acknowledge the truth of what he said. That he could so clearly state her situation in life pained and embarrassed her, but she sensed his empathy—which he had dubbed ‘pity,’ and for that she was furious. The great Lady Athena merited no pity! But he knew not Lady Athena. He saw only a meek little wife of the Earl of Lowry. That he should still attend to her, that he should move himself to kiss her, had done much to excite a part of her that even Lady Athena had not experienced.
Why should she not indulge herself? And if she were to commit adultery, why not with the man who excelled in such affairs? Perhaps she had crossed that line when she became Lady Athena. Even were she not a patron of Madame Botreaux’s, Alexander had not chosen to stay faithful. And though two wrongs did not make a right, why should she play the dutiful, self-sacrificing wife? And why did it take Lord Barclay of all people to make her question herself? Then there was the simple fact that she wanted the sinful and seductive Lord Barclay. She had wanted him the first time she saw him in the Bennington library. Her head ruled the day then, but now these raw, primal feelings burning inside her would not go quietly into the night.
“Fuck me,” she said again.
A muscle rippled along his jaw. She reached for him, hoping to urge his assent with a few strokes, but he caught her wrist and pushed her back into the pillows. He covered her body with his and kissed her. Her body exalted at the weight upon her. His hand reached between her legs, though he had no need to arouse her further. She was still wet there, and her cunnie fair ached with the desire to be filled. He brushed his length against her clitoris and coated it with her wetness. She nearly screamed for him to enter her.
She groaned in satisfaction when at last he pushed the head of his rod into her cunnie. He grunted at her tightness. She thrust her hips up at him, encouraging him to continue. Slowly, he slid himself further into her as if worried that he might break her. She gasped at the intrusion filling her and held tightly onto his arms. His erection pulsed, stretching her even more. She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax and reminding herself that the pain would diminish.
“My God,” he murmured when at last he had buried himself to the hilt. He planted light kisses upon her eyelids.
She flexed her cunnie about his shaft. He responded by withdrawing completely. She let out a cry of protest. How empty she felt without him nestled inside her...
Opening her eyes, she looked at him. Had something gone wrong? What thought had infiltrated his head to prevent him from—
He shoved his himself back inside of her, grinding his pubis into hers. The angle of his thrusting pulled at the nerves of her engorged clitoris. The initial discomfort had faded and beautiful sensations took its place. His rhythmic thrusting coaxed wave after wave of pleasure. She nearly squealed in delight. She reveled in how fully he filled her. The yearning ache consumed her entire body, making her want to meld into him as one.
When her gasps became more agitated, he quickened the motion of his hips. The bed shuddered against the wall with the force of his efforts. A beautiful sweat encased his body. But she had little time to admire his form. That pleasurable ache, emanating from deep inside her belly, shattered into tremors of pure delight that tore through her from head to toe. She bucked against him uncontrollably as her climax pushed through her body.
She heard what sounded like a growl from him, felt his length shoving harder and deeper into her, then felt the liquid warmth of his seed filling her. His legs jerked against her in his release, and he allowed himself to collapse onto her, his chest flattening her breasts below. She wound an arm around his neck and held him close. And she would have been content to remain as she was if time could stand still.
Chapter Twelve
THEY MADE LOVE ONCE more before the sunrise. Gertie had stirred against him in the middle of the night. His ardor had responded instantly despite his being in a state of half-sleep. Pulling the nightgown down over her hips, he tended to her quim once more with his tongue, cultivating her most sensitive spot on the left side of her engorged bud, until she begged for him. He thrust into her with a renewed appetite, as if they had not had congress but two hours before, as if his member tasted of her wet warmth for the first time. How tight she still was, how exquisite the pressure of her cunnie about his shaft...
The rain clouds muted the brightness of day, leaving the room dim and grey. Phineas listened to the steady patter of rain against the window as Gertie slept in the crook of his arm. He could feel her breath upon his chest. Once more his erection reared its head. But he was content to lie as they were and would not disturb her from her peaceful slumber. He prayed it would rain for days.
Gertie purred and her eyelids fluttered. She nestled herself closer to him, then woke with a start as if she had forgotten where she was. She turned to look at him.
“Good morning,” he smiled.
She relaxed into a smile, but he could see her mind beginning to churn. “I should—I should return to my room before the servants discover me.”
“I thought they believed us to be husband and wife?” he inquired, running a hand through her thick tresses and massaging the back of her head.
“I think that to be the
polite assumption. I doubt they believe it as you arrived with your valet upon horseback, and I arrived sans servants in a post-chaise.”
“What does it matter what they believe?”
“It...nonetheless, I think I had best retire to my own room.”
She had managed to wrap a sheet about herself, but he had no intention of letting her go before he verified an important matter. Last night he had thought he had seen a discoloration to the left of her nipple, but the lighting had been poor, and he had been too engrossed to study it more closely.
“Do you regret what has happened?”
She hesitated. “I—no. I came of my own volition. But I—it is rather early to form regrets. Do—do you?”
In response, he brought her head to his until their lips met. He rolled on top of her, pinning her body below his, as he continued to kiss her, leaving no doubts as to how he felt. She gasped upon feeling his hardened length against her thigh.
“I want more of you, Countess,” he said into her neck as he caressed a shoulder and left kisses about her collar.
He tore the bed sheet away from her bosom and stared at the birthmark upon her breast. The blood pounded in his head.
Lady Athena.
He wondered how the fact could have escaped him all this time. His gaze went to her mouth. Of course. How had he failed to recognize those amazing lips? He had always suspected there was more to Gertie than met the eye, but he had never imagined uncovering a secret as grand as this. And then he wanted her more fully, more deeply than he had ever wanted to possess another being. His gaze met hers, and the obvious lust reflected in her eyes made his ardor stretch to its limits.
His mouth descended upon the informing breast. The vigor with which he claimed her made her gasp. He grasped the nipple between his teeth, then sucked it hard until her back arched off the bed. Cupping both breasts in his hands, he kneaded the glorious orbs. She would not find it easy to leave his bed.
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