by Alison Shaw
Charlotte clenched hard inside and felt herself grow suddenly slick and hot at the memory of his wicked tongue lathing her.
“I have scheduled a French lesson,” she said somewhat shakily.
“Fuck French,” he said slowly against her lips, his hips giving a suggestive thrust, then he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the archway and along the garden path, her legs so weak they could barely keep her up. When they reached the gazebo she was laughing breathlessly, but his face was seriously determined as he pushed her down onto the bench and he immediately reached under her skirts and started to pull down her drawers.
Charlotte looked around her in panic. The gazebo was not a particularly sturdy construction and the roses that covered its trellis were sparse.
But the wicked Earl had already bared her to the warm afternoon air and he was gazing between her legs as if he had found the Holy Grail. “Beautiful, just as I remember,” he said with reverence.
Charlotte jumped as she felt his fingers part her lips and then explore her tenderly. “Someone might see,” she protested but he just pushed two fingers inside her making her gasp and she decided that talking was not necessary or appropriate right now.
Rafe had other ideas though and he growled, “You’re so wet, Charlotte,” as his fingers pumped inside her and she closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the bench. Then his tongue gave one firm lick across her clitoris and he sucked it into his mouth and her groin spasmed so tightly that she thrust her hips towards him wantonly.
“Oh God Rafe, I’m going to…I’m going to…” she panted insensibly as she thrust her hand into his hair and held him more firmly against her until his tongue and his fingers finally drove her into breaking apart under him, her hips slamming upwards and wave after wave of almost painful release leaving her lightheaded and dizzy.
Charlotte opened her eyes to find Rafe standing over her and sucking his fingers into his mouth with a thoughtful expression on his face, his hair deliciously tousled. His crotch was directly in front of her and he was so big and hard, he was almost bursting the seams of his breeches. She licked her lips at the sight, and he hurriedly undid his breeches and pulled his cock out. It was every bit as magnificent as she remembered.
“Suck me,” he said, pulling back his foreskin and running his thumb over the glistening head, then shuffling between her legs until it brushed against her lips, smooth and slick.
Charlotte opened her mouth and took him in, licking at the salty fluid and taking pleasure in his loud groan. Then she sucked him in deep and the smell of roses was overpowered by his masculine scent.
“Look at me,” he said and she opened her eyes and gazed up at him as he pushed further into her mouth and with a deep moan pulsed hot globs of cum down her throat.
Sleepily, she watched him wrestle his still hard cock back into his breeches and marvelled at how he could make her so pliant with just a few rough words. But he was silent and gentle as he pulled up her drawers and arranged her skirts.
“See what I mean?” she said, looking down at his unruly dark hair. “You treat me like a whore.” But she did not really mean it, and when he pulled her up from the bench and held her in his arms and kissed her firmly she was struck again with how much she felt for this exasperating man.
He was looking at her as if he could hardly believe she was yielding to him so ardently. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and he seemed to be about to say something but then he kissed her again and said, “Next time we are going to do this naked.”
Next time? If only Charlotte knew what he meant by that. He could be promising nights of uninhibited passion, but he might also mean in six months time, when the urge to fuck her next came over him
Chapter 21
The Earl Returns
In which our regency rake's reputation is at stake.
The scantily clad girl on Henry Barnes's knee giggled as he ran his hand up her smooth thigh, nuzzling her neck. The Earl of Langham swirled the whisky around in his glass and watched dispassionately. Henry's fingers were now playing with the pink ribbon of her stocking top, and she was whispering something in his ear that made his mouth curl into a self-satisfied smirk. Rafe took another slug of the fiery liquor and grimaced. What had he expected to achieve by coming here? Certainly not watch Henry play with one of his many concubines, that was for sure. He had had a sudden and uncustomary desire to confide in someone, but this was a brothel, a very high class one, but a whorehouse nonetheless, so what had he expected? If he was going to frequent such establishments he had to expect Henry to be somewhat distracted.
Henry threw him an exasperated look. “For God's sake man, what has gotten into you?”
Rafe just grimaced again and took another drink.
“We're surrounded by gorgeous and very willing pieces of arse and all you do is sit there glowering.”
“I'm not in the mood.”
“Since when were you, the most renowned rake of the ton, not in the mood? You'll ruin your reputation if you're not careful. Are you still brooding over the loss of your valet?”
Rafe just grunted in response, as the girl opened her legs to allow Henry's questing fingers easier access, giving Rafe a clear view of her shaved mons in the process. He stared at Henry's finger parting her fleshy lips and swirled the amber liquid round the crystal glass.
“He was a handsome man that's for sure but get over it Langham!”
“The next one is going to be ugly and honest,” Rafe said, and he meant it. It had been most pleasant to have the delectable Johnson see to his every need, especially when he stalked around half dressed, or offered certain services beyond his job description, but Rafe wasn't going to lose another valet to one of his mistresses. He didn't think he could stand the indignity. Henry was right; he was going to lose his wild reputation if he wasn't careful. If people heard that Justine de Mornay preferred a manservant (no matter how perfect a physical specimen) over the Earl of Langham, they would never shut up about it.
Rafe levered himself up to a standing position and swayed slightly. He was drunk again. “I am going home,” he slurred and left Henry to finger his whore in privacy.
Rafe discovered that home felt empty and desolate. He was rattling around in the too large rooms of his townhouse, like some bitter lonely old man so the next day, despite a dull headache caused by the whisky, he took himself off to the country and soon found himself searching his Uncle's house for a certain governess. He had been avoiding her for weeks but all of a sudden he had an overwhelming desire to lay eyes on her.
The boys were with Sophie in the morning room and there was no sign of Charlotte, but he could hardly ask her where she was without arousing his clever cousin's suspicions. She was already puzzled by his unexpected appearance.
He wandered through the many rooms of the house, all the way up to the attic and back down to the basement and the kitchens where the staff were already preparing supper, but there was no sign of her. Daisy, the upstairs maid was helping peel potatoes at the vast kitchen table and she grinned naughtily at him, her luscious breasts, as usual, barely contained in her dress. Maybe, he thought, he should forget about Charlotte and take Daisy out to the kitchen garden and fuck her in the tool shed. It would be quick and hard and satisfying but something compelled him to continue his search.
He eventually found her in the stables, standing far too close to the head groom, a big blonde man whose sleeves were rolled up over his thick biceps. Rafe, overcome with a surge of scalding fury, drew himself up to his full height and said in his most commanding voice, “You are needed in the house Miss Kemp.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly with wry curiosity and she gently touched the groom's arm which made Rafe clench his jaw and he turned and stalked out before he did something he would regret.
She followed him and when they were in the courtyard he abruptly took a firm hold of her arm and dragged her under the archway that led to the gardens. Shoving her against the wall and still gripping her arm tight
ly, he growled, “What were you doing with that man?”
She lifted her chin, meeting his fiery glare, her green eyes blazing back at his. “How dare you appear like this after weeks of no word and throw your weight around like a petulant brat! Take your hands off me.”
His fingers just curled tighter around her arm, his knee pressing between her legs. “That man?” he asked again, his voice sounding rough and feral.
“What is it to you? He's a good catch, upstanding and honourable and he makes a good living.”
Rafe pressed harder against her, forcing her knees apart and he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall. “He's a better catch than me is he?”
“Undoubtedly. Thomas treats me like a lady, not like a worthless whore he can manhandle at his will.”
Rafe's grip loosened slightly and he was suddenly transfixed by her mouth. Under his intense gaze her full lips parted and he found himself leaning towards her, his eyes closing to savour the moment he felt her velvet warmth against him, but she wrestled her hand away from him and gripped his chin.
“No you don't,” she said. “I don't want any of your kisses. Keep that mouth away from me.”
He almost laughed, even in his inflamed state. She was still his, all right. She was as aroused as he. “Oh Charlotte, my sweet whore, I want to fuck you so badly,” he said. “I want to shove my cock into you and nail you good and hard. I want to hear you scream.” And as he said it he thrust his hips so she could feel the hard ridge of him against her sensitive mound.
She was still gripping his chin and her thumb wandered over his bottom lip. “You have a dirty mouth, my Lord.”
“You know what I can do with this dirty mouth, Miss Kemp.”
Her hand left his lips and trailed aimlessly over his jacket. “Thomas would never speak to me like that.”
“I'm sure he wouldn't,” Rafe growled through a fog of newly aroused jealousy. “And I bet he wouldn't screw you as well as I do either. I want to lick your pussy again.”
Charlotte's eyes flashed green and he could feel her arousal as it trembled through her body. “I have scheduled a French lesson.”
“Fuck French,” he groaned and grabbing hold of her wrist again pulled her through the archway and down the path that led to the gazebo. Her feet tripped behind him as he covered the ground with long, purposeful strides and throwing her onto the bench took hold of her skirts and bunched them around her waist. She was laughing and protesting at the same time as he clumsily tugged her under drawers down and finally, after long weeks of waiting, pushed her thighs apart to gaze at her auburn curls and the swollen lips that parted them.
“Beautiful, just as I remember,” he murmured as his finger trailed through her wetness.
“Someone might see,” she gasped out, but right then he sank two fingers inside her and silenced her protests, turning them into little moans as he slid a third finger in all the way to his knuckles.
“Oh yes,” he said as he pumped his fingers. “You're so wet, Charlotte.” The smell of her juices and the sound of her moans were making Rafe as hard as steel, and for the first time in an age he felt like a stallion, a dominant man who could make a woman fall apart with just a touch. He could do even better than this, he thought and leaning forward sucked her into his mouth as he slid his thick digits into her.
“Oh God Rafe, I'm going to...I'm going to...” Charlotte cried above him as he held her gyrating hips down onto the bench and dragged his tongue over her burning clit until he felt her arch her back and her hips began to piston uncontrollably and then with a keening cry she slumped under him. He pulled out his cum coated fingers and rearing over her, slowly licked her musky juices off himself.
His throbbing crotch was at her eyelevel and she opened her eyes and stared straight at it. Her hair had come out from its neat twist and her cheeks were flushed, her legs still spread and open to his gaze. Damn, it felt good to give her this pleasure but his own lust was now almost beyond bearing, his cock so hard he felt as if his skin would split. Which did he want more, her mouth or her cunt? He fumbled at his breeches and pulled his prick out, running his hand over the protruding veins. Her eyes grew wide in a way that made him even harder if that were possible.
“Suck me,” he said, his decision made and obedient for once she opened her mouth to let him push inside her, swirling her tongue around the weeping head. Damn, when had she learnt to do that, he found himself wondering but then she was enveloping him in wet heat and all he could think about was the almost torturous ecstasy and how good her mouth felt as he slid through her slickness.
“Look at me,” he said and as her eyes met his, his orgasm took him by surprise giving him no time to warn her as his cum shot out in shuddering loads, straight down her throat.
“See what I mean?” she said as he helped her pull up her drawers and rearrange her skirts. “You treat me like a whore.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her almost tenderly, and she sighed against him. She may affect anger but in his arms she was so soft and weightless, it was on the tip of his tongue to say a very dangerous word, but he swallowed it back and instead said, “Next time we are going to do this naked.”
Chapter 22
The Earl Loses his Composure
In which our regency rake is not himself.
Everyone was in a jolly mood that night at dinner, everyone except the Earl of Langham who was having great difficulty following the lively conversation. As it was just a family dinner, Charlotte had been invited to join them and the boys had been given special permission to stay up late. Sophie had decided they needed to be taught table manners. Rafe couldn't help smirking at how William and Arthur were failing dismally at their lesson. William kept talking with his mouth full despite Sophie’s gentle reprimands and Arthur was almost asleep in his chair. His head kept dangerously bobbing over his plate.
But it was not the two entertaining boys who were distracting Rafe. It was their governess, who was steadfastly refusing to look his way and behaving as if he did not exist. She was dressed this evening in dark green. Her dress had a high neckline and long sleeves but it did not stop Rafe’s imagination from conjuring up most inappropriate thoughts. He could not stop staring at the spiralling curls at her temples and had an urge to wind them round his fingers. He had an urge to rip that dress off her too. He wanted to tear at the tight bodice and pull those sleeves off her arms and have her luscious breasts in his hands. He could not believe that he had not seen her completely naked yet, despite spending a night in her bed. Or should that be spending a night on her bed. Neither of them had been thinking straight enough to actually disrobe or get under the sheets. It had been a very small bed anyway, hardly equipped for athletics.
Damnation! He almost groaned into his glass of wine. He wanted her naked so badly. He wanted to lock her away somewhere private and secluded and rip off her prim clothes and throw them in the fire and then enjoy all the delights of that curvaceous body. He wanted to do everything to her for hours and hours, for whole days and nights if possible. He wanted to fuck her in every position he could think of. Damn, he wanted to invent some new positions just for her. He wanted to spend hours with his face buried in her sweet cunny. He wanted to fuck her in the arse, slide his cock into her tight rosebud and hear her cry of surprise.
The cock in question unfurled, throbbing and persistent, under the table and he slyly slid his hand beneath the tablecloth and gave himself a stroke. He was depraved. She was making him go insane. He had tried to forget her. He had run away in a most cowardly fashion the morning after their first coupling and he had spent weeks of misery trying to enjoy his usual pursuits. The only one of which he still seemed to be able to do with any aplomb was drink himself into a stupor. One humiliating night he had even failed to get it up for one of Bella’s best whores.
Maybe if Johnson was still around things would not be so bad. But Johnson had been stolen away by that bitch, Justine de Mornay. Rafe’s usual port of call in times li
ke these was no doubt right this minute pounding the undeserving French lightskirt into oblivion.
He missed Johnson’s cock.
He sighed and attempted to eat some of the lobster bisque that had been placed in front of him.
Conversation continued around him. Something was said about a trip to Weymouth. William was admonished once again for talking with his mouthful. Rafe’s uncle began talking about his rosebush collection.
Then suddenly he heard Sophie say, “Rafe does not seem his usual self. I’m worried about him.”
“I am right here,” he slurred into his soup.
“But I don’t think you are,” she said. “You haven’t said a word all evening.”
“Maybe I have nothing to say?”
“Maybe the drink has rendered you senseless,” his Uncle said sternly.
Rafe looked up crossly to find his Uncle glaring at him across the table.
“Damnation!” Rafe thundered and standing up unsteadily, he threw his napkin on the table. “I won’t have people discussing me as if I am a halfwit. I am a peer of the realm for God’s sake and I’ll thank you to remember it,” and he stalked out of the room violently slamming the door behind him.
Once upstairs Rafe pulled off his boots and hurled them across his room, then struggled out of his coat and ripped his cravat from his neck. The headache he had suffered from that morning was returning and he threw himself down on the bed and stared at the canopy above him.
What in God’s name was the matter with him? It could hardly be sexual frustration, not when he had released himself so satisfyingly into Charlotte’s mouth only hours earlier. Oh God, Charlotte! How could he have behaved so abominably in front of her? What must she think of him?
