by Amy Quinton
He walked a few steps, then turned her and pushed her up against a nearby wall. His hands slid up her sides, then up her arms as he caught both her wrists together in one hand. Her breath caught when she opened her laughing eyes and looked at him. Really looked.
She froze.
Yea, he knew what she saw. He was lust filled and crazed with desire. And he knew…right at that moment…without a single inkling of a doubt…that she would not deny him this time.
He didn’t waste her gift as he claimed her lips with his own.
Oh, God, sweet heaven was to be found in her arms.
No tenderness. No preliminaries. Pure raw need had taken over. He nipped at her lips and turned his head this way and that. He couldn’t seem to get close enough; he wanted to crawl inside her skin and synchronize his racing heart with hers.
She tasted of honey and spring and warmth and home. All rolled into one.
God, his desire for her was an ache that grew in strength with each passing day. A fire that burned hot and out of control. Her lips, her taste only fanned the flames. He needed more.
He picked her up and turned in the direction of the ladder. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her voluminous dress was so large, if offered no impediment, and proceeded to kiss him all over every inch of his face as he made his way across the barn.
He placed one hand on the first rung; she still within his arms, holding on, and kissing him in any place she could reach. Hell. He nearly rutted with her on the ground right there at the base of the ladder, he could scarcely concentrate to make the climb.
Once at the top, he set her down in the loft and whipped her dress off and over his head. It fluttered to the ground below. He nearly fell off the ladder at the sight. She was beautiful and it took his breath away every single time. She smiled and started to slide backward. He crawled forward, mimicking her every move. She leaned back on her elbows and watched as he tore off his own dress and tossed it over the edge to join the other.
His prick bobbed a few times as it was freed from the confines of his frock. Again, her eyes flared wide at the sight of his desire. He all but howled as a wolf to the moon he was so pleased. He felt like an animal, crazed with lust.
He crept toward her; heat enflaming his body with every move. Like last time, she rolled over onto her hands and knees and his mouth, yet again, turned dry at the sight. Would he ever tire of looking at her? She was sensual, sex incarnate. And inviting. He wanted to devour her whole.
Despite her previous claims, he thought they’d been through enough that she would accept him in the more traditional way. Face to face. He wanted to feel her breasts sliding against his chest as they found their pleasure. He reached out to turn her over.
Again, she resisted. She looked back at him. “No. You know my rules, Dansbury.”
Fine. She could have it her way. For the moment. He moved forward, his cock straining to be inside her. He clasped his manhood, it was harder than it had ever been in his life.
He nudged forward and guided it into…
…Heaven
Ah, God. Pure, sweet bliss.
He could scarcely believe the sensation. Had he ever had sex before?
He pulled back, slowly, until the flared edge of his crown peeked out. And he watched, captivated, as her channel clenched, sucking at him, desperate to hold him inside. His urge was to plow into her. Hard and Fast. Over and over. Until they both came, screaming their release. But he held back and took it slow despite every instinct to simply take. Take. Take. Take.
He set a steady rhythm, slow and sensual, but when he was nearly all the way to her womb, he flicked his hips that last little bit. Every. Time. And every time, his hips slapped her ass, his cods thumped her cunt, the sound erotic amidst their moans of pleasure.
And he was not alone in his bliss. She thrashed her head and chanted his name every time he drove home. Her perfect composure was shattered, and he relished seeing her in the raw. Uninhibited and melting in his hands.
All too soon he was nearing his crisis, but he refused to tumble over the edge alone. He leaned forward and reached around her to find her clitoris, hidden in her folds. She seemed to startle, but quickly she began to moan, words no longer able to form on her lips. He knew just the feeling. He felt it himself.
He was close, the end just within reach and he already hated that fact. But experience told him she was there, nearly. She was taut like a bow about to release its arrow when he said, “Let go, Bea, let it go.”
She screamed his name and began to convulse on his cock. He pistoned his hips in response for a moment, then without warning, flipped her over. She was too insensate with pleasure to complain. Right away, he dove back in and picked up his previous rhythm.
“Bea. Oh, Bea. That’s it. I can’t. I can’t. Ah God, I can’t take it anymore.”
His hips moved out of his control now, he couldn’t stop. He rammed home, again and again, and again once more. Then one more time and he shouted as he came and came and came. Copious amounts of his juice filled her still clenching sheath. He ground his hips dragging out every last inch of pleasure. He’d never come so hard in his life. Shite.
He collapsed at last. He didn’t even try to stop from crushing her. He was spent and boneless and ready to sleep. Ah, yes. The little death.
She squirmed beneath him, interrupting his descent to oblivion, and he rolled off her, but pulled her with him into the crook of his arms.
She pushed back and sat up, her hands braced on his chest. She looked at him a moment, anger writ plain across her face. Then, she reached back and slapped him, hard, across the face.
“Damn you, Dansbury. Damn you!”
“What was that for? And don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy every minute of what we just did. You certainly weren’t complaining two minutes ago.”
“I had my reasons. I gave you one rule. One! No face to face. But you refused to respect my wishes on that! How dare you?”
“Tell me then. Tell me why.”
“It’s none of your damn business why. As a gentleman you should respect a lady’s wishes.” She reached for one of their numerous blankets and covered her chest.
“Ha! Lady? We just fucked, Beatryce. And you’re not like any normal lady I’ve ever known.”
“You’re right. I’m not a normal lady and glad of it. And you know nothing. Nothing!”
She rolled away and began to climb down the ladder.
A thought nagged at him, and he spoke before he could decide if it was wise. As if what he’d just said and done wasn’t bad enough. “You acted as if you’ve never had an orgasm before.”
She paused in the act of climbing down the ladder, her head just visible above the loft floor. She chuckled, a contradiction, and said, “Inconceivable, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t believe it. “Are you telling me that was your first? Despite…”
He shouldn’t have said that. It just popped out. He was an idiot for sure. Never mind his firsts at Eton. But he needed to know. He was stubborn when he wanted answers. It was what made him a good agent. And how he justified saying whatever came to mind to have his answers.
Her anger nigh rolled off her in waves. “You mean despite the number of times I’ve whored myself out? Charming, Dansbury. Charming. It’s a wonder you’ve ever had sex.”
He rode on her anger. “Don’t brush me off with your sarcasm. You’re avoiding the question. Was that your first time?”
“It’s none of your business!”
He looked at her, but didn’t say a word. She was glaring at him in return. He waited, his arms crossed. He could wait all day. He didn’t know why he was mad now as well. In truth, only she had that right.
She gave in. “Yes! Damn you! Yes! Satisfied now?”
He was a bastard. Yes, he wanted to be satisfied with her answer. And a part of him crowed with delight over the idea that he was the first to ever truly pleasure her. But sorrow for her situation dominated his thoughts. Her life, so much o
f it he didn’t really know, was a mystery to him. And complex. And he couldn’t help but wonder: What more was she hiding?
Chapter 25
“My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without torture such as you cannot even imagine.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
“We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows.”
―Robert Frost, The Secret Sits
On the Road Again…
The Longest Road in Existence…
Will They Ever Get Off?
Beatryce was still fuming four hours later as their wagon rumbled down yet another winding, country lane. The roads were all starting to look alike. Even the fields of wildflowers were blurring together. And that made her angrier still, for she was too upset to enjoy the breathtaking view. Or the fragrance of the multitude of blossoms blooming at the side of the lane. La, she couldn’t even enjoy the fact that she had enjoyed her very first orgasm this morning.
Ooooh. It was a good thing he was driving. She might’ve taken it in her mind to run their wagon right off the road. She was still tempted to push him off. Let him walk for a while in his worn out boots.
Sometimes she wondered why men even bothered to open their mouths—there was always a boot in it. Or food. One or the other.
The truly infuriating part was that she knew she was in danger of falling for this man. Of caring about what he thought of her. Despite his occasional tendency to say the dumbest things.
That was a man for you. Oh sure, he was often brooding and irritable on this misbegotten adventure, but she didn’t blame him for it. It wasn’t his normal mien, and she’d be just as grumpy if she had to travel with someone like herself as well.
Ha! What a thing to know about oneself.
And she was no good for him. Despite his normally charming ways, and she was confident she could bring him back around to his easy-going self if she’d wanted to, she would never trust him. Ever. Thus, in the end, it would ruin whatever…thing…they might have for each other.
So she decided to pick a fight. Besides, there was no sense in her being the only one to steep in righteous anger. But first she stretched and adopted a pleasant mien. As planned, he noticed and she nearly chuckled out loud when his shoulders stiffened in response. The man wasn’t a dunce. And he was right to be worried when an angry woman suddenly brightens.
“La, Dansbury, it was so good of you to introduce me to the joys of orgasm. The knowledge should prove useful in the future. But tell me, were you really planning to do that with my cousin?”
Dansbury pulled on the brake so hard their wheels actually slid across the ground for a few feet before they came to a stop. The handle creaked in protest as it nearly snapped in two, he’d pulled on it so hard. Dansbury the Younger brayed in protest. Dansbury the Elder dropped the reins and turned to face her. He was so furious he was shaking, his face as red as a poppy.
Ah, the beast awakens.
“For the sake of your life, I am going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that question.” His eyes narrowed. “But I’m thinking you’re doing it on purpose?” He looked deep and peeked into her soul. He was the only one who might be capable. The only one who’d ever tried.
“Are you, Beatryce? Are you intentionally being disgusting and low simply to infuriate me?”
“Oh, Dansbury,” she laughed in an attempt to distract him from looking too close, “you do think highly of yourself, don’t you? Besides, I can’t imagine why I would want to do a silly thing like that.”
If anything, he leaned closer. “Can’t you, Lady Beatryce?” He placed one hand at the base of her neck and slid up until he cupped her chin in the palm of his hand. “Truly, Bea? Perhaps…Hmmm…” He closed his eyes and inhaled a long, drawn-out breath, and when he opened his eyes, she nearly drowned in their brown and gold-flecked depths. She unconsciously leaned into him. “Perhaps it’s you who is scared.” His voice was a whisper now. “Perhaps you yearn…to trust…me…”
He was far too close to the truth, damn his perceptive eyes. She shook off whatever magic spell he wove over her analytical mind. It wasn’t easy.
“Dansbury, I couldn’t even trust my own father. My. Own. Father! The one person in the world I should have been able to trust. Everyone else was…dead. So, no. I will never be able to trust you, or anyone else for that matter. Because when it comes down to it, we’re all just looking out for ourselves.”
His eyes softened, a response she could not have predicted.
“Can you not see that your past is coloring your perceptions of everything and everyone around you?”
“Of course it does, I am my past. I cannot divorce myself from it.”
“Sure, sure, but you can choose to not let it define your future. You can choose to look for the good in others.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“This isn’t about me. Somehow, someway you are going to have to learn to put your past behind you if you ever want to have a future with any remote chance of happiness.”
“But I don’t know how to be any other way! My father abused me. Abused. Me.” She slammed her fist into her chest to drive home the point. “His own daughter. And he allowed others to do so as well. How in the hell could I possibly trust anyone besides myself?”
“Oh, Bea…”
“No! Don’t ‘Oh, Bea’ me. Don’t pity me. And you sure as hell better not trust me.”
“Oh, I definitely don’t pity you. But I am frustrated to see the pain reflected in your eyes. To see the hint of doubt in yourself.”
“I will never doubt myself.”
He didn’t swallow the lie. “You say you are strong. You act like you are strong. Now, you must believe it too! What is this if not doubt in yourself?”
“I never doubted myself before I met you!”
“Never?”
Slap.
He didn’t even flinch when she struck him. He didn’t even look angry. Just continued to search her face for the truth. Probably looking for some way past her defenses. He’d never see his way through. She wouldn’t allow it. She would never allow it.
“Just drive, Dansbury. And stop trying to analyze me.”
“But it’s so much fun.” He said it with a smile, before turning serious once again. “And I just want to understand you…your behavior. Your reasoning, if you will. You’ve tried to ruin people, with success at times. Why? Why be so deliberately cruel? Just to get your way?”
She laughed, but not in jest. “Just to get my way? You have no idea what it is like to be desperate. Do you even have an inkling? I had to get away. I had to make it happen. On my own.”
“Surely, there were other options available to you…”
“As a woman? Ha! Maybe now, just maybe. But when my father was alive? No. Nothing. Tell me what would you have done? He wouldn’t allow me to entertain a paid position. He wouldn’t allow me to remain a spinster forever living in his home, upon his largesse—besides the fact that the thought was too distasteful to contemplate. Then, what would you have me do? Run away? Or marry a duke…What would you do in those circumstances? To me, the choice was obvious.”
“Sure, but…”
“But nothing. I did whatever I could to see that happen. Marrying Stonebridge was my escape. My freedom. The only choice I saw available to me. I would have done anything to see that happen. So how about you? Have you ever wanted something so desperately, you would have done anything to have it?”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes flared wide. His pupils dilated, and for a moment, she kidded herself into believing his answer to be “Yes”, and that it was she he wanted so desperately. But she never could fool herself for long.
The sound of a pin falling to the floor would have sounded like thunder for how quiet they sat, each deep in their own thoughts.
Haaaaw Heeee
Dan
sbury the Younger chose that opportune moment to make his displeasure known. He, at least, wanted to press on. And with that, their silence was shattered.
Dansbury looked shaken. She’d disturbed him with her insight. Good. He’d led too charmed a life. He should see behind the scenes of the darker side of life. It was surprising he hadn’t before, considering his line of work. Or did he see it and just choose to walk away with blinders on?
“Here. Take the reins,” he said. “I’ve got to finish up back here.” Then he jumped over the seat and into the wagon bed. Running away.
Beatryce sat in silence for a moment, loath to move on. She was just about to take up the reins, when she decided to take one last look back at Dansbury. To her surprise, his face was pale and drawn.
She didn’t hesitate; she dropped the reins, climbed over the seat, and raced to him as fast as she could whilst stepping over piles of munitions. When she reached him, she straddled his lap and grabbed his face. “Dansbury, what’s wrong? Tell me.”
He opened his hand. Upon his palm lay a ring. It was a man’s ring with a large jade stone. In the stone, a tree was carved with an intertwining P and E. She’d seen that symbol before in her father’s secret papers. It was the symbol for the Secret Society for the Purification of England—bad men who had murdered twice and were following them across the countryside.
“This shouldn’t be here…” he said.
“I know. They must have found us…”
Dansbury stared at the ring in his hand, turning it over and over in his hands. “No. I mean…I had forgotten this ring; it was so long ago, and I was so young when I last saw it…It was…God, I hate to even admit it…I can’t believe I never made the connection before now. It was…my brother’s. He wore it always. He would have been wearing it when he died.”
He looked up at Beatryce, his face still pale. “This ring shouldn’t be here. My brother drowned…”
“Maybe it’s not his. Maybe it’s another’s…” She stopped as he started shaking his head. Never mind the implications that his brother wore a ring belonging to the society. He looked away, staring off into the distance.
