“A secret,” he laughed. “You’ll see soon enough.”
She glanced out the carriage window to find they had turned away from the main areas of London, away from her home, and were now heading into the parts of the city where buildings were smaller and more spread apart.
“What if I had refused your request?” she said with a shake of her head.
He laughed. “Then I would have had my carriage turned around, of course.”
She folded her arms with a smile she couldn’t help. “You are always so certain of yourself.”
His smile faded slightly. “Never with you. You forever set me off my axis.”
He inched closer and suddenly there was a tension in the carriage that had nothing to do with teasing flirtation or friendly discussion. He wanted her.
And Vivien wanted him equally.
She leaned forward and whispered, “Should I apologize for affecting you so?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I like being off-kilter.”
“Good,” she said as she moved to the seat next to him and leaned up for a kiss. “Because it’s devilishly fun to set you that way.”
His lips brushed hers and all her words vanished in an instant, replaced by sensation so powerful that her knees went liquid and her heart raced to an alarming rate.
He glided his arms around her, cradling her in an embrace that was gentle, emotional and yet possessive at the same time. She felt his passion for her, but also a shadow of those deeper feelings he had once confessed to her. His love.
That word had sent her flying away from him once. And it was something she could not face today any more than she could three years before, especially since she intended to leave London forever by the end of a span of a few short months.
But she didn’t want to pull away from him. She wanted to feel his strength and his desire and his warmth. She wanted to be close to him…just not so close that either of them would get hurt. Right now this moment was so charged, she could scarcely think of what could allow her both desires.
She drew back, ready to distance herself, and suddenly it became clear. With a wicked smile, she placed her hand on the hard, thrusting outline of his cock, pressing the front of his trousers in a wild demand to be freed and inside her. He grunted out pleasure and rested his head back against the carriage seat as she began to rub him through the cloth.
He reached for her, but she dodged his silent demand and continued her torture a moment more before she began to unfasten his breeches. His member bobbed free and she looked down at him.
She had been with many lovers, but she had always been most impressed with Benedict’s cock. Some men reveled in their girth and length, believing that those facts alone were what pleased a woman. Benedict had both in abundance and yet always worked to find the right stroke, touch the right place, use that tool for the best ends possible.
She stroked down over him, skin on skin now that his breeches were no longer in the way and he let out a garbled sound of pleasure and surprise as he reached for her once again.
Dodging a second time, she laughed. “No, no. You do not direct me, Benedict. You should recall that if nothing else.”
His eyes lit up with challenge and for a brief moment, Vivien wondered if she had made a mistake by awakening his contrary side. But then she refocused on matters at…or in…hand and leaned over his cock.
“I am going to take what I want now, Mr. Greystone,” she said, letting her hot breath gust over his sensitive flesh. “And you are going to enjoy it.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she dropped her mouth over his cock and instead of words, only a long, garbled moan escaped his lips. He settled back against the seat and surrendered.
She smiled against him and he hissed at the movement. But the hiss disappeared when she began to stroke over him. Even after three years and intervening lovers, she remembered each movement he liked best. She swirled her tongue around him in a slow, clockwise circle, then reversed the movement until he gripped at the carriage seat with both hands. She glided him into her mouth until the head of his cock bumped the back of her throat, then retreated until he nearly left her mouth entirely.
And she did all these things in slow, smooth motion, torturing him with the pleasure, reminding him that in this, at least, she could take control.
He growled her name and dug his fingers into her hair in an animal display of passion, gently forcing her to change her rhythm. Vivien groaned against him and it wasn’t for show. Benedict was a sensible man, not prone to outbursts of violence or domination, but in the bedroom, when he made demands, it aroused her beyond reason. Even now, her pussy twitched as he guided her head up and down over him in a fast, rough rhythm. She found herself lost in it and stroked him with her hand as well as her tongue as the passion built, his control weakened and finally, with a shout, he came.
She took every drop of his sweet essence, milking him through the crisis until he went limp in her hand and equally limp against the seat. Looking up at him from his wet, spent cock, she smiled.
“It has been a long time since I did that with such pleasure,” she whispered.
He grinned at her, the unmistakably triumphant expression of a highly satisfied gentleman.
“Equally long since I felt such release, I would wager,” he laughed, then reached down to fix his appearance. “But I owe you an equally powerful release now. And I very much look forward to returning that favor.”
She blinked. “I do not keep count of such things, Benedict. I did not pleasure you because I desired you to owe me a boon. I did so because I wanted to perform the act.”
He tilted his head. “And I wish to do the same for you. Do not make our new…relationship…more complex than it must be, Vivien.”
Vivien tilted her head. The way he emphasized the word “relationship” was quite dismissive, as was his expression as he finished tucking himself back in and refastening his buttons and hooks. Perhaps she had read his intentions wrong. Perhaps this time he felt no bond to her other than a desire to have her in his bed.
Which was a good thing. Only it felt less than pleasant.
But she did not get a chance to brood over this new development overly long, for the carriage began to slow as it turned and then came to a stop. She pushed the curtain aside and outside was a large, beautiful park she had never seen before. Just a few feet away from the street was a magnificent lake with a blanket spread out on its shores and covered with a spread fit for the Queen herself.
The door opened and a footman reached inside to help her out. She took his hand without breaking her gaze from the pretty scene ahead of her. As Benedict stepped down beside her, she turned to him.
“Tell me that this isn’t for us,” she gasped.
He grinned. “I can tell you that, but it will be a lie.”
She gaped as she looked again. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had arranged this. For her. A gift she hadn’t expected, but now that it had been given, it touched her heart.
The one place she could not share. Especially with him.
As Vivien stepped toward the picnic his staff had arranged for them, Benedict could see her surprise written on every line of her face. He rather enjoyed seeing it in one sense. Vivien often covered her reactions, so seeing them was a rare treat.
But in another way, he was troubled by her surprise and shock at the arrangements he had made. Did no one think to do something nice for her anymore? Was she so alone and isolated from any affection that it took her so off guard?
She moved toward the picnic blanket as the carriage moved away to offer them privacy. But she didn’t stop there—she continued strolling over to the lake and stared at the water, her eyes clouded with thoughts he wished she would share.
“Does this not please you?” he asked as he moved to stand beside her.
She jolted, almost as if she had forgotten he was there. “Oh no, on the contrary, it is lovely,” she reassured him. “I was just thinking�
�”
She broke off and he frowned. That was the one constant—Vivien did not give of herself in any way beyond her body.
She looked off toward the road in the distance and shifted. “You know my family home is just a few hours outside town in the same direction we were traveling to come here,” she mused, so quiet that it was obvious she spoke more to herself than to him.
He drew back in surprise. She had never spoken of her family to him, not in all the months they had shared a bed and a life together.
“Where would that place them?” he asked, cautious for fear he would frighten her away if he pressed too hard.
She continued to stare off toward the road. “A tiny little village called Sapsgate.”
He frowned. He’d never heard of the place and he wished he had. He wished he’d traveled through there dozens of times, if only to make some kind of connection to the person Vivien had been before she came to London and closed herself off for her role as mistress of mistresses.
“When I came to London, I recall passing by this park. Perhaps we even stopped here to take our ease before continuing on to the city,” she whispered, still lost in memories he could not access.
“How old were you?” he asked.
“Eighteen,” she said, then shook her head as if she was just remembering where she was and who she was with. She smiled at him.
He balked. He knew a little about her history, the parts that were public. She had taken her first lover ten years ago, becoming an instant point of interest from the moment she stepped into Society on the arm of…who had it been? He could not recall.
“You very quickly came into the life of a mistress,” he said. “You were nineteen when you became well-known as well.”
She shrugged off the statement and moved toward the blanket to look at the spread before them. “My goodness, Benedict, your cook looks to be as spectacular as ever if this food is any indication! Is it still Mrs. Sterling?”
He drew back a fraction. “I’m shocked you remember that! Yes, she is still with me.”
Vivien dropped to her knees on the blanket and spread her skirts around her for more comfort. She took an olive from a crockery container and popped it between her lips.
“It is my duty to recall a great many details about the men in my life.”
He sat down beside her and watched as she began to load a plate with all his favorites from the selections before her.
“Do you mean to tell me you recall the names of every cook from any lover you’ve taken?” he asked as he took the plate she offered. “As well as every lover’s favorite dishes?”
She smiled. “Your favorite dishes may be the only ones I recall, I admit.”
Benedict straightened up at that unexpected admission and her face faltered slightly before she pushed forward, talking to fill the space.
“And Mrs. Sterling was a stunning cook. Of course I would remember her. I suppose there are little details I recall about any man with whom I spent significant time. It is the nature of my role to notice details and retain them.”
Once again, she shrugged off any connection that remained between them as a symptom of what she did, what she was. But Benedict had seen the twinkle in her eyes as she teased him, the light that faded when she realized she had strayed too close to emotion.
The connection they had once shared was not quite so dead as Vivien would like him to believe.
“You know,” she said as she began to eat from her own plate. “I heard your brother married.”
Benedict hesitated a moment. She was not looking at him but across the expanse of lawn toward the lake. Still, he could feel her awareness of him. She spoke of his family in order to give herself space from whatever brewed between them. He would give it to her, for now.
“Yes, Derek married in the winter and is still awash in newlywed bliss,” he responded, still watching her.
She turned toward him, her expression questioning. “Then it was a love match?” she asked, her tone totally incredulous.
Benedict did not understand her disbelief. She had met his brother all of three times during the months they spent together. Two of the times he hadn’t even seen them interact beyond an introduction. The third had consisted of mostly polite conversation, though his brother had not hidden his disapproval of the relationship between them.
“I suppose it did not begin that way,” he conceded slowly. “Our mother arranged for him to meet his wife, Jocelyn. She comes from a good family of breeding and standing. She is the Duke of Stenbrook’s youngest.”
Vivien’s lips pursed. “Of course she is,” she breathed, her voice little more than a whisper.
Benedict shrugged. “And though she certainly fit the description of a perfect match for my brother on paper, I do not think that is what drew them. From the first moment he laid eyes on her a year ago, anyone could see he was smitten. In fact, I would say it took him less than a month to fall deeply in love with the girl.”
Vivien’s expression did not change and he could read nothing of her reaction to that declaration. “And what of the wife? Is she equally as devoted?”
Benedict nodded. “She seems to be. I do not think he enters a room that she isn’t tracking him with her gaze. They seem to be a very happy match indeed.”
Vivien was curiously silent for a long moment before she set her half-empty plate aside and wiped her hands on her napkin. “Then I offer them my most sincere felicitations for their union,” she said. “Although I assume he must be furious to know you are here with me.”
Benedict pursed his lips. “I suppose he might disapprove if he knew.”
She laughed. “Don’t you think he will know by tomorrow if he does not already? I would think your brother to be quite resourceful about such things.”
Benedict leaned forward. He could see this subject troubled her, a fact he did not understand. “If there is to be trouble tomorrow, Vivien, than I shall handle it tomorrow. I would rather live in this moment while I have it.”
He leaned forward to kiss her and in an instant her troubles seemed to fade. She cupped his cheeks and returned the kiss with an abandon that spoke of her need for him.
He dragged her to her feet and motioned for the carriage. As he drew back, he smiled.
“What I would like to do next requires a bit of privacy.”
She did not refuse him, but simply followed him to the vehicle and allowed him to help her inside. He gave his driver a brief directive, then joined her and shut and locked the door. She was on his side of the carriage in an instant and the kiss that had begun so sweetly outside immediately spiraled out of control.
She tore at his shirt, desperate in her need to touch him. He doubted he was any better, ratcheting her skirts to her waist, reaching between her legs to touch her where he found her deliciously wet already.
She sighed as he stroked her entrance and the fluttering movements of her hands ceased.
“I have been ready for you since I first saw you in the bookstore,” she moaned as he breached her with one finger, two, three.
He blinked as an image filled his mind of throwing her against the bookshelf in the very proper shop and fucking her for all to see. The idea excited him and he drove into her harder, loving the flex of her sheath around his fingers as she gasped. He wanted that same flex about his cock, to make her come while he looked into her face in the increasing darkness of the carriage.
She seemed to read his thoughts, for she fumbled for his trouser buttons, unfastening them with little finesse. He lifted her when she was finished and his hard, ready cock bobbed free of the confines of his breeches. She moaned as he positioned her above him and then lowered herself, inch after wet, hot inch, over him.
She flexed as she took him inside, massaging him wickedly as her body stretched to accommodate his length. He had never been so pleased by a woman’s body, not before her nor since their last parting. And he had been punished greatly for that obsession. Even long after she was gone, in his ev
ery erotic dream, it was her pussy he took. Now, as he filled her, reality left those dreams far behind.
He flexed his hips to take the last inch of space within her and for a moment they sat perfectly still, staring at each other in the gathering darkness of dusk, panting with pleasure at the joining of their bodies.
He parted his lips to speak, but she didn’t allow it. She crushed her mouth to his and began to move over him, effectively silencing any words or even thoughts in his head with the sensations she created.
Even after all this time, Vivien knew what he liked. She moved quickly, rising over him with quick, strong thrusts. Her clitoris ground against his pelvis and he felt her twitch as she gasped at the feeling. He gripped her hips, digging his fingers into her flesh as he guided her harder, faster, out of control.
Finally the muscles in her neck strained and she cried out as release washed over her. Her pussy clenched with it, squeezing him, milking him until he could resist no longer. His seed rushed from him in a powerful explosion of pleasure and he roared with the sensation as he held to her so tight he feared he would steal her breath.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and they clung to each other for what seemed like a perfect eternity, but finally she drew away, gave him an awkward smile and moved to the opposite side of the carriage. He watched as she fixed herself, covering what he had revealed and taken pleasure in, smoothing wrinkles and tucking strands of hair away. Within a few moments, she looked as though nothing had happened.
Except for the twinkle of light in her eyes that said they shared a delicious secret.
He half-smiled as he refastened his trousers just as they turned into Vivien’s drive and the carriage came to a stop. The door opened and a footman appeared to help her down. She paused once she had reached the ground and the servant stepped away.
She looked at Benedict, her face unreadable as she looked up at him. For a moment, he thought she might ask him to come inside. To continue what had been begun in the carriage. But she shook her head and smiled instead.
“G-Good night,” she whispered.
Her Perfect Match: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 3 Page 6
