Tempting Gemma 5

by Josie Litton

  “This redecorating business might not be so bad,” he said and leaned down. With the greatest of ease, the Marquess scooped up the wife he had gone in frantic search of when he had a sudden, awful premonition about where she might be and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “Where are we going?” she demanded, laughing as he strode back up the stairs.

  “Somewhere I can fuck you in peace,” he said. “Far from here.”

  As it was, they didn’t make it very far at all. Just across the hall from where they emerged was the Boar Room, so named for the tapestries depicting gloriously dressed lords and ladies on horseback pursuing wild boars over the Ardsley estate. Heads of the fierce animals were mounted on the walls; there was even a full-sized specimen guarding the French doors leading out to its one-time domain.

  (In deference to the tender-hearted, it should be noted that the boar is a ferocious beast--easily topping 600 pounds, extremely fast, wily, unpredictable and equipped with razor-sharp tusks capable of disemboweling a human in seconds. Indeed, several of the bearers and beaters in the tapestries were shown writhing on the ground with their intestines spilling out as their lords and ladies galloped past.)

  “Are boars still much of a problem hereabouts?” she asked as Charles laid her down on an armless leather couch and proceeded to strip off his clothes.

  Absently, she noticed that the couch was unlike any she had ever seen before. Elegant and graceful in form, it was steeply curved at one end and much less so at the other. Charles had placed her with her head resting on the lower end and her legs elevated by the other. The skirt of her summery cotton dress tumbled past her thighs. She made a futile effort to restore her modesty only to give up and stare at her husband instead.

  The tip of her tongue snuck out to wet her lips as her gaze swept from his broad, sculpted shoulders and chiseled biceps down his long, washboard torso to his narrow hips and beyond to his muscular thighs and calves. Even his feet fascinated her, being long, sinewy and very lightly dusted with hair.

  Inevitably, her gaze settled on his cock. It jutted from his groin, as bold and presumptuous as ever. The sight of pre-cum glistening on his crest made her breath catch.

  “Not anymore,” he said, responding to a question she had already half-forgotten. “Have to go to Scotland now for a good boar hunt. Spread your legs.”

  With a little wiggle of anticipation, she did as he said.

  Grinning, Charles stepped to the end of the couch where her feet dangled. He palmed the cheeks of her ass and pulled her higher up along the curve. The motion was so sudden that she let out a little “oomph!” as her head slid farther down along the dip of the couch.

  He laughed and nuzzled between her thighs, bringing her to his avid mouth.

  Someday, she was going to wear panties. Maybe, if only for the novelty. Just then, she saw more than a few reasons not to.

  The flick of his tongue over her clit made her moan. Her back arched against the couch as her fingers dug into the soft leather. This was no slow build-up of pleasure; Charles pursued her relentlessly, driving her to a hard and fast orgasm that sent shudders through her entire body and wrenched a scream of pained ecstasy from her.

  When he straightened, his mouth wet with her juices, he had the look of a conqueror.

  A tendril of concern whispered through Gemma. It had not escaped her notice that she was becoming ever more susceptible to her husband and not merely in the physical sense. Below in the dungeons, when she had seen how he looked, she had felt a distinct pain in the region of her heart.

  She loved her sweet little sister, Cerise and she loved her dear friend, Tillie. That was it. There was no one else in the wide world whom Gemma loved. She most certainly would not love the husband who treated her as a cross between a possession and a plaything. Until he came fully to the realization that she was an actual person, love was a chasm she would not cross.

  He was drawing her up higher on the curve of the couch with clear intent when Gemma twisted away. She landed agilely on the balls of her feet and ducked beneath his arm. With a taunting smile over her shoulder, she darted past the boar and out onto the green, rolling lawns of Ardsley Manor.

  Chapter Three

  Gemma ran, swift as the proverbial deer, her young heart pounding rhythmically, her legs strong and sure. She ran across the lawn and into the line of trees beyond. In the shadows between the stately oaks, she paused to think.

  Charles had chased her once before, only very briefly and then in a race of his own devising. He’d brought her down with humiliating ease. This time would be different.

  She had been at Ardsley long enough to have the lay of the land and to know exactly where she wanted this chase to end. But first, he was going to have to work for it. Very quickly, she heard him coming. Daring a peek from around a tree, Gemma all but collapsed with laughter.

  She’d never thought about it before but now she supposed that it was rather awkward to run if you were male and well-endowed. That must be why those--what were they called? Jockstraps, that was it--why they existed.

  Clearly, Charles hadn’t anticipated the need for one when he’d dressed that morning to meet with the vicar and the Ladies Beautification Committee. Although given her sense of the LBC, he would have been wiser to don some sort of protection. She certainly hadn’t noticed any when he’d stripped down in the Boar Room.

  He ran, one hand supporting his wildly bouncing genitalia even as his head swiveled in all directions trying to spot her.

  She had to cover her mouth to suppress her guffaws. Sternly reminding herself that she had loftier goals than her own amusement, she slipped away.

  A man who spoke casually of boar hunting in Scotland wasn’t likely to be the sort who needed beaters to drive the game to him. On the contrary, he was likely to have actual tracking skills. That being the case, she wasted no time putting distance between them.

  All the same, he never lagged very far behind. Even with the cleverest effort, she only just managed to remain safely out of reach. The sun was nudging down toward the top of the trees when Gemma decided that she had dallied long enough.

  With brisk intent, she cut south toward the lake. At its center was a small, leafy island that she had only previously glimpsed from the shore. Reaching it required a short swim.

  Having kicked off her shoes, she removed the pretty white cotton dress that was her only garment and tucked it on a nearby tree branch where it waved impudently in the breeze. With a last glance over her shoulder, she plunged into the water. The sudden coolness was delightful on such a warm day.

  Tempted though she was to do a few laps around the island, Gemma struck out directly for the tiny sandy beach framed by drowsing willow trees. Having attained it, she wasted no time concealing herself near the center of the secluded refuge.

  There a large mulberry tree grew, its strong branches weighted with a profusion of ripe, purple fruit bursting with sweet, tangy juice. Swiftly, Gemma climbed up. When she had settled herself comfortably, she plucked a handful of the berries and had a snack whilst she waited.

  It didn’t take long. Barely had she finished the treat when Charles emerged like a sea god from the water, all dripping golden hair and glistening skin. Brad, too, had made the crossing in good order. He thrust forward eagerly as though sensing the nearness of his quarry.

  After a thorough shake of his head that sent droplets of water flying, her husband started briskly along the trail of crumbled leaves and flattened grass that she had left for him. In very short order, he was standing beneath the mulberry tree. Hands on his lean hips, he looked up at her sternly.

  “Come down, wife.”

  Gemma plucked another handful of berries, popped one into her mouth and threw one at him. It struck the very center of his chest and slipped down, leaving a trail of berry juice behind.

  “I’m fine right where I am,” she said.

  He caught a drop of the juice, sucked it off his finger and said, “The longer I have to wait,
the rougher it’s going to be on you.”

  “Oh, look at me,” she said, pretending to tremble. “I’m terrified.”

  With the pained look of a male who finds himself in a situation he doesn’t have a clue how to handle, her husband said, “If I have to climb up there--”

  “I’d be careful, if I were you. Brad will have an awful time being thrashed by all the leaves and twigs.”

  Interestingly enough, Brad seemed not so much alarmed by this prospect as further roused by it. Charles, however, had better sense. Or at least some.

  Grinning, he asked, “If you won’t come down for my sake, how about doing it for his?”

  Gemma threw him another berry. As he deftly caught and ate it, she inquired, “Go down, did you say?”

  He sighed and rolled his eyes. “If only.”

  “We could negotiate,” she suggested.

  “I’ve given you pearls and diamonds. And agreed to your redecorating scheme. What more can you want?”

  Your heart, she almost said, only to catch herself in the bare nick of time. “The Mary Magdalene School for Young Females is having a reunion in a few weeks. I would like to go. With you, of course.”

  If it wasn’t too soon. If before then she was able to bring him round to seeing matters her way. If he went with his eyes open and if she could then persuade him to help her set things right. So many ifs but before the chance came round again, it could be too late. She was quite determined: Dear, little Cerise would never, ever set foot within the walls of Gemma’s alma mater.

  “That’s it?” he inquired.

  “Wait, I’ll think of something more.”

  He laughed. “I agree, come down.”

  “I’m still thinking.”

  “That isn’t good for you. Besides, Brad is about to expire.”

  Gemma chortled. “I hardly believe that. But if you’re so concerned, why don’t you just take care of him yourself?”

  Her husband peered up at her through the leafy boughs of the tree where the fruit hung in such ripe, glistening profusion. He beheld his wife in all her naked glory, munching on berries as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Are you serious?”

  “While I watch,” she added.

  He flushed. This was quite preposterous. She should come down out of that damn tree at once and service him in proper, wifely fashion.

  Charles was about to say as much when Brad jerked in his hand. How precisely he had gotten there wasn’t clear as the harried husband had no recollection of taking hold of his cock. Yet there it was, neatly fisted, perfectly positioned for--

  “You are a very naughty girl.” Try though he did, he could not manage to make that sound like anything other than a satisfied observation.

  Gemma smiled. “Says the person responsible for leading me astray.”

  Leaning back in the branches, she gestured with mulberry stained fingers. “Well, are you going to get on with it or not?”

  “I need some encouragement.”

  “Such as?”

  “Spread those lovely legs. Let me see your pussy.”

  With due care to maintain her perch, Gemma did so. Wide-eyed, she watched to see what her husband would do next.

  The sight of him--his head thrown back, his superb body radiating primal masculine power, the blatant fisting of his cock--all enthralled her. She needed every ounce of strength that she possessed not to slide a hand between her legs and touch the glistening pink folds exposed to his ravaging gaze.

  The air between them felt electrified. Ripples of energy ran all along her skin. Her breath quickened. She felt the heavy thud of her heart against her ribs. When their gazes met, a faint, triumphant smile played across his mouth as he took in her state.

  With a groan, he came, jets of cum streaming from him while she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out.

  Gemma had no memory of climbing down from the tree. The next instant she was kneeling on the grass before her husband. Taking his still semi-erect cock into her hands, she slowly and meticulously licked him clean.

  All the while, they eyed one another, connected yet apart, accepting yet wary. His hands tangled gently in her hair.

  “I’m afraid you’re wasting your efforts, sweetheart. Even I need a bit more time to recover.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured and happily went about proving him wrong.

  The stroke of her tongue up, down and around his shaft made him tighten his hold on her. Sucking his velvety smooth crest into her mouth, she took him deeper until she could work him with the muscles of her throat. A tremor ran up through his big, hard body. Slowly, she let him go and smiled up at him before turning her attention to his balls.

  As she sucked first one, then the other into her mouth, he muttered a curse that sounded more like a prayer.

  The long, thick length of his cock brushed against cheek, as though begging to be petted.

  “You win,” he muttered.

  The ground under the mulberry tree was soft and warm. Lying above her, Charles cupped Gemma’s face between his hands and kissed her deeply. Their tongues played as together they slipped his cock into her. So recently spent, he took his time, drawing out her pleasure until her head tossed back and forth on the pillow of moss and soft, keening cries breaking from her.

  Only then did he rear back and, holding his weight above her, move steadily faster and harder, watching her every moment, until they crested together and went limp in each other’s arms.

  Sometime later, cradled in her husband’s embrace, Gemma sang softly.

  Here we lie ‘neath the mulberry tree,

  The mulberry tree,

  The mulberry tree.

  Here we lie ‘neath the mulberry tree

  On a lovely summer’s eve.

  Charles laughed and squeezed her fondly. “You’re sunshine,” he said. “You light everything up.”

  She thought of the dark places from whence she had come and smiled.

  Chapter Four

  Tillie Fenster arrived at Ardsley Manor the following week. Gemma had been on watch for her dear friend ever since the car left to meet the train at the village station. Before the driver could get the passenger door open, Gemma was through the grand hall and down the front steps.

  She bounced with impatience until Tillie emerged, then promptly threw herself into her arms. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!”

  Tillie laughed and hugged her back every bit as enthusiastically. “I am indeed and what a lovely place it is. Are you quite sure we haven’t died and gone to heaven?”

  Breathing in the soft floral talcum powder scent so achingly familiar to her, Gemma squeezed her eyes shut and sighed with pleasure.

  “I couldn’t swear to it. There’s definitely something very special about the manor.”

  “Hmmm,” Tillie said, stepping back to take a glance around.

  She was a tall, well-built woman with masses of gleaming silver hair swept up in a semi-tidy twist from which stray wisps inevitably escaped. Her eyes were cornflower blue and she had cheekbones other women could only long for as well as a full, lush mouth made for smiling.

  For her trip, she had worn an ankle-length sleeveless cotton dress in pale yellow and held a straw sun hat in one hand. Her gaze was keenly perceptive, mainly because she saw not merely with her eyes but with her generous, kind spirit.

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “there certainly is.”

  Silence settled over them for a moment. Gemma was aware of the soft murmur of the wind against her skin, the perfume of tea roses from the nearby gardens and the distant drone of bees. And something more, faint and elusive, all around them, the land itself, bursting with life and promise.

  Then Tillie held her at arm’s length, scrutinized her thoroughly, and said, “You look absolutely splendid! Married life must agree with you.”

  Fighting a blush--a battle she promptly lost--Gemma said, “Oh, well, you know, full of surprises and all that. But rea
lly not bad, fine actually…good.”

  “I can see that,” Tillie said, laughing.

  With their arms linked together, they proceeded into the house where they were greeted at once by the clamor of workmen. Whereas the main formal rooms of the manor were receiving no more than a fresh coat of paint and new wallpaper, the rest of the house was fair game so far as Gemma was concerned.

  Besides her surprise for her husband and all the work going on in the former dungeons, now reduced to no more than several dumpster loads of debris, there was an entirely new kitchen going in, much nicer servants’ quarters and an overall upgrade of the electrical and plumbing.