by Josie Litton
Tempting Gemma
Part Two
Josie Litton
Contents
About this Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Appendix
My Gift to You!
Sneak Peeks
About this Book
With the honeymoon over and the new couple settling in at home, Gemma discovers that her duties as Charles’ wife are many and varied in this continuation of the sizzling romance series inspired by Jane Austen but set in the modern world (or at least a version of it).
Instead of vanishing into the romantic mists of literary history, here Miss Austen’s England has endured in all its unfettered glory into modern times with some decidedly unintended consequences. Among these is the existence of a ruling class of men whom centuries of power and wealth have accustomed to indulging their appetites and having their own way without restraint.
TEMPTING GEMMA is purely--impurely might be more correct--a work of escapist entertainment. It is intended as a secret, even guilty pleasure to be indulged in privately, perhaps with a nice glass of wine or the beverage of your choice. Although M/F, monogamous and HEA, it in no way depicts events that I would ever wish to occur in the world as we know it.
If you are not mortally offended within the first few pages, I hope that you will find this story both arousing and amusing. On the other hand, if you do take offense, I humbly apologize although I feel compelled to point out that you have been duly warned. Kindly proceed at your own discretion.
Don’t miss the free gift offer for you at the end of this book!
Chapter One
After the trials of her wedding and honeymoon, poor lovely Gemma had been doing her best to settle into her new home despite the challenges she still faced. Sadly, Mother, Sister Ismay and Brother Harold remained distinctly unfriendly, taking every opportunity to taunt and snipe at her. How fortunate then that her husband, The Most Honorable Charles George David Bonville, Marquess of Ardsley kept her so thoroughly distracted.
Charles’ demands were unceasing both in the bedroom and everywhere else the mood happened to strike him. Indeed, he seemed to make a particular effort to take Gemma by surprise, tumbling her in the most unexpected places. Closets of all sorts were among his favorites, as was any available table.
In addition, he had her in the wine cellar bent over a barrel of malmsey, which they then tapped and enjoyed; in the mews where they startled the hawks and other sporting birds of prey; and even in the vast family vault beneath the chapel, beside the tomb of an ancestor he described as a ‘randy old fellow’ who, he assured her, wouldn’t mind at all.
Is it any wonder then that waking early one morning after a particularly vigorous night, Gemma chose to slip away whilst Charles yet slept? Ignoring a certain wobbliness to her knees as a result of an excessive number of orgasms, she threw on a pretty little dress of flowered chiffon, caught her hair up in a ponytail and hurried off.
Her hope was to have a bit of time to herself in which she might catch the morning light. With the paint set she had asked Charles for--and which he had surprised her by instantly granting--she made her way down to the lower garden. There she unfolded her little stool beside the long rectangular pool that neatly bisected the lushly rolled green lawn.
At the center of the pool stood an immense statue depicting the Romans’ rape of the Sabine women. Arcs of water rose all around the tall impressively endowed men carrying off their naked, struggling prey.
Sunlight glistened on every blade of grass. A soft breeze came from the east, bearing the perfume of the orchards. Apart from the bevy of swans that strutted by, followed by the boy charged with cleaning up after them, she was entirely alone.
Gemma worked happily for almost an hour before she noticed the figure of a man emerging from the house. Standing on the broad terrace, he absently scratched his broad bare chest and glanced around. Spotting, her, his languid manner suddenly vanished, rather like a hound coming to attention, ears up, tongue flapping, ready for a romp.
With a sigh, she put down her brush and prepared to greet her husband.
He had, she was relieved to see, put on a pair of cargo shorts that drooped at his lean hips. As his habit was to sleep naked, and he had no hesitation about being seen in that state, she was somewhat surprised that he had bothered.
“Here you are,” Charles said, closing the distance between them. “I wondered where you’d gone to.”
“I wanted to catch the early light,” she said softly. “It’s best for painting.”
“If you say so. Rather inconvenient though.”
His shorts were impressively tented. As he looked over her shoulder at her work, she felt the long, hard girth of his erection pressing against her back.
“That’s quite good,” he said. “I had no idea you could manage so well.”
Pleased, Gemma turned to him with a smile. His blue eyes were alight with guileless sincerity. Sometimes, she wondered how he managed in the City, which she understood to be a place of such unbridled greed and ambition that even Machiavelli would have been taken aback by it.
“Thank you again for the paints,” she said.
He grinned and drew her up from the stool. Holding her close, her husband slipped a hand under her dress and stroked her legs upward to the apex of her thighs. Discovering the presence of a thong, he pushed it to one side and thrust a long, thick finger into her.
“Thank me properly.”
Adding a second finger, he stroked that particular spot on which she was so exquisitely sensitive.
Her mouth parted in a small, soundless ‘O’.
“Ride my fingers, sweetheart…that’s it…just like that. Good girl.”
His voice thickening, he said, “Unbutton your dress. I want to see those gorgeous tits.”
Obeying, she moaned as the soft morning air caressed her skin. Her nipples were hard almost to the point of pain. She cried out when he leaned forward suddenly and rolled one between his teeth.
A low, harsh sound came from him. His fingers thrust harder inside her, driving her higher as he moved from one to the other of her breasts, alternately sucking and lashing her with the flat of his tongue.
If he hadn’t been holding her upright with a muscular arm around her waist, Gemma was certain that she would have collapsed onto the ground in a sodden heap of arousal and need. Instead, she came helplessly, her knees quaking even as her cunt convulsed again and again.
Charles laughed, well pleased. He withdrew his fingers and slipped them between her parted lips.
“Taste how sweet you are, baby.”
Flushing, she did as he said. The flavor on her tongue--like salted honey--proved oddly fascinating. While still experiencing the aftereffects of her orgasm, she could feel herself becoming aroused again.
When he was satisfied that she had licked him clean--or more likely when he was too impatient to wait any longer--her husband withdrew his fingers from her avid mouth, put both hands on her shoulders, and pushed her down onto the ground before him.
Without further ado, he unfastened his shorts, let them drop around his ankles, and fisted his impressive cock. Never a man to waste words, he directed the crest to her lips. “Suck.”
Obediently, she did so. The experience was not unpleasant, exactly. Since their marriage, she had conceived a reluctant fascination with his cock. The particulars of that instrument of his seeming dominance, capable of driving her to such excesses of violent bliss, enthralled her. She had become a student of it--the long ripple of bulging veins, the swollen bulbous tip, the girth as thick as her own wrist, nature in rampant ex
cess.
Her tongue flicked, her cheeks hollowed, her head bobbed up and down, all without requiring any particular thought.
He came, spurting into her mouth, his grip on the back of her head holding her in place. She had no choice but to swallow repeatedly, all the while thinking belatedly that she should have had the foresight to bring along a thermos of tea.
Having finished, he withdrew and patted her head affectionately. With a slow, lascivious grin, he said, “Lie down on the grass.”
When she had done so, trying without great success to conceal her eagerness, he knelt beside her, parted her legs and bent them upward, spreading them so that her cunny was fully exposed.
“You’re soaked,” he observed, sounding pleased. “Let’s see what we can do with that.”
Reaching up to the folding table where she had set out her paints, he availed himself of a clean sable brush with a broad, feathery tip. Swirling it between her glistening folds, he coated the sable strands with her juices before stroking them over and around her swollen clit.
The grass was soft and cool beneath her heated skin. She was close…very close…when he stopped suddenly and tossed the brush aside. Instinctively, Gemma braced herself, certain that something even more devastating was coming.
How right she was. From the depths of a pocket in his cargo shorts--the mystery of why he had worn them was solved--he withdrew a small, battery-operated wand.
As she stared with unwilling fascination at the about-to-be instrument of her torment, he flicked it on and applied it directly below her swollen, glistening clit, pressing it firmly in place.
The effect was instantaneous. Every muscle in Gemma’s body snapped to attention. She reared up, only to find herself pushed down again firmly, her legs spread even wider.
Studying the glistening folds and the ripe, hot bud protruding between them, Charles’ gaze narrowed. “That’s impressive. But let’s see what this can really do, shall we?”
With an air of scientific detachment, the same he might have brought to the pinning of a butterfly just so on a display board, he applied the wand again. Gemma jerked helplessly but this time she managed to press her legs together.
Unfortunately, that trapped the wand between them. Charles laughed. “You’ve gotten yourself into a predicament, sweetheart. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
She stared at him, panting, unable to think while the maddening little device was tormenting her so deliciously.
“Be a good girl, cooperate and I’ll let you come…eventually. Otherwise--”
He raised a brow, leaving it to her to wonder how much she would suffer if she denied her husband the opportunity to pursue his scientific inquiries.
With a moan, Gemma lay back once again. For long moments, he teased her, moving the wand lightly over her inner folds until, abruptly, thrusting it against the opening to her vagina.
Sobs broke from her as the devilish vibrations reached up into the cluster of nerve endings so intensely sensitive that their stimulation never failed to hurl her toward orgasm. She was on the very edge when Charles suddenly withdrew the wand again.
“Nooo!”
Again and again, he did the same. Each time she was on the verge, her body exquisitely primed, he pulled the wand away. Poor, darling Gemma was left hanging off the jagged edge of a desperately unsatisfied libido.
The effect seemed to fascinate him. “Amazing,” he murmured as he splayed her outer labia further apart, the better to examine her soaked, swollen self.
“I wonder how long you could go on like this?” Answering his own question, he said, “Let’s see.”
She had married the devil, or at least one of his more attractive imps. An incubus capable of turning a woman into a panting, writhing slave to her own passions. Farewell, rational thought. Goodbye, self-determination. Nothing existed except the hot, insatiable demands of her dripping nether parts and her unfilled, empty cunt.
Not until the tension was wound intolerably inside her, her every breath a gasp and her blushing skin coated with sweat did he finally relent and let her come.
Her climax rocked the earth under her. She heard herself screaming and was vaguely aware of a great clattering of wings as offended crows rose from the nearby trees.
When at least she returned to full awareness, it was to the sensation of her husband’s huge cock thrusting deep inside her. Somehow--she had no memory of getting there--they were standing in the pool up against the massive statue. Her legs were spread wide apart, one foot propped on the thigh of a glowering Roman warrior, the other in the water.
As the spray poured over their heated bodies, Charles pounded into her, his big hands kneading her breasts roughly.
“Fuck!” he groaned. “We should rumpy-pumpy outdoors more often.”
Engulfed in sensations--some painful, some arousing, most both--Gemma had all she could do simply to breathe. One hand clasped a formidable stone phallus as with the other she clung to her tormentor.
Her heart was pounding wildly, her body clenched against the onslaught of sensation. Even so, she was taken unawares when she suddenly came again, so explosively that she nearly blacked out.
Charles threw his head back and roared as he spurted into her, his come scalding her sensitive inner passage. Before he was done, her hips were gripped in both his hands, the fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, as he claimed her utterly.
When at last he slumped against her, it was with a faint laugh. “Fucking you just gets better and better. How is that possible?”
As she had absolutely no idea, Gemma refrained from answering. She did, however, allow herself a small sigh of relief when his still large cock finally slid from her and he moved to one side, allowing her to lower her leg and let go of the stone phallus.
Raking an appreciative gaze down the length of her body, he said, “Damn, I should have you like this more often. You look like a water nymph, Calypso perhaps, luring Odysseus to his doom.”
She had to give her husband credit; he was undeniably well educated at least in the classical sense. But she was no slouch in that regard herself thanks to all the hours she had spent reading hidden away in the basement of dear old Mary Magdalene.
“Hardly that, my lord. She wanted to make him immortal. He was a fool to seek glory elsewhere.”
He looked at her in surprise but whatever curiosity he might feel about the content of her mind faded quickly. Lifting her by the simple expediency of an arm wrapped around her waist, Charles stepped over the marble rim of the fountain and set her down carefully on the grass.
Joining her, he said, “I’ve been meaning to talk with you about something.”
Gemma bent a knee and rested her head on it. The world had yet to reform fully around her. She felt frightening fragile, as though the various parts of herself had yet to fit themselves back together. In truth, they might never do so. She could become someone else entirely, a person she might not even recognize.
Surely not! Even as the thought occurred to her, her mind reared up against it. Never would she allow herself to be undone in any such way. Before that happened, she would remake him.
How exactly she did not know but it was certainly worth pondering.
“What would that be?” she asked.
Charles plucked a blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth. He lolled beside her, stretched out on one side, looking uncharacteristically serious and even--if she wasn’t mistaken--a bit uncertain. The latter possibility so surprised her that she missed the first part of what he said.
“…Ismay’s head of the organizing committee, as usual, so she can tell you all about it. It’s been going on since before there were Ardsleys here. My ancestors took up the local traditions as a way of assuring the people’s loyalty. We’ve never had cause to regret that, quite the contrary.”
“I’m sorry…what are we talking about?”
“The Village Fair, I just told you.” Her inattentiveness appeared to concern him. He frowned
. “It’s next week. I’d like you to participate.”
Gemma did not hesitate. That her husband would have any such wish delighted her. She hoped it meant that he was beginning to see her as more than simply as a nice pair of tits and a tight cunt.
She might even dare to hope that a way lay ahead for her to be truly accepted as a member of the family even by her appalling in-laws.
“Of course, I’ll do whatever is needed.”
“Excellent! Ismay can give you the rough outline but basically it’s games, top notch food and drink, a marvelous bonfire after dark and a bit more. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Warmed by the thought that he truly wanted her there, Gemma was happy to walk back to the house hand-in-hand with her husband. She couldn’t even find it in herself to mind when he gave her bottom a firm slap to hurry her along.
