by Jasmine Hill
She sat up, her back once more to his front, and he twisted her hair up and secured it with her clip. “I love your hair,” he remarked. “I love that you’ve kept it long.”
He rested his legs on top of hers, his feet hooked under her ankles so he could spread her legs with his, opening her to him.
He bit her earlobe, the sensation sending a shiver through her. He swept his hand up her side to her breast and cupped it, tweaking a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
She gasped and thrust her breast into his hand, desire flaring hot and strong in her belly. He continued rolling the taut bud and nuzzling her neck. “Hmm, you smell delicious. Good enough to eat,” he rasped against her throat and lapped the residual moisture from her skin.
She squirmed in his hold, desperate to close her legs and provide some relief to her aching core, but he held her fast, prolonging her torture.
He swept his other hand down her side and across her abdomen. “I know what you want, sweetheart,” he said softly, sliding his hand between her thighs.
She arched her back, splashing water over the side of the tub. “William, please.”
She tried once again to close her legs but he kept his firmly against hers and plunged one finger then two into her. Next, he pushed up, stroking that tender spot on the wall of her vagina.
“Just here,” he whispered, curling his fingers in a come-hither motion and pressing his thumb against her swollen clitoris.
“Oh Lord,” she cried, writhing against him as sparks of pleasure zapped through her.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. I can feel your muscles clenching around me.”
She stiffened, moaned and tried desperately to reach that pleasurable pinnacle. Vaguely she registered his other hand still rolling and tugging on her tender nipple until the sensations collided at the pulsing beat between her thighs.
His thick erection throbbed insistently against her backside as he plunged a third finger inside her and pumped them slickly while he circled her clit with his thumb. “Come. Now, Lilly.”
His demand was all she needed. She arched her back and held her breath, a surge of euphoria rolling through her and tightening her insides. Her muscles pulsed and quivered—her orgasm intense and protracted by her spread legs—sending delicious palpitations deep to her core.
“That’s it, my darling.” He softened the thrust of his fingers to bring her down slowly. “You’re so beautiful when you’re in the throes of passion.”
She whimpered and slumped back against him, struggling to regain her breath and regulate her thudding heart rate. Her vision cleared and she was immediately aware of the incessant solidity of his erection pressing against her back and pulsating a demand for relief.
She sat up and turned around so that she was straddling his hips and his shaft was nestled between her thighs. His eyes were hooded and dark with lust as he gazed at her from beneath black-fringed lids.
She gave him a coy smile. “I think you’re in need of something.”
He smirked and thrust his hips up lazily, causing another wash of water to lap over the rim of the tub.
She giggled. “Mrs. Thompson is going to wonder what you were doing in here to cause such a mess.”
He clasped her hips and lifted her so that she hovered over his length. He gave her an intense look, pulled her down hard, impaling her and filling her completely.
She gulped and gazed at him with wide eyes as she accustomed herself to the depth and stretch the unfamiliar position induced.
“It’s deep this way,” he commented and stilled, allowing her to adjust. “You have control, sweetheart. You set the pace.”
At her curious look, he grasped her waist and lifted her, then pulled her back down and thrust up with his hips. “Ride me, like you ride a horse.”
She gasped and arched an eyebrow at his wicked grin. She gripped his thighs between her knees and pumped up and down, resting her hands on his muscular shoulders to steady herself. She knew she was doing something right when his mouth dropped open and he groaned low in his throat.
“That’s it. Just like that,” he whispered, clutching her around the waist and guiding her body forcefully along his length.
He leaned forward, sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and took her in a punishing kiss, his tongue sliding and slipping against hers as he growled into her mouth.
She found a rhythm, drawing her body all the way up his erection until the tip brushed her folds, then plunging down to impale herself fully.
“Fuck,” he choked and pumped his hips up to meet hers.
The cords in his neck strained with his effort to retain control.
He sat up straighter, bracing himself on the back of the tub and clamping his mouth onto the soft skin where her shoulder met her neck.
She moaned as she felt his cock swell and fill her lower belly, stretching her to capacity—the feeling was extraordinary and it had never felt so deep.
Their movements grew choppy and rough and more water sloshed over the side of the tub.
“I’m close,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “I need you to get there.”
He slid his hand between their slick bodies and found her clit. Circling it with his thumb, he sent sparks of pleasure spiraling outwards. He held her close with one arm banded around her waist, thrusting up hard, sucking on her neck and massaging her tight little nub.
Sensation built then coalesced in an internal pulsing heat. She cried out, her orgasm ripping through her and propelling her insides into quaking, undulating contortions.
William followed, rearing up with his hips, clutching her body tightly against his and growling low in his throat as he came in long hot spurts inside her.
They lay silent, relaxing together until the water started to grow cold. William dunked his head and washed his hair quickly then stood and stepped out of the tub. After grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist before picking up another one and opening it in invitation to Lillian.
She stood then stepped into his waiting arms.
“Thank you for the bath, my lady,” he said, dropping a soft kiss on her nose. “How are you feeling?”
Her limbs felt warm and loose but a dull ache had taken root in her belly, no doubt spurred to action by her vigorous sexual activity.
“Good.”
William gave her an appraising look. “Are you sure?”
She nodded and clutched the bath sheet tighter around her. He cocked his head to one side, studying her for a moment, then stooped to pick up her nightgown.
“Arms up,” he ordered, raising the garment above her head.
Lillian dropped the towel and stretched her arms up so William could slip her nightgown over her head. He quickly gathered her belongings then shrugged into a robe.
He glanced around the kitchen. “I’ll clean up here in the morning. It’s late and we should get to bed.” He took her hand and led her to the door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
William left Mulga Creek early to ride to the Dawsons’ property for dinner. The local roads leading to the properties were not designed for automobiles and he preferred to avoid driving when possible. Besides, he loved riding and he wanted to use the opportunity to check the dam levels and his outer property fence lines. He expected to be at the Dawsons’ just after mid-afternoon. He planned to stay overnight and leave at dawn the following morning. It was a long ride—four hours at a trot with an additional half hour to rest his horse.
He could have done without the disruption to his schedule, particularly at such a busy time on the property. He’d left his station manager in charge and expected things would run smoothly in his absence, albeit a little slower now that they were down his horse and mustering skills.
He supposed he should be looking forward to sharing the company of George and Margaret Dawson over a relaxed dinner, and a month ago, he would have. But things had changed since Lillian had re-entered his life. Where once he’d looked at Margaret in a potentially roman
tic sense, he was no longer harboring the same feelings. He liked her. She was sweet, charming and certainly pretty, but she didn’t make his pulse gallop and his cock hard just by looking at her. No, Lillian is the only woman ever to have that distinction.
Then again, it would be good to get his mind off things and take some time to regain perspective. He couldn’t think straight when Lillian was around and when he was working, he was too busy and involved to think about anything other than the job at hand. Perhaps dinner with Margaret and George Dawson would give him time for some self-reflection and an opportunity to examine his feelings a little more closely. Also, if he was to be brutally honest with himself, he wanted the opportunity to spend some time around Margaret, without the distraction of Lillian. He knew it was unfair, but he hoped that some time in the presence of an attractive woman would help him define his feelings. He needed to be sure that what he was feeling for Lillian was real and not merely the residual emotions of a childhood love.
He reached the Dawson property by mid-afternoon as he’d planned and, after securing Victory in the stables, he made his way to the house.
The Dawsons were sitting on the front verandah drinking lemonade. When they saw him approach, George jumped up and hurried to greet him.
“Cartwright. Good to see you, man. I trust the ride over was uneventful?”
“It was, thank you.” William smiled and returned the older man’s enthusiastic handshake.
He turned his attention to Margaret, who was attired in a pale blue lace dress that fell to just below her knees. Her cap of sleek blonde hair was secured behind one ear with a delicate blue flower. She looked pretty and fresh and served to remind William just how dusty he was after the long ride.
“Margaret,” he greeted her with a slight bow. “Excuse me, but I’m in no condition to take a lady’s hand.” He spread his arms to indicate his general state of disarray.
She smiled and tittered prettily. “Of course. I’ll show you to your room, where you can freshen up before we have dinner.”
William followed gratefully with his saddlebag as she led him to a room upstairs then down a long hallway. It was a different room from the one he’d stayed in previously and was farther removed from the rest of the household.
Margaret left him on the threshold of his chamber with instructions to join them on the verandah where they would take dinner.
He quickly removed his shirt, walked over to the washbasin and dunked his head gratefully into the cool, lavender-scented water. Immediately the inexorable ocher-colored dust, trapped within his hair, tinged the water a dull brown. He scrubbed his face, arms and torso then toweled dry with a cotton cloth provided for the purpose before retrieving a clean shirt and trousers from his bag. He instantly felt better and far more civilized. He combed his hair, splashed aftershave tonic onto his neck then gazed into the mirror. He was in need of a shave, his jaw stubbled with two days’ growth, but it couldn’t be helped. He hadn’t had time to shave and he figured the Dawsons wouldn’t mind. At least he’d rid himself of most of the dirt and he no longer smelled like horseflesh and sweat.
He made his way to the verandah and sank gratefully into one of the comfortable wicker chairs. Margaret handed him a tall glass of lemonade, which he drank in a few long gulps, easing the dryness in his throat. She laughed and refilled his glass before taking a seat next to him.
A table covered with a white linen cloth and set with crystal and silver had been established at the far end of the verandah.
“I’ll serve dinner soon. We’re having egg salad to start, followed by lamb pie and for dessert, we have strawberry sponge cake,” Margaret informed him proudly.
He studied her curiously and wondered if she knew that lamb pie was his favorite dish.
“Lamb pie, one of my favorites.”
She smiled shyly and dropped her gaze to her lap. “Yes, I know.”
He didn’t have an opportunity to ask how she knew, as George Dawson joined them. Not that it mattered. It just left him with an odd feeling that people had been talking about him without his knowledge. What else does Margaret Dawson know about me?
* * * *
“Will we be expecting William today for lunch?” Lillian asked Mrs. Thompson, as she measured out flour for the bread dough.
“No. He left for the Dawson property this morning for a dinner engagement. He’ll stay there overnight,” she replied, packing more wood into the slow-combustion stove. “I expect him back by noon tomorrow.”
Lillian stilled, a fierce jealousy gripping her. The feeling was so unfamiliar and so intense that it physically hurt her chest.
Why didn’t William mention anything? Why would he feel the need to hide his plans from me and why stay overnight?
Mrs. Thompson slammed the oven door closed and continued with her explanation, as if Lillian had spoken her thoughts aloud. “It’s a long ride—four hours—so Mr. Cartwright stays overnight.”
“How often does William visit the Dawson property?” Lillian asked in a voice that she hoped imparted casual inquiry.
“Oh, not very often, perhaps once a month. There was a time when I thought that Mr. Cartwright was interested in the young Miss Dawson.”
A searing pain cut through her as the housekeeper voiced Lillian’s own fears. She glared down at the table pummeling the bread dough in hurt frustration and tried desperately to appear unaffected. She blinked her eyes rapidly in an attempt to halt the tears that threatened to overflow at any moment.
“Lillian, you are kneading the dough, dear, not killing it,” the woman commented good-naturedly.
She looked down to see that the dough was flattened against the table top, where she’d pounded it into pancake-like submission. She took a deep breath, ran her hand through her hair to regain her composure and worked to stop herself from fleeing the kitchen in a sobbing mess.
“Look at that. I was miles away, thinking about the children’s lesson this afternoon,” she lied smoothly.
Mrs. Thompson was no longer paying attention. She busily ticked tasks off a to-do list.
Lillian quickly gathered the dough into a ball and put it into a greased bowl, then she covered everything with a cloth and placed it next to the slow-combustion stove to prove.
“Well, then,” she declared with forced cheerfulness, dusting off her hands. “I’d better see to the children’s lessons.”
She needed to escape the kitchen and Mrs. Thompson’s presence. She needed to be alone to mull over this information, and giving the housekeeper no chance to delay her, she quickly exited the kitchen.
When she reached the sanctuary of her room, she closed her door and leaned against it, letting out a deep sigh of relief at being alone with her thoughts and fears.
She paced to the window, stared out of the glass and contemplated what she’d just learned. It was nothing, she assured herself. William was just attending an innocent dinner at the neighboring property. There was no reason for her to be feeling insecure and jealous. Why then did William not tell me? Does he have something to hide?
She thought back to all the times that she’d seen William and Margaret Dawson together. She recalled them dancing closely at the Dawsons’ dinner dance where she’d also come across them outside and alone. Then at the picnic races, she’d seen them looking so comfortable together—like the perfect couple. And later at the ball, where they’d danced again and when William had saved the first dance for Margaret.
A cold dread settled in her chest as she mentally reviewed William’s and Margaret’s behavior toward each other. She suspected that Margaret had feelings for William. In fact the young lady made it very obvious, but she wasn’t sure of William’s feelings toward Margaret. He’d never mentioned anything to Lillian, but then, given their circumstances, William would hardly discuss his feelings about someone else. She wondered with a sinking feeling whether William had another agenda. Although what that could be, she had no idea. The fact that William had yet to discuss with her what he want
ed, if anything, out of their relationship made her nervous.
Her heart had always belonged to William and she’d given herself physically to him, without restraint or fear, because truthfully, he’d been the only man that she’d ever wanted, even after all these years. She couldn’t imagine being with anyone else and she had hoped William felt the same way. Now she wasn’t so sure. She prayed she was overreacting and that there was no justification to her fears, but the fact remained that William had not told her of his plans and, while she was not his keeper, she had to wonder why he hadn’t told her what he was doing. In her experience, acts of omission generally meant that there was something to hide. In this case, she hoped desperately that he would prove her incorrect.
She knew she could have been more forthcoming about her own feelings, that perhaps her shyness and occasional awkwardness did not communicate fully what she felt for him. But she was unused to such intimate situations and, apart from William when they were younger, the only other person she’d been very close to was her aunt and she had definitely never discussed intimate things with her. No, Lillian had been conditioned to abide by conservative values and proper manners and behavior. She was taught that ladies did not express themselves in anything other than polite and correct language and definitely did not wax lyrical about sexual activities and personal feelings. She couldn’t quite resolve why, then, the act of being physically intimate with William was so much easier than discussing her feelings with him. She guessed it was her body’s natural reaction to him. When he was close and when he was making her body feel those delicious sensations, all other considerations fled her mind.
She sighed heavily as her thoughts brought her full circle to her current distress and she resolved that she could do nothing but cast her fears aside for the present and focus on things to keep her mind busy. With that resolution, she tidied her hair and washed her hands and face before she went to find the children to ready them for their lessons.
