WidowsWickedWish

by Lynne Barron

  Olivia didn’t give him time to make a choice. Snaking one hand around his neck, she fisted her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers.

  Jack groaned, whether in shock or passion Olivia didn’t know nor did she care. She simply took advantage of the opportunity, spearing her tongue into his mouth, dragging it over his, circling, dipping, sweeping over the hard ridge of his teeth, along the soft flesh of his lower lip, rediscovering his wet, hot mouth.

  Then she bit him. Hard enough to drag another groan from deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against her breasts that were suddenly crushed against him as his arms wound around her and his hands grasped her bottom. He lifted her off her feet and slammed her none too gently against the wall.

  Olivia moaned into his mouth, the sound dark, desperate, a mirror to the desire roaring in her veins. She lifted her arms to his shoulders and curled them around his head, her fingers clutching in his hair, holding on to him, holding him to her.

  Jack took control of the kiss, his mouth ravenous upon hers. He tilted his head, changed the angle of their mouths, sealed them together and thrust his tongue against hers, around, above, beneath, his tongue scoured her sensitive flesh.

  In the next instant, Jack’s hands were twisted in her skirts and Olivia felt the air on her calves, her knees, her thighs. Taking advantage of this new freedom, she wrapped her legs around his hips and locked her ankles, pulling him tight against her. His cock was hard, unbelievably, gloriously hard. She tilted her hips, pressed her mound against his rigid length and cried out as pleasure and need mingled, swirled, overwhelmed her.

  Jack squeezed her bottom, held her tight as he thrust against her. He dragged his shaft over her sensitive flesh, again and again, setting up a tempo that had Olivia panting into his mouth, writhing against him in an effort to get closer, to ease the ache that he’d created, that only he could satisfy.

  Olivia was nearly mindless with the need to have him inside her. If she could have formed a thought, a word, she might have shrieked her desperation aloud. Instead she released the death grip she had on his head and wedged her hands between them. Down over his broad chest, still fully covered in shirt, waistcoat and jacket, to the placket of his trousers. With clumsy fingers, she jerked at the buttons until they finally, finally came free and his cock sprang into her hands.

  Jack groaned, his hips bucking, his shaft gliding through her hands.

  Then his hand was fumbling in the yards of fabric bunched around her waist and hips, delving through the mass to land hot and hard between her legs. He hooked two fingers through the slit in her drawers and yanked.

  The sound of rending cloth was music to Olivia’s ears, the feel of his calloused fingers dragging over her folds the sweetest pleasure, the most agonizing torture.

  Without warning those two long fingers drove into her, the force of his invasion pinning her against the wall.

  He thrust his fingers into her cunny, over and over again.

  Olivia tightened her grip on his cock, matching her strokes to his.

  It was wondrous, glorious, amazing.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Before she could voice her thoughts, before she could demand, beg, plead with Jack to give her what she needed, his fingers left her body and he shifted her, lifted her.

  Olivia guided his cock to her quim, locked her ankles tight against his lower back, and pulled him into her body, moaning into his mouth as the thick head penetrated her, stretched her.

  And all the while he kissed her as if he could not get enough of her, as if he would never stop. With lips caressing, tongue thrusting, teeth nipping, he consumed her.

  “Christ, Livy,” he growled into her mouth.

  “Take me, Jack,” she begged. “Now, damn you…”

  Her words left her on a long, savage moan as he thrust his cock into her. In one long, hard lunge he was buried in her body, so deep inside her that light danced behind her closed eyelids as pleasure and pain mingled to create a vortex of swirling sensations.

  Olivia wound her arms around his neck, her fingers clutching his head, her mouth open and wet on his. He dragged his hands from her bottom to her thighs, his fingers biting into her flesh.

  “Hold on,” he grunted as he lifted his lips to race them over her jaw and down her neck.

  Olivia tightened her grip, her legs squeezing his hips, her boot heels digging into the hard muscles of his backside.

  He withdrew his shaft an inch, two, three, slowly dragging his hard length against her sensitized flesh, before thrusting back into her, trapping her hard against the wall. His mouth clamped around the tendon at her shoulder, his tongue hot against her skin. He bit down gently, holding her flesh between his teeth as he began to rock against her, barely withdrawing before slamming back into her, grinding his hips between her spread legs with each thrust, his pelvis pushing against her clitoris in exquisite torment.

  “More,” she begged. “Please, oh God, faster.”

  Jack shifted her higher against his chest, widened his stance, and gave her more, gave her faster, his hips pumping between her legs, his cock thrusting hard and deep, over and over again. His weight holding her to the wall, his breath panting against her neck, he took her hard and fast until, with a cry that reverberated around the room, Olivia climaxed around his invading shaft. She clutched him to her, her fingers digging into his back, her legs encircling and squeezing him, pulling him hard against her as she bore down, impaling her warm, wet flesh upon his cock, pleasure washing over her in undulating waves of fiery heat.

  Her orgasm was long and violent, seeming to go on and on without end. Dimly she heard Jack let loose a growl before she felt his seed shoot into her body, felt the liquid heat scorch her inner walls, and she pulled her muscles tight around him, wanting to capture his essence, capture the promise of life that could never be.

  That one thought, that futile hope, arrowed through her, straight to her heart. Suddenly it was all too much, all her worries, all her fears, came bubbling to the surface of her wounded heart, her battered soul. Fire burned beneath her closed eyelids, her fingers against his strong back began to tingle, to tremble.

  She clamped her mouth closed, her upper lip between her teeth. It was no use. A long, guttural sob tore from her chest and past her trembling lips to echo about the room.

  “Livy?” Jack panted against her neck.

  Olivia turned her face away until one cheek rested against the gaudy wallpaper as scalding tears began to fall from her eyes.

  “Jesus Livy, are you crying?” Jack leaned back and she knew he could see her, see the tears rolling down her cheek.

  She sucked in a deep stuttering breath, let it out on a low moan, keeping her eyes shut tight.

  “Did I hurt you?” Jack asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Livy love, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head furiously but knew better than to open her mouth. She could feel another sob working its way up her throat. If she let it out, if she set it free it would drown her.

  Carefully Jack pulled his cock free of her body and disentangled her legs from around his waist. With his hands on her hips holding her steady, Olivia allowed her legs to slide down his until her feet hit the floor. The fabric of her brocade walking gown rustled in the quiet room as it drifted down to cover her. His knuckles brushed against her belly as he hurried to right his clothing.

  She pulled her hands from his shoulders and pressed them over her face, wanting nothing more than to hide, to hide from the man whose worried gaze she could feel on her, to hide from the daunting responsibility of raising two children alone, to hide from her mother’s contempt and scorn, to hide from the judging eyes of a society that would always and forever see her as the Countess of Palmerton.

  London’s Darling, she thought on a hiccupping laugh that turned into a raspy moan. She would never be more.

  She twisted away from the silent man before her, her body doubling over, her arms coming around her waist in an unsuccessful at
tempt to hold in the sorrow that overwhelmed her. Her legs gave out and she slid down the wall, would have landed hard on her knees had Jack not dropped down and caught her. He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, pushing her forehead against his shoulder.

  With a long, anguished wail, Olivia came undone. She clutched his lapels in her hands and wept against him, her fingers mangling the fine fabric of his coat, her tears soaking his cravat and shirt. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs as she poured out all of the heartbreak, the wasted dreams, the useless hopes, the endless frustration and confusion that she’d buried deep for days, weeks, months, years. An entire lifetime of regrets and fears gushed from beneath her eyelids, tore loose from her chest, and rushed past her lips.

  Jack held her silently, one hand pressed between her shoulder blades, the other sweeping over her back in ever-widening circles. He didn’t pat her, he didn’t try to shush her or soothe her with meaningless words. He simply held her against him and waited.

  “Fanny ha-ha-hates London,” she wailed into the crook of his neck. “Ye-yesterday I f-f-found her rifling through…my jewels…to s-s-sell and runaway to…Idyllwild…and Charlie…my baby…his f-foot isn’t healing…and Dr. Gold-Dr. Goldman refuses to s-s-see him.”

  She released his lapels and wound her arms around his neck.

  “My mother lo-loathes me,” she sobbed, ashamed by the truth of the words. “And I’m…I’m afraid…afraid that I lo-loathe her, too.”

  Jack wrapped both arms around her, slowly rocking her in his lap as she blubbered against his neck.

  “Henry is hop-hopping…from b-bed to bed…he’ll be ca-caught by some an-angry father…and…and f-forced to marry a woman…he can never…love.”

  Jack went still beneath her for a moment before one hand came up to press her head into the warm crook of his neck, his fingers sifting through her curls.

  “I can’t f-f…find a home for us…I’ve toured count-countless houses…but none of them…could be a h-h-home.”

  Her words tumbled over one another in fits and starts that likely made no sense whatsoever.

  “I just…wished to be…wicked…to know a m-man’s…desire…da-da-dark alcoves…su-sunny afternoons…b-but she’s so beautiful …everyone…everyone expects m-me to…ma-marry again…he only ever wa-wa-wanted…a son…I would p-pay the price again and again…if only…I never knew…all these years…I thought I di-didn’t need…passion and…and affection…and you…you mu-mu-must not ask m-me to marry…not ever again…I ca-ca-cannot…and n-now I’m a widow…London’s Da-Da-Darling…where is the f-f-freedom I was promised?”

  She finished on a raspy wail, her hands clenching and releasing the fabric of Jack’s coat across his back. She cried until her throat burned, until her eyes were swollen shut, until each breath was a tortured racking moan.

  A long while later, when her sobs had dwindled to piteous sniffs and blubbery sighs, Olivia lifted her head from his shoulder and scrubbed her hands over her face before slowly opening her burning, swollen eyes. She peered up at Jack to find him watching her with an almost comical look of confusion upon his handsome face.

  “Might you have a handkerchief?” she asked with a sniff.

  Jack reached into his breast pocket and handed her a perfectly folded, perfectly creased square of soft white linen. Olivia dabbed at her face and under her eyes before blowing her nose as delicately as possible.

  Jack only watched her silently, his brows pulled low in obvious bafflement.

  She held the handkerchief out to him before she thought better of it and pulled her hand back, her fingers wrapped around the fabric. She pressed her hand to her chest as another tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

  “Ah, Livy,” Jack murmured, wiping the tear away. “So much weight to carry around on your slender shoulders.”

  Olivia nodded her head in agreement.

  “Can you stand?” he asked softly.

  “I’m not certain.”

  “Carrying it is.”

  Before Olivia could form words to protest, Jack wrapped one arm around her back and tucked the other beneath her legs. With a soft grunt he rose to his feet with her held firmly against his chest.

  “You don’t have to…” she began with a watery smile, twisting her arms around his neck.

  “I do have to,” he countered as he strode toward the door. “But you’ll have to manage the doorknob.”

  “The servants,” she protested against his neck as he stepped into the hall.

  “Not a servant in sight,” he replied, carrying her across the deserted space.

  “How odd,” she murmured.

  “I’ve trained them to come when called and remain hidden when not,” he told her and Olivia could hear the laughter in his voice.

  “Even when hidden, they’re still watching,” she replied as he started up the stairs.

  “It seems to me you spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about who is watching you.” Jack leaned down and Olivia obligingly turned the door handle to what she assumed was his bedchamber.

  Olivia couldn’t very well dispute his words. She did worry about curious eyes.

  A lady is never alone, even when she is alone.

  How many times had her mother cautioned her with those words? A hundred? A thousand? Too many to count.

  Olivia let loose a cry of surprise as Jack tossed her into the air. She came down on her back in the middle of the softest, fluffiest bed she’d ever encountered. She sank down into the mattress, bounced about in a jumble of pillows.

  “Live a little, Lady Palmerton.” Jack stood over her with his hands on his hips, a wide grin spreading across his beautiful dark face.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jack returned from the bathing room across the hall expecting to find Olivia fast asleep. Isn’t that what women did? Cried until they fell into a deep dreamless sleep? Lord knows, Elizabeth had always ended every crying spree with hours of blissful slumber.

  Olivia was sitting up in the ridiculously plush bed he’d found in the master suite when he’d moved into the narrow town house on Bedford Square, her back wedged against the mountain of pillows he tossed to the floor each night only to find arrayed upon the bed again the next day.

  Wearing a robe of black silk, he cautiously approached the bed and the woman who watched him with swollen eyes and a red nose.

  “I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, extending a second robe to her.

  Olivia took the garment, pulled the sumptuous blue velvet against her cheek and continued to watch him silently. She snuggled into the dark fabric, rubbed her cheek against it.

  “Your gown was astounding,” he murmured and watched her eyes widen. “I thought so before I even knew it was you wearing it, when I first saw you at the top of the stairs turning toward your brother. All those buttons running down the back, leading my eyes to your luscious derriere. I thought you were Hastings’ latest conquest.”

  Olivia laughed softly before hiding her mouth behind the velvet robe.

  “And when you turned around,” he continued softly. “I thought your gown was miraculous. And you the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

  “Oh, Jack,” she breathed into the velvet, her eyes blinking until one lone tear trailed down her cheek.

  “Livy,” he murmured, sitting beside her on the bed and reaching forward to wipe the tear from her soft cheek. “It was déclassé of me to flirt with another woman at your mother’s ball. Boorish, rude and stupid. I was simply whiling away the time while I waited for you. I knew precisely four people in the entire ballroom, so when a friendly lady approached me and offered me a bit of amusement, I ran with it.”

  “I thought…” she began on a trembling breath before falling silent once more.

  “You thought I wanted Madeline Dumfries.” He cupped her head, ran his thumb over her cheek.

  “You were laughing with her, leaning over her, focused on her,” she replied, finally dropping the velvet fr
om her lips, pulling the robe against her chest. “I thought you meant to show me that you’d decided to end things between us.”

  “Jesus, Livy, the ideas you take into your head,” he replied around a rasping laugh.

  “How would I know?” she asked. “I’ve never taken a lover. I don’t know the etiquette for ending an affair de l’amour.”

  “You might have received me during any one of those one hundred and sixty-six hours each week you are not at home,” he reminded her. “I would have told you in no uncertain terms that I had no wish to end things between us. Christ, I’ve been an impatient, snarling beast waiting for you to return to Town.”

  “Oh,” she replied before smiling shyly up at him.

  Even red-nosed and swollen-eyed the Countess of Palmerton was a beautiful sight lounging against the pillows on his bed. And one he’d begun to despair of ever seeing again. Yet, here she was, soft and bedraggled after the most amazing, quickest fuck he’d ever experienced followed by a bout of crying.

  “Come, let’s get you changed,” he urged her. “You can’t be comfortable in that gown.”

  “I can’t stay,” she replied earnestly.

  “Not the night, no,” he agreed. “But it’s barely gone two. We’ve plenty of time.”

  “I don’t think my poor little cunny can handle your cock just now,” she said, a soft blush rising from her neck to settle on her cheeks.

  Jack groaned around a laugh. “The things you say, Livy.”

  “You taught me the words,” she reminded him with trembling smile.

  “Let me teach you this, too.”

  “What?” She tilted her head to the side in a way that he was coming to find adorable.

  “A man can invite a woman, even a luscious woman, to share his bed without making love to her,” he said, hoping it was true.

  “You want to sleep with me?”

  “I want to lie about in bed with you, to idle away a sunny afternoon with you in my arms.”

  Olivia leaned up from the pillows at her back, dropping the robe to her lap.

  She sat, quiet and docile, while Jack made short work of the twenty-two tiny buttons that marched from just below her neck to her waist. She watched him, steadily, silently, as he peeled the gown from her shoulders and down her long, slender arms. Jack ran his hands lightly over those arms, down and back up again, enjoying the softness of her skin, the little breathy sigh that pushed past her lips.