Her Husband's Harlot (40 page)

"Love
me," she gasped. "Please don't ever stop ..."

"Again."
Another plunge and drag, and he was shaking with the effort to hold on. "Come
again, love, and take me with you."

As if
on command, her pussy began to flicker around him. The contractions grew
stronger and stronger, milking him, wrenching a shout from his throat. With her
cries of completion echoing in his ears, he slammed into her again and again.
Fire sizzled up his spine. Melted the last vestiges of his control. He exploded
with unending pleasure, his seed, his very being splintering inside her.

Helena
burrowed into the sheets, resisting the initial tugs
of wakefulness. She wanted to stay in her dream forever. She wanted Nicholas to
continue kissing her, murmuring sweet words in her ear as he moved within her.
Oh, how lovely that felt, the pressure of his thick cock gliding in and out.
She nuzzled the sheets. They smelled of Nicholas, a musky male fragrance that
aroused her senses. Come to think of it, they felt like him too, all warm and
solid and scratchy with hair ...

Her
eyes popped open. She blinked once in the pale morning light, but her vision
did not change. A low fire burned in the grate. Her line of sight was partially
obscured by a hairy chest. Last night returned to her in a flash, and joy
flamed so brightly within her that she did not dare to move. She wanted to bask
in the glory of waking in her husband's arms—literally, for she was sprawled atop
his very muscular, very naked body. Sometime during the night he must have
wrapped his jacket around her, for the velvet was the only cover to her nakedness.

"Good
morning, my love." Nicholas' voice rumbled under her ear.

Startled,
she raised her head to look at him. His hair was tousled with sleep, like a boy's.
The lines on his face had eased, and his eyes were smiling. He had never looked
more handsome. All at once, desire stirred again, syrupy warmth trickling over
her insides. Color rose in her cheeks. She hadn't been awake more than a few
minutes and already she ached for her husband's lovemaking. What a wanton she
was.

"You're
up?" She blurted.

"Most
definitely." The smile spread to Nicholas' lips as he shifted his hip. Iron-hard
flesh pressed into her thigh. "I've been up for quite a while watching you
sleep."

"You
were watching me sleep?"

Nodding,
he reached to tuck away a lock that had fallen over her forehead. "When
you sleep, you look like an angel." His fingers danced along the sensitive
shell of her ear. She shivered when his fingers drifted over her eyelids and
cheeks. "Your eyelashes flutter like wings. Your skin is as smooth as
Devonshire cream." His voice deepened as he mixed his metaphors. "It
makes me want to eat you up."

Her
heart beat madly at his words, at the way he devoured her with his eyes.

"I
confess I am rather hungry too," she dared to say.

His husky
laugh rolled over her at the same time he did. Pinned beneath him, she could
not help but marvel at his virile strength. She ran her fingers over his
shoulders and down his arms. He had made love to her three times during the
night, and each time he had aroused her to the point of madness with his
skillful fingers and devilish mouth. How she longed to return the favor.

"Nicholas,"
she murmured, "would you teach me how to please you?"

 "You
already please me, Helena," he said, his breath hot upon her neck. She sighed
when he licked his way down. "You cannot imagine how much."

"You
would find me an apt pupil," she managed. "One who practices her
lessons most diligently."

At
that, he raised his head. She loved the gleam in his normally somber eyes.

"Eager
for a lesson, are you?" he intoned as sternly as any schoolmaster.

Helena
swallowed a giggle.

"Yes,
sir," she said, meek as a schoolgirl.

"Very
well," he said. She could tell he was trying hard not to smile. He rolled
onto his back. "Your first lesson, then, is to touch me."

Helena
got to her knees, the jacket sliding to the carpet. She
looked at the expanse of sinewy male flesh before her. Her hands twitched in
her lap. There were so many places to touch, so many intriguing contrasts—the
smooth, hard slope of his shoulders, the soft yet coarse hair on his chest. Her
eyes moved downward, widened slightly as she appreciated his manhood in the
morning light.

Oh
my. He did have the satyr beat, didn't he?

By
several inches at least.

"Perhaps
this lesson is too advanced, hmm?" Nicholas had been watching her all the
while, a half-smile on his face. Now he moved to sit up, his voice apologetic.

She
placed both palms on his chest and pushed.

Flat
on his back, he looked up at her with startled eyes.

She
ran her fingers across his chest, noting his quick intake of breath when she
brushed his flat nipples. She did it again, smiling now, as she saw that
despite the differences between their bodies, there were similarities too. His flesh
hardened under her touch.

"How
is that, sir?" she inquired.

"You're
doing very well," he allowed.

She
liked the hitched quality in his voice, as if he was having difficulty catching
his breath. It made her feel powerful, bold. She explored the flat ridges of
his abdomen, running fingers lightly over muscles which jumped at her touch.
Navigating around the mighty pole for the moment, she stroked downward over his
powerful thighs and calves, all the way down to his large masculine feet. There
was a sprinkling of hair, she observed, even on his toes.

"You're
hairy," she said.

"You're
a tease," he said hoarsely.

She
laughed, liking the sound of that.

Slowly,
she traced her way back up his thighs and paused, admiring the view of his male
flesh. It was so
forward
, this part of his body. The turgid length could
not hide its primal nature. Under her gaze, it swelled even larger. She touched
a tentative finger to the base of the purple-veined shaft. Instinctively, her
other fingers joined the first, curling around the thick rod. She could barely
contain him within her fist. She marveled at the contrast of textures, like an
iron poker wrapped in satin. At the bulging tip, she discovered a slit. She watched,
fascinated, as a bead of moisture oozed out.

She dabbed
her fingertip in the dew and smeared it around.

Nicholas,
who had been breathing heavily all the while, let out a groan. His cock spurted
again. That had to mean she was doing something right. She rubbed the rosy head
a little harder.

"Like
this," Nicholas rasped, grasping her hand and wrapping her fingers around
him. His eyes closed as he moved his hand with hers, teaching her to stroke his
cock. She learned how much pressure he liked, what rhythm tore sounds from the
back of his throat. Her own breathing escalated with the thrill of watching her
fingers and his, intertwined, sliding in unison over his glistening flesh.
Dreamily, she reached with her other hand to cup the plum-shaped sac below,
finding it heavy and surprisingly supple.

His
hand stilled on hers.

"Enough."
He had her beneath him in a second, not an inch of air between them. The head
of his sex dipped into her passage.

"Did
I pass the first lesson, sir?" Her tone was a bit smug. She could not help
herself. It was not every day that she drove her husband insane with passion.

"With
flying colors," he assured her.

He
pushed a little deeper. She gasped at the hot, thick stretch.

"And
now for the second lesson," he said.

"Wh-what
second lesson?" She could hardly think with the liquid heat bubbling
between her legs. He impelled himself deeper, and she gasped again.

"The
lesson," he murmured in her ear, "in which naughty schoolgirls
receive their just desserts."

The
conversation quite halted after that.

*****

The
time for serious conversation came afterward, when Helena and Nicholas retired
to her bedchamber. After sharing a breakfast tray brought in by a beaming
Bessie, Helena snuggled into her husband's embrace and absorbed the rest of his
tale. In halting tones, he told her about the mysterious blackmail notes. The
threats of the man who'd shot at him in St. Giles. The discovery that a dock
worker named Isaac Bragg had been behind all of it and now Bragg was dead.

"A
part of me still cannot believe that Bragg was the mastermind behind these
crimes," Nicholas said. "He had the brawn for certain, but the
brains? The man seemed a bit simple, if you ask me. Yet the evidence was all
there in the flash house."

Frowning,
Helena asked, "But how did Bragg learn about your past? From what you have
said, Grimes died over sixteen years ago. Surely your secret must have died
with him."

"I
have asked myself the same thing," Nicholas admitted. "In truth, I
can think of no answer save one. Besides me and Grimes, only one person
witnessed what transpired that night."

Realization
dawned. "The boy," she breathed. "He's still alive."

Nicholas
expelled a breath. "We do not know that. He might have survived that night,
living only long enough to tell someone what he saw. It might have become a
rumor, a piece of gossip that somehow reached Bragg's ears years later. As for
the boy ... anything could have happened to him. The odds are not favorable for
an orphan alone in the stews," he finished grimly.

"But
if he
is
still living, what would you do?" Helena asked.

She
felt his muscles bunch beneath his dressing gown. "I would find him,"
Nicholas said quietly. "I would do whatever it took to make amends for
what I did."

She
wanted to tell him again that he was not at fault, but she knew words could do
little to dissolve the guilt of a lifetime. Perhaps taking action would help. "Then
why not begin investigations to find him or at least discover his fate?"

"I
have thought about it." Nicholas' charcoal eyes were troubled. "For
so long, I have been driven by fear, striving to outrun the past. Never once
did I look back. To stop now and go in the other direction ... the risks are
great, Helena. I don't know who I'd trust to look into the matter."

"Mr.
Kent, perhaps? He seems a decent man," Helena said thoughtfully. "And
you wouldn't have to tell him everything, would you? Just that you are looking
for a boy you once knew in Grimes' employ. You could say the business with
Bragg made you wonder what had happened to him, which is no more than the
truth."

"I
will think on it." His arms tightened around her, and after a pause, he
said gruffly, "And you would support me, no matter the outcome?"

"I
will love and support you no matter what," she vowed and leaned up to kiss
him.

*****

The
next few days passed in a blur of happiness the likes of which Helena had never
known. By night, Nicholas continued to instruct her in the art of passion. He
proved a most dedicated tutor, teaching her about her body as well as his own.
She had not known that such variety existed with lovemaking. It was as if
Nicholas presented her with a buffet of delights, and she could not prefer one
above another.

Some
nights he loved her tenderly, slowly, prolonging pleasure until her body exploded
at the gentlest touch. Other nights, he showed her a rougher sort of loving.
The rawness of his needs elicited a corresponding wildness in her. At first,
she tried to hide her passion, but he saw through her blushes and punished her
with such sublime wickedness that she gave up all pretense of being anything
but a complete wanton in his arms. He showed her that when he'd said she was
perfect just as she was, he'd meant it.

If
the nights were spent unraveling the mysteries of lovemaking, the days yielded
further revelations. Helena had not expected much to change in their daily
routines, given the demands of Nicholas' profession. Knowing what she now did
about his past, she felt immense pride watching him go off to the warehouse, to
the empire he had created through sheer force of determination and a will to
succeed. She told herself she would be content to spend their evenings
together, lingering over supper and talking into the wee hours of the morning.
As it was, they would be in each other's company more than most fashionable
couples, who might occasion each other once a week at a social affair.

Once
again, Nicholas surprised her. He returned home earlier than expected most
days, and, on several occasions, eschewed work entirely to spend the day
showing her sights around Town. He took her on drives through Hyde Park, where
they picnicked along the banks of the Serpentine. They visited the British Museum and the Royal Academy, admiring exotic artifacts and exhibits by talented young
painters. She reveled in Nicholas' attentions, absorbing his presence as a light-starved
flower might the sun.

What
was more, she was discovering hidden facets in her husband: the sly humor
beneath his reserved countenance, the raw passion beneath his controlled façade.
She loved that he seemed to laugh more in her presence. She loved that the
powerful man who ran the docks by day shuddered in her arms at night, growled
her name as he poured himself into her ...