Simply Sinful (11 page)

Peter smiled as the scent of roses mingled with the smell of candle wax.

Peter, where are you? Val says you are out of town and unable to be contacted, but I know something has gone awry between you. Val refuses to share anything with me, insisting any explanation is yours to provide. (How like my dear husband.) I hope he shared our wonderful news with you. If he didn’t I will surely strangle the man and marry you instead. Please come and visit me at your earliest opportunity. Despite what Val has probably said, we both miss you. Your affectionate friend, Sara Sokorvsky

“Any explanation is mine to provide.” Peter screwed up the note and threw it toward the fire. “How typical of Valentin to lay all the blame on me.”

He grabbed a piece of parchment from the drawer and spent a good ten minutes attempting to make a decent nib for his pen. He’d write to Sara and congratulate her on her news, assure her all was well and that he would visit as soon as he was able. There was no point in alarming her with his and Val’s troubles. Val knew him well enough to feel secure that Peter would never betray their difficulties to another soul. Especially not his wife.

Peter scratched his signature at the bottom of the page and addressed the letter to Valentin’s house in Southampton, where Sara preferred to reside. Val’s letter didn’t warrant a reply. Nothing had changed. Peter still felt too raw to cheerfully pick up his friendship as Valentin wanted. He’d done it so often in the past and been grateful to be let back in. Not this time.

Peter sealed the letter with the Beecham family crest stamped over hot red wax and flexed his fingers. The long clock in the corner struck four as he stared at the pile of letters on the desk. What next then? A swift removal from Lady Beecham’s house on the morrow and a long delayed trip to the north of England where he hoped to trace some of his family.

Or he could simply return to London and stay in bed with James for a week. Peter shifted in his seat as his cock stiffened. But would James want him once he realized Abigail didn’t? Peter sighed. Probably not. The bond between the Beechams might be unusual, but it was as deep and solid as the bond between Sara and Valentin.

Sudden envy flooded him. How had all his friends found women to love them? Why was he the only one who was still alone? Perhaps he wasn’t as good at fooling women as he thought. Did they sense the emptiness within him, the lack of self, of family, of substance? He glanced at the shadowed portraits on the wall. Even though Abigail believed she had nothing to offer, she had this. A family name to be proud of and a husband who was willing to go to any lengths to provide her with the child she yearned for.

His cock hardened as he imagined his seed creating a child with a woman who loved him. A child who would never know what it was like to grow up alone as he had. Peter stroked the growing bulge in his breeches and his aching balls. He slid a hand into his breeches pocket and drew out a silver cock ring. Opening his breeches, he slid his balls and shaft through the three rings, grimacing at the tightness of the cold metal against his heated weeping cock. A brisk walk up the stairs, a little rough play with himself in bed and he would be ready to face another lonely day.

He gathered his mail, blew out all but one of the candles and retraced his steps to the darkened hall. He left the letters on the table and turned to the shallow, worn stairs. The old house creaked and whispered as he passed through the narrow corridors, the smell of beeswax and dried herbs rising in the warm currents as he passed.

With every step, his swollen constricted cock brushed the taut buckskin of his breeches. He wished James were here to suck him dry, to kneel down in front of him and take him, drain him, cock ring and all, until he could no longer breathe.

When Peter opened his bedroom door, a draught blew his candle out. With a soft curse, he placed the candlestick by his bed and shrugged out of his clothes. He hadn’t drawn his curtains completely last night. In the gray early morning darkness, the metal of the cock ring gleamed dull and tight against his shaft. He touched the crown of his cock, swirled his finger in the thick wetness and deliberately scraped his nail over his most sensitive flesh.

He climbed into the high four-poster bed and collided with a warm naked body. He grunted as his cock jammed against something hard and fought to move free. He grabbed hold of a flailing arm.

“Lady Beecham, what the hell are you doing?”

Abigail came up on her knees, her eyes bright and desperate in the half light.

“I don’t want you to go!”

He tried to move away as his cock slid against her hip again. She scrambled after him and he caught her by the shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length.

“There is no need for this now. We can talk in the morning.”

He tried to sound patient and calm. God, he needed her to leave before he dragged her underneath him and pounded into her until she screamed her release to the heavens. She started to tremble.

“You no longer desire me, do you? I’ve driven you away.”

He forced himself to relax his grip, slid his hands down over her naked arms in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“No, it’s not that. It’s late and you are obviously over-wrought and…Christ…”

Her hand brushed his cock and then fisted around him. He stopped moving as all his blood left his brain and pumped through his swollen shaft.

“Peter, what have you done to yourself?”

He grabbed her wrist, tried to prevent her from exploring. “Abigail, it’s nothing, just let me take care of it.” He groaned as her grip tightened.

“Is this my fault? Are you punishing yourself because I turned you down?”

“God, no…I…”

His hips rocked forward and an exquisitely painful sensation spread through his loins. God help him, he wanted her hand there,
needed
her hand there. She tried to pull away but he covered her hand with his own. He moved again, thrusting into her fingers, so wet now that he moved easily even within her tight grasp. Unable to stop, he threaded his other hand into her hair, keeping her close as his body took over the rhythm. He forgot about being civilized or apologetic and simply took.

“Harder.”

He tightened his fingers over hers, needing the roughness and the friction to counteract the constraint of the cock ring keeping his shaft erect. She murmured his name, her gaze lowered to his groin and she put her other hand on his balls, squeezing tight.

“Yes, like that, hard, make me beg.”

He kissed her neck, her shoulder, managed to find her breast and angle her nipple into his mouth. She shuddered as he sucked hard on her, showing her no mercy, demanding she take as well as give.

Groaning encouragement, his come gathered and his balls fought to crawl inside his body. Harsh movements now, pain, a mere breath away from the overwhelming pleasure, a game he knew how to play to the edge and back again. His cum spurted through their locked fingers and he fell forward, taking her down onto the mattress beneath him.

He concentrated on breathing, aware of her supple body crushed beneath his, the tightness of her nipples against his chest and the sticky wetness binding their hands at his groin.

With a silent groan, he managed to slide the cock ring off, wincing as the metal dug into his now-flaccid flesh. Abigail took it from his lax fingers and he rolled away from her, giving her plenty of space. So much for treating her like a lady. She’d seen him at his most basic and brutal. Would she take the opportunity he offered to run back to her bedchamber and pretend nothing had happened?

Peter lay on his back, one hand covering his eyes as if he hoped she might disappear if he didn’t look at her. Abby knelt up and examined the device she’d taken from him. Three thick silver circles welded together in the shape of a triangle. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how he’d felt with the metal surrounding his flesh, the swollen heat of his shaft and the tightness of his balls beneath her fingers.

She flexed her crushed fingers, and her body tightened and cream gushed between her thighs. He’d used her to bring himself to pleasure in the most brutal fashion, more brutal than James had ever been, and yet she wasn’t afraid. She wanted more. She glanced across at his tense form, touched the rapidly drying seed at his groin.

“Does this bring you pleasure too, like the nipple ring?”

“Aye.”

He sounded exhausted, defeated even. Gathering her courage she leaned closer, trailed her fingers over his stomach and tangled them in the now-soaked hair at his groin. His muscles contracted and his cock twitched close to her hand.

“Does it hurt you?”

“It prolongs the sensations, keeps the blood in my shaft for longer so that it’s harder to come.”

She stroked one finger along the length of him, felt his shaft expand and shift against his thigh. Since making her outrageous decision to place herself naked in his bed, she had to leave her shyness behind. She jumped as he caught her wrist, stilling her wandering fingers.

“Abigail, why are you here?”

“In your bed?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’ve gotten over my maidenly scruples?”

He stroked the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “Somehow, I doubt that. I suspect you just don’t like to lose an argument and are determined to prove me wrong.”

She hesitated. “No, it’s not that, although James insists I am remarkably stubborn.” Despite Peter’s restraining hand, his cock continued to swell beneath her fingers. “You were right about me. I scared myself because I wanted you so much.”

“My lady, you don’t know what you want.”

Abby moved closer, her knees bumping against his side. “I know that I want a child and that you are going to help me achieve that dream. Isn’t that enough?”

He came up on one elbow to stare at her, his fingers leaving her wrist.

“I don’t know, is it?”

She stared into his calm blue eyes, found it difficult to believe that the man who’d suckled at her breasts and forced her to help him come was concealed beneath that polite, calm veneer. She worried at her lower lip, watched him follow the movement. Without answering his question, she bent her head and licked the top of his cock. He tasted so male; she licked him again and allowed the crown to slide inside her mouth.

His hand fisted in her unbound hair, forcing her to look up at him.

“Abigail, do you have any idea what you are doing?”

“Sucking your cock?”

“If you do that, I’ll take you tonight. I’ll be inside you. Is that what you want?”

She bent back to her task, swallowed more of him into her mouth. He took one of her hands, wrapped it around the thick base of his shaft and showed her how to move her fingers in time to her sucking. She closed her eyes, lost in the rhythm of her mouth and his erotic response to it. When he tried to pull away, she snarled and almost bit him.

He retained his grip on her, his hands firm and unyielding.

“Let me make this even better.” His hands closed around her waist and he swung her over him so that she straddled him, her bottom close to his face, her mouth now only inches from his stiff cock. “Carry on.”

She drew him into her mouth, yelped as his tongue swept over her sex and began to lick, suck and bite her most secret flesh. She fought to concentrate on him as her body writhed and swelled to his touch. Pressure built and she shamelessly ground herself against his sinful, lascivious mouth. He tugged on her hair again, dragging her away from him.

She tried to stop him, found herself flat on her back, her legs spread impossibly wide with him between them. He gazed down at her, his face wet with her cream, his cock dripping onto her belly. The stranger was back, the civilized educated man gone, along with his fashionable clothes and conversation. Was it always like this at the moment of consummation between a man and a woman or had she roused something different in him?

“Last chance to change your mind, Abigail.”

He grasped his cock around the base and pressed it to her swollen sex, circling the knot of nerves above her aching channel.

“Please don’t stop, Peter, please.”

He drew back and positioned himself at her entrance. She kept her gaze on his as he slowly pushed inside her. His face contorted as he kept going.

“Christ, you’re tight. You’re squeezing my cock like a vise.”

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and he went still. “Abigail?”

“Perhaps there is something wrong with me. Maybe James wasn’t the problem after all.”

She tried to breathe normally, tried to stop her body from shrinking away from him. His mouth brushed hers.

“Don’t say that.”

He pulled out and knelt between her thighs. She felt the hot sting of tears on her heated cheeks. His fingers touched her face.

“God, don’t cry.”

His face became an indistinct blur behind her tears. She gasped as he kissed his way down her stomach and settled between her thighs, his breath warm on her quivering flesh. He licked her clit, one finger worked inside her, followed by another. She trembled as he increased the pressure of his tongue on her sensitive flesh; her hips came up off the bed toward his mouth.

“Aye, seek my mouth; take your pleasure from me.”

His encouraging words vibrated against her thigh as he added a third finger, the slick wetness of her cream against his probing fingers loud in the silence. She concentrated on the sounds as her body tightened unbearably, gripping his shoulders as he worked yet another finger in, widening her impossibly.

She stiffened as a climax crashed through her, making her cry out his name. He kissed her throbbing clit, rose over her again and before she stopped convulsing, slid his cock deep inside her. This time there was no pain, only a sense of fullness and excitement that radiated throughout her entire body.

He held still over her, hands braced on either side of the mattress. A lock of blond hair fell over his eyes.

“Is that better?”

She nodded, unable to think coherently enough for speech while he held himself deep inside.

“May I continue?”