Susan Johnson (35 page)

Her eyes half-closed under the flowing passage of his fingers; any thought of reply was made impossible by the intoxicating sensations.

“The king had Agnes Sorel wear the ruby to a ball one night … This might feel cool now,” he gently said, his fingers parting her pouty folds, opening her, massaging the pliant flesh wider to accommodate the large jewel. He slipped the bottom in first and then, stretching her soft tissue, he forced the rest of the large oval ruby into place until it was tightly confined in her sleek, taut flesh. The tantalizing jewel fit snugly as it was meant to, wedged firmly inside her, the rim of large pearls causing palpable friction against her succulent tissue, the diamonds twinkling festively.

Lounging at the foot of the chaise, observing the luscious view, Johnnie reached up to lightly flick the three swinging pearl drops with his fingertips. “The king periodically verified that the pearls were swinging free,” Johnnie murmured. “Do you feel them?” It was a rhetorical question. Her skin was flushed with passion, her
breathing erratic, her eyes focused on some internal image.

The tiny tantalizing vibration strummed through Elizabeth’s heated senses, moving from the imbedded jewel upward in sensuous waves. Her body was already on fire, and the swinging pearls only added to her feverish desire.

“Bets were taken by his courtiers on how long the lady would last.
You
touch it,” Johnnie gently suggested, taking her hand, guiding it between her legs. “Lightly now,” he warned, “so you don’t force it in too far.” And he directed her fingers over the sleek ruby, his other hand tracing her tightly stretched skin where it merged with the pearl border, exerting pressure, the tactile contact quickening her heated sensations, stimulating the distended flesh. Her fingers slid over the wet ruby, the crimson surface fluid with her own pearly liquid, her body lubricated, ready, pulsing in anticipation.

“She was like you,” he murmured, gently closing her legs on her hand and on the Renaissance jewel, forcing her thighs together.

She whimpered as the maneuver imbedded the jewel more deeply.

He looked up briefly to gauge the sound and, satisfied it wasn’t one of pain, he placed his hands—fingers splayed—on the outer curve of her thighs and rocked her lightly from side to side. The delirium heightened, ravenous need overwhelmed her, obliterating all thought but that of carnal release.

“She didn’t last more than one dance,” he softly added.

“How could she …” Elizabeth breathed, barely able to speak, the heated pendant sending wild frissons of rapture coursing through her body, all her senses concentrated on its riveting presence under her hand.

Johnnie’s faint smile was knowing. “She couldn’t, because the king did this …” Sliding his hand between her legs, he moved her fingers upward on the slippery gem to the rim of pearls. Covering her fingers with his, he pressed delicately on the top of the pendant so the purposely constructed convex mount on the back
plunged into the trembling flesh of Elizabeth’s clitoris and then he moved her fingers in a slow circular motion.

A low moan signaled the first glorious spasm, each sublime peaking explosion that followed curling through her with such savage intensity she screamed at the end—the unguarded cry almost immediately engulfed by the shadowed silence of the room.

Afterward she lay softly panting, her body glistening in the firelit room, her breathing the only audible sound in the hushed chamber. “Merry Christmas,” Johnnie whispered, leaning forward to kiss her flushed cheek.

Her lashes slowly drifted upward at his touch. “I need you all the time,” she whispered with a kind of wonder.

“I’m a lucky man,” he said, brushing her jaw lightly with the back of his fingers, charmed by her winsome bewilderment.

Raising her arms above her head in a luxurious indolent stretch, her movement exerting an intoxicating friction on the jeweled pendant resting inside her, she smiled up at her husband with sated contentment. “How are
you
doing,” she lazily murmured, “now that I’m selfishly satisfied?”

“I’m fine,” he replied with unruffled calm.

“But what will you do with this now?” Elizabeth asked, reaching out to rub her fingers over the obvious prominence of his erection, the fine wool of his breeches stretched in taut ripples over the bulge.

“Actually,” he said, with a small half-smile, covering her hand with his so she could feel him more acutely, “I was thinking about replacing Agnes Sorel’s jewel with it.”

“And if I’m no longer interested?” But her eyes had already begun to change as he swelled against her palm.

His grin was easy. “Then I thought I’d wait five minutes until you were.”

Which proved in reality to be longer than necessary.

The jewel was slowly removed, a procedure that powerfully incited her desire. Johnnie stripped off his shirt and breeches, then lifted her on his lap, sliding her onto his arousal with an effortless strength. As the hanging
ropes of pearls undulated in great swinging loops between them they moved in a glorious untrammeled rhythm—eager, unrestrained, reckless at times—until they climaxed together in cries of pleasure.

Afterward, when Elizabeth playfully rolled Johnnie off the chaise onto the carpet so she could hold him and rub against him, kiss him and feel every inch of his finely muscled body with a rambunctious giddy urgency, the necklaces caught and snapped, sending hundreds of ivory pearls streaming across the silk pile.

With an anxious cry Elizabeth began to collect them, moving on her hands and knees to follow their scattered paths, gathering them up in a small vase she’d taken from a table near the chaise. Lying in a lithe sprawl before the fire, Johnnie watched his wife with fascinated attention, her nude body in motion a delectable attraction. Her breasts gently bounced and trembled as she crawled across the carpet, their full swollen abundance a sensual feast to the eye, the bountiful curve of her bottom lush and blooming, her position on her hands and knees provocative, as if she were tempting him to mount her.

When she drew within range in pursuit of some pearls that had rolled under the chaise, he leisurely reached out and brushed his fingers over the rivulets running down her inner thighs, tracing a teasing fingertip across her glistening wet vulva, up the sleek crevice of her bottom, around the pale sphere of her buttocks in a tantalizing act of primitive possession, putting his mark on her.

“Leave them for the maid to pick up,” he said, enticed by the ripeness of her breasts and satiny bottom, the wanton display of jewels on her nude flesh, the erotic evidence of their lovemaking on her thighs.

She’d gone motionless at his touch, her heart beginning to race, fevered tremors quivering through her senses at the light pressure of Johnnie’s fingers. After weeks of extravagant pleasuring, her body was ripe, in constant readiness like a sensuous vessel, devoted to her husband’s touch, his voice, his moods …

“Leave them,” he said more emphatically so she
turned her head and gazed at him through the veil of her pale hair.

“Come here.”

His penis slowly surged, rose, grew hard before her eyes and she trembled a little at the enormity of his arousal. A molten heat began to wash over her. Utterly sensitized, susceptible to the sight of him, she felt herself open, felt the sweet liquid of desire dissolve inside her.

“Come here
now
,” her husband restlessly repeated, his erection straining upward. Rolling over a half turn he grasped her ankle shackled with the gold padlocked chain and pulled her back. When she was close again, he released his hold on her ankle, turned over on his back and, steadying her with one hand, eased himself under her.

Her heavy breasts were provocative inches above his mouth, her large nipples so near his warm breath caressed a quivering tip as he spoke. “I can’t reach you,” he said and his tongue flicked upward, barely grazing a tantalizing pink crest.

Shuddering at the infinitesimal touch, she immediately responded to his soft order, and dropped lower so he could reach her. His mouth closed over a taut point and then his lips slid up her nipple as exquisite desire rushed through her body. With lingering deliberation, his mouth surrounded her aureole, enlarged and sensitized by pregnancy; his lips brushed back and forth over the receptive bud, as a baby would searching for sustenance. After a delicate survey, his mouth drew powerfully on her nipple and she shivered at the bewitching rush of pleasure.

He handled and played with the full globes as he suckled, squeezing them gently, his fingers drawing the plump flesh downward in long stroking movements so her nipple slid farther into his mouth, milking the soft swollen roundness, his dark fingers sinking into her yielding flesh.

Needing him with a greedy desperation that had become habit, the throbbing heat between her legs an insistent drumbeat in her brain, she reached for his erection. Her fingers closed so forcefully around his pulsing
shaft, he grunted in shock. But then her hand swept downward in a swift sure pressure and sensational feeling overwhelmed him. She watched the dark red crest pulse, stretched taut, glistening and a moment later her fingers slid upward so she brushed over the swelling sensitive rim. And she felt Johnnie’s mouth momentarily release the pressure on her nipple as he groaned.

“I need to feel you,” she pleaded, her body on fire. She tried to shift her lower body the small distance required to move over him, to straddle his hips. But his teeth lightly clamped down again on her nipple, while his fingers, half-buried in her soft breasts, held them captive.

Tormented, ravenous, she whispered, “Johnnie …”, swinging her hips over a minute distance, trying to reach him.

His fingers tightened and pain just short of pleasure stopped her.

A moment later, he kissed each nipple lightly as if in recompense for the hurt. “Slowly, darling,” he murmured, his finger gliding up her deep cleavage. Then he pulled her on top of him and held her, and smiled into her green stormy eyes.

“Maybe I don’t want to go slowly.” Hot, moody, frustrated, she glared at him.

He grinned. “One of us has to have his way.”

“
I
want to.”

One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You always do.”

“You’re a businessman; I’ll bribe you.” Her voice had changed, turned seductive. “I’ve give you my jewelry and bring you breakfast in bed for a week.”

“I don’t want your jewelry,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes, “and how can you bring me breakfast in bed when I’m up hours before you?”

Her mouth settled into a pout.

“I want something else.”

Her gaze flashed upward and their eyes met.

“We’ve two hours before our dinner guests arrive,” he softly began.

“Dinner guests?” A small startled squeal.

“Mrs. Reid’s competent,” Johnnie went on, his composure unruffled. “So I’ll offer you a proposition,” he said, his eyes surveying her with a familiar brazen sensuality.

The startling prospect of imminent dinner guests abruptly forgotten at such bold carnal promise, she smiled—an opulent smile of enticing womanly wiles. “I’m getting my way,” she said, moving her lips against his arousal.

“And then I’m getting mine,” he said with an answering smile. Opening his arms wide, he grinned at her. “I’m available for your impatient purposes. Or, actually, my cock is available. Where and how would you like it?”

“Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully, sliding off Johnny to playfully appraise his sprawled form. “I think first—”

His brows rose.

“You didn’t set a limit,” she teasingly said, sitting crosslegged and delectable beside him.

“I’ll be skin and bones before this baby is born,” he theatrically lamented. He wouldn’t of course; he was powerful as a young stallion, all toned muscle and restless energy.

“You don’t look as though you’ll fall into a decline in the next five minutes,” Elizabeth said with one mocking eyebrow raised, “so I think I’ll sit on you first.…”

“Your servant, Ma’am,” he murmured insolently, gesturing downward.

He didn’t move as she lowered herself onto his rigid penis with exquisite lingering slowness. He watched her from under his dark lashes with a faint smile. And when she was at last completely impaled, his hands moved to her hips and he brought her up to climax so fast she gasped in wonder.

Rolling her under him almost instantly after her orgasm had shuddered to a close, he sent her over the edge again seconds later with an astonishing viruosity. He obliged her eagerness for consummation twice more in rapid, mind-shattering succession, restraining his own orgasm,
and then he kissed her breathless mouth and left her sprawled on the floor in a sensual daze while he made himself comfortable on the chaise.

Her eyes opened after a few moments, and in a few moments more she searched for him. Locating him on the chaise, she smiled up at his lounging form. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she languidly purred. “You’re perfection, Johnnie.”

“And waiting …”

“Ummm …” She stretched. “Maybe later. I’m not feeling sexy anymore.”

“You’re sure?” His tone was pleasant.

She nodded and rolled over on her side so she faced him. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head and smiled, his fingers moving lightly up and down his rigid penis. Then up again, then down … the rhythm unhurried. He handled himself easily, naturally, without constraint.

“You can’t do that,” she said in a heated whisper.

He stopped momentarily to glance over at her, his brows raised in speculation.

“It’s mine,” she said.

He smiled. “But you’re not feeling sexy, so it’s not yours right now.”

“But I will be later.”

“Then you’ll have it later.” His manipulation had brought him rock hard.

“Johnnie …” She sat up quickly, her movement as agitated as her voice.

“I didn’t climax those last four times, darling,” he gently reminded her. “I was playing the gentleman. But you can’t have everything.”

“Why not?” she asked imperiously.

“Because”—he grinned—“I’m not that much of a gentleman.”

“Let me do that.”

“Don’t bother. You’re tired … it won’t take long.”