The Accidental Bride (3 page)

‘Yes! Oh John, my darling John! Yes! Yes! Yes!’ she cried, dishing her back, still gripping the table for purchase as she pushed her punished flesh against him, her hips working in a reciprocating action. She barely needed his touch, but still he bestowed it, caressing her even as he growled and blasphemed and flung his body at her.

‘Oh Lizzie,’ he answered, his own voice strange with pleasure, broken with joy. His hips hammered, hammered, hammered in the old familiar strokes, and deep where the egg had rocked, his hot seed pulsed and spurted inside latex.

As they collapsed against the table, she came again.

It didn’t feel too bad. Not really. Not at all.

Craning around to look over her shoulder into the mirror, Lizzie hiked her nightdress up with one hand and gave her pink bottom cheek a tentative prod with the other. It wasn’t even sore enough to make her yelp, but she did suck in her breath rather sharply.

You clever devil. It’s just enough to make me know I’ve been seen to, but not so fierce that it’d ever put me off wanting it again. I knew a little bit about BDSM before we started, but I didn’t know people could do what you do. I never knew a man could have such crafty skills, Mr Smith.

Her bottom actually looked quite pretty in a bizarre sort of way. The crown of each cheek had a ragged patch of rosy pink spreading across it, like the map of some obscure independent principality, and she could see faint, finer lines within the redness, which marked out the point of impact of the leather. She knew a lot of people would be horrified by the sight of her marked arse, but to her, the splodges were badges of honour, marks of regard, hard won, but richly rewarded.

He’d been like a wild beast across that flipping table, though, and she was sure she still had splinters in her belly to prove it. Pulling up the long, peach satin nightdress at the front too, she hooked the slithery material in a bunch at her hip, and ran her fingertips over her abdomen. No splinters. Well, none she could detect. She pinched the flesh
there. No, no extra inches as yet. They were both eating like horses, here at the villa. The Provençal food was so sumptuous and fresh, with loads of tomatoes and olives and delicious fish. But she supposed the enormous amount of sex they were having, coupled with plenty of healthy walks, and even a few jaunts out on bicycles, was offsetting the billions of calories they were consuming.

‘Well, that’s the most beautiful view in the entire south of France, and I’ll fight any man who says otherwise.’

Lizzie spun round at the sound of his voice. His dear, familiar, low, thrilling voice. John was standing in the open doorway, leaning on the jamb, admiring her. He had that twinkle-eyed predatory look in his eyes, and his lips were curved in a possessive masculine smile. When she prepared to loosen her grip on her nightdress, and let it fall over her belly and legs, he said, ‘Uh oh, leave it as it is,’ almost before her brain had sent the message to her hand.

He strode towards her, and took up his station right behind her, peering into the mirror.

‘Turn,’ he instructed, and when she did, he ran his hand down the outer slope of her hip and thigh, thumb just skirting the rosy pink patch he’d created. ‘That looks very pretty.’ His thumb slid across the punished acreage, testing, assessing, making Lizzie wriggle with a mix of discomfort and renewed desire.

She couldn’t believe that she wanted sex all the time. But she did. Being on holiday with John made her libido go ballistic.

‘I’m not sure it feels pretty. It feels a bit sore to me.’ She rocked against him, still clutching at her skirt, rubbing against his hip. He was wearing midnight-blue pyjama bottoms, and nothing else, and the cotton was very light.
Swaying closer, she pressed against the inevitable bulge. She wasn’t the only person this trip was turning into a horn-dog.

‘Not too sore, I hope,’ he said, pressing his face into her hair. In the mirror, his tanned skin looked startling against the black. They’d both caught the sun in the two weeks they’d been here, and although Lizzie would have said it was impossible for John to look more handsome than he normally did, somehow, with a sun-kissed glow, he was managing to. Her own tan was very light, because her skin was fair, and she burned if she wasn’t careful. John was scrupulous, though, keeping a watch on her, and commanding her to get into the shade after a strictly monitored amount of sun. Sometimes, she felt like defying him, just for the sake of it, because he was so prone to act like a boss, but it thrilled her too, his benign domination. She knew he had her welfare at heart, but being a man so used to giving orders, calling the shots, in all things, was second nature to him.

‘No … Not really. Just, well, making itself known. Leather makes more of an impact than hands, or plastic rulers, or even switches.’

He frowned in the mirror, his eyes full of concern.

‘So it does,’ he said quietly. ‘You will always tell me, won’t you, if I get a bit too enthusiastic for you? You’re a rare and cherished treasure to me, you know that, and I can’t bear the thought that I might push you too far.’

As they sometimes – in fact quite often – did, the imps of curiosity and jealousy came out to dance. It was daft to be envious of women he’d had and played with before her, but she couldn’t help herself.

‘Don’t worry. If I don’t like anything, I’ll holler “chintz”. But I trust you, John, and I know you’ve had plenty of
practice to perfect your techniques. With plenty of lucky women getting the benefit … I know there have been parties and whatnot. Like the one at the mansion. Lots of gorgeous women there to spank, I guess.’

He slid his arm around her, and as she reciprocated, her nightdress slithered down, the sleek fabric gliding over her punished flesh like a breath. The nightgown was one of quite a few he’d bought her, part of a great haul of gorgeous lingerie. But John was thoughtful. He didn’t just buy her things that he liked. Yes, she now owned a lot of delicate, slinky items like this one, but he also bought plenty of the kind of thing she’d have chosen for herself: funky pyjama bottoms in stripes and wild patterns, simple T-shirts and vests, white and coloured. She’d chosen the peach silk number tonight because the delicate fabric was kind to a punished rear.

John turned her in his arms, and looked down at her, his blue eyes clear as the noon day sky here. Honest.

‘Yes, there have been women. You know that, love. I’ve never denied it.’

‘I do … I suppose I’m just jealous.’ Why lie? ‘Women are like that about the ex-girlfriends of the men they love.’

He slid his hand against her cheek, gently cradling, and then pressed his lips to hers in a soft, intense kiss. As she’d noted in the garden, he still didn’t come out and say the ‘L’ word all that often, but he kissed in a way that was just as telling.

‘I wouldn’t call most of them that. They were more like liaisons than girlfriends.’ He kissed her forehead now, his breath ruffling her black fringe. ‘In fact, I’ve never had a girlfriend quite like you before. Never one who’s actually been a girl.’

A word, a name, clanged in her brain. Clara!

What was she, then, Mr Smith? She must have been a girlfriend, once. You must have been around the same age. You still are around the same age.

But she didn’t mention the ‘C’ word. It was as rarely heard as the ‘L’ word. It felt bitchy to remind John of the woman who’d hurt him so much, twice over. Lizzie knew, though, that he knew she was thinking about the woman she considered her rival.

‘Don’t start the age thing again,’ she said instead, sidetracking him with another issue, that wasn’t an issue, really, more of a running joke between them.

‘I can’t help myself. I’m twenty-two years older than you, love.’

‘Look, granddad, you’re forty-six, that’s all. If you were ninety-six, we might have a problem, but you’re not, so just be told, will you?’

John grinned. ‘Stroppy madam!’

‘Bossy tyrant!’

‘Shrew!’

‘Despot!’

Laughing, he held her face between his two hands, and kissed her again. Hard, this time, tongue pushing in. It was a bossy kiss, a possession of her mouth, but boy, how she liked it.

She was gasping when he freed her mouth, smiling at him, feeling a tenderness in her lips that was a pale echo of the simmering glow in her buttocks.

‘But seriously, Lizzie, you’re going to have to accept that from time to time, the age difference between us will bother me. And make me feel guilty.’

‘I don’t know why.’

‘Just humour me.’ He tidied her fringe, where he’d ruffled it.

‘I will. But you’re going to have to accept that living the deluxe life, to which you’re so accustomed, is going to make me uneasy sometimes too. I’m just an ordinary girl, and sometimes it all gets a bit too rarefied for me and I feel panicky. Travelling first class … private villas … buying honking great mansion houses just so we can live together. It’s all very rich for my blood, you know?’

John’s brow crumpled. Ah, storm clouds. And not about Dalethwaite Manor either, she guessed.

‘And let’s not start that again either!’ His voice was fierce, not threatening, but not far from it. ‘You fucking well aren’t an ordinary girl, Lizzie! Didn’t I just tell you a moment ago that you’re rare and precious to me? And I’m lucky to be with you. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes … OK … Truce. I’m a fabulous goddess. I’ll try to remember that.’

‘Remember it because it’s the truth,’ said John, smiling again. He looped his hands at the small of her back, carefully avoiding the sore areas in her buttocks. ‘Now, can we please find a way to make love without hurting that gorgeous bottom of yours?’

Oh yes! Oh yes!

‘Don’t worry too much. You are a clever man, Mr Smith, and it really doesn’t hurt that much.’ She gave him a slow, sultry look from beneath her lashes. ‘And even if it did, I can stand a twinge or two if you can cope with the moaning.’

‘I love the moaning,’ said John roundly, tightening his grip and drawing her inexorably against his erection. ‘Especially if it’s mine!’

Lizzie kissed the side of his neck as she moved in close. ‘I
love it when you moan. What can I do to make it happen?’ She reached down and cupped his hard flesh. ‘Suck you? Squeeze you? Ride you? Your wish is my command, boss man.’

John embraced her, hands roving, fingers not so careful of her soreness now. Not that she cared.

‘You’re a she-devil, woman. Temptation incarnate. You know how greedy I am. You’ve made me want all of those … and more!’ He kissed her passionately, violently, gripping her bottom, and making her moan and wriggle.

Massaging her pelvis against his cock, Lizzie kissed back. The spanked places on her bottom were fizzing, intoxicating her blood like pink Champagne. She wanted him. Wanted him now.

Laughing, John hauled her across to the bed, and then sat down on the edge, tugging at the cord of his pyjamas and freeing his cock. It bounced up, eager and hard, ready for her.

Lizzie made as if to kneel and give him head, but he drew her towards his pelvis. ‘Kneel and straddle me, darling. I need to be in you again. I want to make you come, and see your lovely face as you do.’

Sizing up the situation, Lizzie climbed onto the bed, John shuffling back a little and helping her into position. Her thighs at either side of him, she poised herself as he held his cock, allowing her to view the beautiful length of it as he reached for the ever handy condom.

For a moment, she stood apart from the intimacy of their tableau, wondering if a time would ever come when they no longer used condoms. The wonder of being skin to skin with him was something she’d been thinking about and fantasising about, but there never seemed to be the right
moment to raise the issue. And whenever she’d hinted, she’d got the distinct impression that John made a conscious point of not taking that hint. For some reason … Could it be that it was simply a closeness too far for him?

And yet, the way John’s eyes flared as his cock nudged her pussy almost made her wonder if the notion was crossing his mind at this very moment. He held her by the waist, supporting her in a sure hold, their intimate flesh touching yet not touching, his and hers, yin and yang, but still separated. She almost spoke, but then held back. Why spoil everything by getting into complications right now?

‘You’re so beautiful … so beautiful …’ he whispered, hips lifting, not pushing right in yet, but breaching her entrance, stretching her. His hands were strong; he was supporting her weight, making it easy for her, even though she wouldn’t have minded at all if it wasn’t easy and her thighs were screaming from the tension of holding herself aloft. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, you wonderful woman, you.’

She wanted to say she was the lucky one. The ‘ordinary girl’ who’d won the heart of an extraordinary man. He was everything she’d ever dreamed of. Kind, intelligent, sophisticated, funny. As handsome as sin, and a lover nonpareil. All that would have been an embarrassment of wonderfulness; but the whipped Chantilly cream on the top of the dessert of it all was that he was also fabulously wealthy, a man of enormous means who could put resources at her disposal and help her achieve goals and dreams.

‘Don’t tease me, you beast,’ she said, laughing. ‘That big beautiful cock of yours … Don’t be mean. Let me have it all!’

‘Then have it, my sex goddess, have it.’ His smile was like the sun, glorious, teasing, loving, wonderful.

And his cock, as he pulled her down onto him, was unequivocal.

He filled her body, her heart, her soul, her life, and when she was settled, he sought her clit and stroked it. Lovingly.

Coming, she praised his name and howled, ‘I love you!’

Later, she changed her nightgown for an old one of hers, one of the few she possessed, and John gently massaged a bit of his super-secret muscle balm – formulated by a posh London apothecary – into her bottom to soothe it. He’d told her it was for his tricky knee, although she’d yet to see any evidence of said trickiness. His knees were as magnificent as the rest of him, in her opinion. But the balm was good stuff, nevertheless, and actually did reduce the soreness. She’d probably be able to lie on her back now, but she decided not to chance it, and snuggled onto her front, turning her head on the pillow to watch John.