His initial reaction was to protest, to argue, to convince her as to her folly, but from the firm set of her shoulders, he knew extensive discussion was fruitless. Furthermore, she was correct: What lies would they provide to Lady E. if she suddenly appeared? In his haste to alleviate their sexual tensions, he'd forgotten about the incorrigible noblewoman.
Mary's domestic circumstances were dire enough without his exacerbating them by involving her employer's
daughter. Sighing with frustration, he moved to the door and opened it.
"This isn't over," he contended as he stepped out without waiting for her reply.
He hurried up the walk and went inside where he peeked out the window, spying on the carriage until Lady Elizabeth arrived from her jaunt to the backyard. The driver and coachman sprang to attention, helped her in, then mounted to their posts.
The conveyance rumbled off, and he stared after it, hoping for a final glimpse of Mary—perhaps a peek of her own out the carriage window, or a wave of good-bye—but regrettably, she made no gesture of farewell, and he keenly felt the slight.
Behind him, Gabriel insolently sauntered down the hall as if he had the world by the tail, and John speculated as to whether the lady was still a virgin. As his son neared, he glanced around but didn't abandon his post. He couldn't propel himself away from where he'd last seen Mary.
"What are you looking at?" Gabriel inquired as he beheld his father who was oddly—and longingly—gazing out the window.
"Lady Elizabeth's departure," John said. "What did she want?"
"What do you suppose?"
"The
painting
contract will continue?"
"She was quite persuasive."
John chortled with repugnance. "After your mood yesterday, this can't be a good idea. What are your plans for her?'
"You shouldn't have to ask."
"But she has no money. Why persist?"
"Why not?"
"So, it will be just for the sex, then?"
"Aye." He shrugged impertinently. "Just for the sex."
"If you persevere, you'll be sorry."
"Perhaps," Gabriel allowed.
"I guarantee it."
John spun away, not wanting to protract the debate. Gabriel would do as he pleased, and damn the consequences. He was strong-willed, and once he'd selected his course, John had little sway.
In any event, John didn't care to fret over Gabriel and Elizabeth. He ignored Gabriel, wanting only to be left in peace, but his son's astute regard cut into his back.
No doubt, he was behaving peculiarly, but he couldn't defend or explain his eccentric manner; he could only focus on Mary and how their destiny would evolve. Blessedly, Gabriel walked on, not eager for an extended quarrel, either.
John could smell Mary on his fingers and tongue, could vividly recall the shape of her breasts, the taste of her mouth, the tightness of her pussy.
Long after the coach disappeared, he dawdled, reflecting upon her and what they'd done, and one fact was indisputable; He would see her again.
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel stood at attention, legs braced, arms behind his back, much like a ship's captain. Elizabeth vexed him from across the room, and how he wished she hadn't come!
After their last meeting, he hadn't believed she would return. Barring that eventuality, he'd decided that if she was reckless enough to show up, he would have the fortitude to save her from herself. He would sketch her, as he'd agreed, then send her on her way.
But with those marvelous breasts thrusting out at him, he was forced to recognize the mistake in his calculations: When he was in her presence, he simply couldn't resist
Well, he'd warned her, hadn't he? He'd explicitly spelled out his intent. He was only human, after all, and he wasn't about to refuse what she was so willing to give.
For this rendezvous, the pink party dress was absent She was attired in a severe, drab gray dress—and she resembled a no-nonsense missionary, or perhaps a washerwoman about to see to her chores.
"I hate seeing you in gray and white. It washes out your facial color."
"I know, but the outfit matched the excuse I devised to escape the house all day."
"Which was?”
"Charity work. It was the only lie I could concoct on such short notice."
He nodded, impatient to have the offending clothes off.
"Let's begin with your hair." It was wound tightly
around her head. "That austere braiding has to go."
At his stem command, she briskly complied, her hands pulling at the combs until the brunette mass swished down in a shimmering wave.
"Shake it out; run your fingers through it."
"Like this?”
"Exactly." Not taking his eyes off her, he reached for a glass of wine, sipping the red liquid as he contemplated her. "Your gown. Unfasten the top button. But slowly. I like to watch. It arouses me."
Not accustomed to his sexual banter, she blushed becomingly, then submitted, fussing with the first closure, ultimately freeing it, then she froze, unsure of how to proceed.
"The next, if you please."
The second one fell away.
"You're not wearing a corset, are you?"
She shook her head, but he hadn't needed to ask. The flow and sway of her breasts jolted him, made his cock awaken and harden.
"I've never gone without one before; it feels strange."
In light of her background and upbringing, it was an extreme feat of courage and audacity to forsake the contrivance. That she would have relinquished it at his instigation, and for his gratification, was thrilling. By the simple act of eschewing the undergarment, she'd demonstrated her unconditional trust in him—misplaced though it might be.
He approached and tipped his glass in her direction. "Another."
A third button was liberated, and he shoved the lapels aside, exposing a good share of her bosom. Her two gorgeous breasts were covered by a cream-colored chemise, and he slipped his hand under it, caressing and fondling her.
"When you were here on Saturday, I loved kissing your breasts." He massaged her more thoroughly. "You reveled in it."
"You know I did."
"I want to kiss you here again. You'll let me, won't you?"
"That's why I'm here."
"What was your bodily condition the past few days? Were you aching for me?"
“Of course I was."
He'd pined away for her, too, though he'd never admit it. "I'm going to show you how a man makes love to a woman. Would you like that?" He applied extra pressure, causing her to fidget and hiss out her breath.
"What will it entail?”
“Does it matter?"
"I guess not"
She stared up at him with those verdant eyes, beseeching him to be kind, to progress gradually, but he couldn't slacken his pace. If he relented, he'd be holding her in his arms, cherishing and comforting her in a fashion that was perilous to his freedom and autonomy.
He couldn't allow her to burrow any further under his skin! Being in her company put him in danger of relinquishing control, of ceding power, of permitting her to discover how much he cared about her. Lest she ingratiate herself more fully, he had to remain aloof, or there'd be no telling in what sort of quagmire they'd end up.
"Finish with the buttons." He dislodged his hand from her person, distracting himself by sipping at his wine.
She swallowed, vacillated, then carried on with her task as he avidly observed. When she reached her waist, she tugged at the bodice of her dress so that it hung loosely, furnishing glimpses of cleavage, but she couldn't locate the necessary strength to shed it altogether, so he assisted her by yanking at the tight sleeves, stripping her to her chemise.
The undergarment was dreary and functional but exquisitely tailored, and it flawlessly hugged every delectable inch of her breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination as to their shape or size.
"Very nice," he murmured.
Languidly, he circled around her, studying her form. At the rear, he moved close, assessing her. His proximity made her apprehensive, and she tried to gaze at him over her shoulder.
"Don't turn around." He leaned in, his front flattened to her back, his phallus against her ass.
From his angle, her breasts were stupendous. They protruded from her chest, the nipples jutting out He nipped at her nape, and she tipped her head, providing unlimited access, and he gripped her hips and clasped her shapely bottom into his raging cockstand, taking a deliberate flex.
"Have you been thinking about me?"
"Yes, but I'm not about to say how much. You're well aware of your devastating effect on women. You hardly need your vanity stroked by me."
He grinned. "Did you contemplate what we did? How we kissed? How I suckled at your breast?"
"Every minute. I was in agony, you cad!"
"In your suffering, were you dreaming that I was with you so that I might do it over and over again?"
"I confess," she said crossly. "Since meeting you, I've become an absolute wanton."
Chuckling, he ventured on, completing his journey so that he was facing her once more.
"Sit for me." He urged her backward toward the sofa, and initially, she acquiesced, but once her thighs encountered the cushions, she resisted.
"Are we going to—"
"Not yet I simply want to draw you."
This piece of information mollified her, and she relaxed onto the pillows.
They had all day, and he planned to prolong the pleasure, to attenuate the anticipation, so that when he actually progressed, they would both be burning with unfulfilled passion. Drawing her would moderate the momentum,
would ease her into total nudity, and give him something to do besides fall on her like a wild beast. An additional benefit, he'd have a stack of erotic pictures after she'd departed.
He arranged her, gathering her hair to the side so that it flowed down her arm, and tilting her chin up so that she appeared haughty and unobtainable, then he snatched up his sketching materials and a stool.
"Lower the strap on your chemise."
She acceded, but moved it only the slightest inch.
"More."
She tried again, still not far enough, so he intervened, jerking it nearly to her elbow, revealing most of her breast. The rim of the areola was visible, the edge of the bodice balanced precariously and held in place solely by being caught on her elongated nipple.
"Much better. Wet your lips."
She stroked her tongue across her lush bottom lip, and the gesture was so ingenuous, so carnal, that he felt it clear to the tip of his cock.
"What a vixen you are."
"How? I'm not trying to be."
"You don't have to do anything special. You're tempting just as you are. When I look at you, I want to make you mine. In every way that counts with a man."
"Will I—" She stopped, perplexed by her budding sexuality.
When she couldn't finish her question, he posed it for her. "Will you please me?"
"Aye."
“Without a doubt.
Now don’t move.
I need to capture your essence."
Desperate to record the provocative pose, he frantically set to drawing, each sketch growing more suggestive. She was sexy, rumpled, a seductive enchantress about to disrobe for an unseen lover.
Eager to behold more of her, he yanked at the chemise so that it dipped below her nipple, unveiling a perfect breast.
His regard was tangible as any touch, and her nipple hardened even more. "Would you like me to kiss your breast?"
"Please, Gabriel—" she begged.
"Not yet." He decreed, 'Take your breast in your hand. Squeeze your nipple."
"I couldn't!"
"I insist."
Tentatively, she submitted, caressing herself for what he was positive was the first time, but she scarcely pinched the elongated nub. "With more pressure," he dictated, "and rotate your finger and thumb to increase sensation."
"I don't like how it makes me feel."
"How is that?"
"Unsettled. Out of control."
"Look down. Watch what you're doing to yourself."
She nearly refused, hut then her eyes sank to her chest and the forbidden sight she witnessed made her hand still. Her brow creased with awe. "It's quite enticing, isn't it? A woman's breast I hadn't ever realized it."
"Yours are particularly exquisite."
He shifted her so that she was cupping the precious mound, the nipple impudently poking from the center then, with a few swift strokes, he'd drawn her, thoroughly depicting her sensual temperament.
How quickly she'd evolved!
"Here." He proffered the sketch. "Who told you that you aren't beautiful?"
"My father."
"He's an idiot," he spat out, glad he'd never met the man. "Let
my
opinion be the only one of import from now on."
He pitched his supplies on the floor, then he hauled
her off the pillows and steadied her on her feet, so that she was standing.
Gripping her chemise, he maneuvered it off, then he clutched her buttocks and bent down, inhaling and nuzzling her cleavage, but he wouldn't allow himself the luxury of nursing at her breast. He wanted the tension to mount until neither of them could tolerate any delay.
"Remove your dress."
"What? I thought you only wanted to see my breasts."
"I have, and now I'm inclined to see the rest of you."
"That seems too much."
"You promised to do whatever I asked."
"Yes, but I didn't grasp that you proposed to... to . . ."
'To what? Corrupt you? Debauch you?"
He was behaving badly, giving her no opportunity to adapt or acclimate, but he was beyond placation. He was anxious to forge on, to use her in every despicable manner.
"If I agree," she dubiously inquired, "what do you intend?"
"What do you imagine? I'll draw you naked." Kneeling down, he rooted against her abdomen, and he ground the heel of his palm into her mons. "When I'm finished, I'll be extremely aroused in a masculine way, so I'll fondle you here, and kiss you here."
Her head fell back, and she groaned. "Why are you handling me like that? Why is it so incredible—and so awful—at the same time?"
"It's your pleasure center. I'm going to relieve some of the bodily anguish you've been enduring." He replaced his hand with his mouth, breathing through the fabric of her skirt, and she flailed restively. "That's what you expect from me, isn't it?"
His fingers rose, alighting on her nipples, and she complained, "You don't play fair."
"Never." He laughed, then sobered. "Let me do this for you. I guarantee it will be phenomenal." His hands dropped to her waist, and lingered there, waiting for her submission, which came rapidly.
"Bounder," she chided, but she was smiling.
A row of tiny buttons descended down her hip. Because of their size, it took her forever to detach them, and he watched, greedily following every flick of her wrist. Finally, the last button was unhooked, and her dress billowed around her hips. She clutched at it as though it was a lifeline.
"Let it fall to the floor."
Irked, she hissed, "I'm not wearing anything underneath."
"I'm so glad."
Exasperated by his licentious constitution, she wavered, but he wouldn't be deterred. As if she was about to jump into a cold pond, she took a deep gulp of air, opened her fingers, and her gown slithered away.
He visually tracked its descent, then determinedly meandered back up, assessing her soft leather shoes, her off-white stockings, the frilly garters tied at her knees. Her thighs were sleek, smooth, and he traveled on, treating himself to her rounded hips, her sloping abdomen, her adorable virgin's pussy, covered with a cushy pile of dark hair.
He couldn't resist parting her and sliding a thumb into her secret, slick crevice, and she was literally dripping with want. Oh, but he couldn't wait to fuck her! She would be so tight, so fine!