The Earl and the Governess: An Erotic Romance (17 page)

“Now!” Rafe
said and as Johnson thrust his cock into her mouth and her lips
closed round him, she felt Rafe's huge prick ram roughly into her
in one smooth thrust, his hands gripping her tightly and pulling
her onto him so he was buried in her, balls deep.

With a
strangled profanity, Johnson mimicked his employer's actions and
gripping Charlotte's hair a little too roughly he pulled her
further down his shaft crying, “Take our fucking cocks!”

Rafe began to
pound into Charlotte like a man possessed as she swallowed
Johnson's cock, her eyes watering. It was a rough assault from both
of them but oddly she was enjoying every frenzied minute of it,
glorying in their uncontrolled passion. Her pussy too was loving
being filled to capacity and the strength of their grip on her
merely drove her to heights previously unimagined.

Johnson's
rhythmic thrusting into her mouth soon had him moaning, "Oh God, my
beauty, you're going to make me come," and a moment later he had
pulled out of her mouth and splashed her face with his sticky hot
seed. The sight of cum shooting from his pulsating cock prompted a
lightning quick orgasm to break inside her but Rafe seemed not to
notice as his frantic thrusts quickened and he came inside her with
a victorious shout.

“That was very
naughty,” Johnson whispered as he ambushed Charlotte in the nursery
corridor. 

Her legs were
still decidedly wobbly even though she had had ample time to
recover and compose herself. William and Arthur were waiting for
their lesson, but Johnson was blocking her way, his exasperating
smirk spread across his handsome face.

“I'm going to
be thinking about that for weeks to come. Best thing I've ever
seen, you impaled on our cocks like a roast pig.”

As it so often
did, Charlotte's hand itched to slap him. “You are disgusting,” she
said instead, with all the loathing she could muster.

“You seem to
like sucking my cock though.”

“Keep your
voice down!”

He just grinned
and moved a step closer, backing her up against the wall. “If
you're really lucky I'll fuck you again, but you might have to be
nicer to me first.” He pressed his groin against her in a manly
display of what she was missing.

“And why would
I want you when I can have the Earl of Langham?” she asked,
valiantly attempting to keep her voice calm and steady.

He smiled down
at her. “You just keep telling yourself that, love. You just keep
telling yourself that,” and he taking a step away from her, he
smoothly spun round and sauntered away down the corridor, his big
imposing body almost filling the small space.

Chapter
26

The Governess is
Rescued

In which the
governess realises that summer cannot last forever.

On her regular
afternoon walks, Charlotte was noticing the end of summer.
Diaphanous sycamore seeds floated through the air, mushrooms dotted
the grassy track and a cold breeze reddened her cheeks. Change was
in the air and she felt uneasy. Ever since Johnson's return the
Earl of Langham had withdrawn. It was not obvious, in fact she
sometimes wondered if she were imagining it, but his kisses seemed
less insistent, his gaze less intense, his touch less determined.
There had been no repeat of their reckless threesome either, which
she should have been relieved by but strangely was not. Oddly, it
left her feeling bereft, which she could not fathom because when
she looked at Eddie Johnson now she felt nothing but annoyance. She
surmised, eventually, that she felt bereft because she had begun to
anticipate losing Rafe. She suspected her time at Fairburn House,
like summer, was almost over.

The feeling was
cemented when Rafe left for London without saying goodbye. He would
only be gone a few days, she had found out, but still, it seemed to
her a sign. She pondered this as she wandered the narrow path that
skirted the ridge at the edge of the estate, a free day
unexpectedly handed to her with both William and Arthur bedridden
with heavy colds. She was so deep in thought that she failed to
notice someone approaching from the opposite direction and almost
walked into him.

“It looks like
rain. You shouldn't be this far from the house,” Johnson said from
under the wide brim of his hat. 

Charlotte
barely disguised the grimace as she looked up at him. He had no
right to tell her what to do.

“Why are you
not in London?” she asked rudely.

“I'm meeting
his Lordship in Derbyshire in a few days,” he said.

“Derbyshire?”
she asked surprised.

“He's attending
a shooting party,” Johnson said, taking off his hat and running his
hand through his dark hair. “Did he not tell you?”

No, thought
Charlotte, he seemed to keep her remarkably uninformed.

Johnson took a
step towards her and leant down slightly so his mouth was just
above hers. She reminded herself that she hated him as his full
lips curled upwards in an inviting smile. “Maybe we should make the
most of his absence,” he murmured and his hand rested on her
waist.

She firmly
removed his hand and said, “Let's not,” then stepping around him
continued on her way. But he just followed her, catching up in a
couple of long strides.

“It is going to
rain, you know,” he said cheerfully, obviously unaffected by her
rejection. “I think you should turn back.”

She just kept
walking, trying to ignore his big annoying presence beside her, and
the big fat raindrop that had just landed on her nose. A loud roll
of thunder rumbled not too far away.

“I told you,”
her uninvited companion said smugly.

The raindrops
were now coming far more heavily, splashing on Charlotte's face.
Johnson put his hat back on and looked up at the sky, which had
suddenly become ominously dark. Charlotte could not help noticing
he had not shaved today; there was a dark shadow across his chin.
He was dressed far more casually than usual too in a brown tweed
coat and leather boots. As a sudden wind whipped Charlotte's
skirts, he took off his coat and held it over her head.

“Here it
comes,” he yelled, the downpour almost drowning out his words,
“We'll have to run for it!”

Johnson held
Charlotte's hand and practically pulled her along the path, her
flimsy shoes slipping in the mud. He had draped his coat over her
shoulders but her skirts were wet through. Not as wet as Johnson
though, who was in just his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, the wet
cotton transparent and plastered to his muscular arms.

“Come on,” he
shouted. “There's shelter just down here!” and he pulled her
through a gate and down a steep little path to a stone cottage.
They skidded to a halt under the canopy over the door and looked
out at the rain.

“Looks like
it's going to be a while,” Johnson said and Charlotte shivered
uncontrollably. “God, you're frozen, let's go inside.”

Inside, it was
dark and damp with nothing but a forlorn little table and broken
chair in the centre of the room. Johnson took Charlotte's hand and
pulled her into the next room where, surprisingly, there was a big
double bed all made up with pillows and blankets. Johnson opened
the curtains to let in some of the meagre light and then proceeded
to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.

“How did you
know this was here?” Charlotte asked, as Johnson peeled off his
waistcoat and started on the buttons of his shirt.

“I used to meet
someone here,” he said looking, for once, a little embarrassed.

“Who?” she
asked before she could check herself, but he just gave her a
sheepish little grin and pulled the wet shirt off his arms,
dropping it onto the floor in a soggy heap.

It was only
then that Charlotte registered that he was standing before her in
nothing but his skin-tight breeches and boots. She had a sudden
memory of the first time she had ever seen Rafe, in the courtyard
of the house similarly bare chested and wet. Johnson was taller
with broader shoulders and more muscular arms, and his chest was
partially covered in hair that trailed down his flat-ridged belly
to the waistband of his breeches. Her mouth watered as she stared.
She was trembling now for altogether different reasons.

As she stood
transfixed, he kicked off his boots and then his hands were on the
fold of his breeches.

“What are you
doing?” she asked, horrified.

“Taking off
these wet clothes,” he said. “You ought to the same before you die
of cold.” But then he seemed to change his mind about taking off
his breeches and said instead, “I'll make a fire to dry
everything.”

Charlotte still
stood stupidly, dripping rain water onto the floor as she watched
him rearrange the half burnt sticks and logs in the grate and
deftly coax them into flame, the muscles in his smooth brown back
flexing as he worked.  Then he fetched the broken chair from
the next room and draped his wet shirt and waistcoat over the back.
Facing her with his hands on his hips, he said, “Come on then Miss
Kemp, let's have 'em.”

Charlotte had
no idea why she was so paralysed with shyness. She had allowed this
man to do all number of obscene things to her, to run his hands
over her body, to sink his fingers inside her most private place,
to bury himself in her and whisper filthy words. Only a week ago
she had been on her knees with his cock filling her mouth, but all
those things had been done clothed and now she could not bring
herself to disrobe in front of him. For Rafe she had stripped when
he had ordered her to, but this was not Rafe and it was an entirely
different situation. For some reason it felt more intimate.

“Charlotte,”
Johnson said in a more gentle voice, “You are shivering with cold
and there is a nice warm bed right there. Wouldn't you like to get
in it?”

Oh God, she had
not even thought that far! Were they both going to get in that bed
with not a stitch of clothing between them? 

Johnson was
looking at her with one of his dark eyebrows raised and his mouth
turned up in that annoying grin. “Well if you're not, I am,” he
said and he finished undoing his breeches and tugged them down his
legs. To Charlotte's relief he was not aroused. His cock dangled
softer and smaller than she had ever seen it. He was cold after
all. He looked down at himself and then back up at her and grinned,
“See! You have nothing to be afraid of!” and then he turned and
gave her a view of the most deliciously muscular backside she had
ever seen, before he pulled back the blankets and disappeared
beneath them with a satisfied groan. The groan did nothing to
settle her nerves; it merely reminded her of groans he had made in
the past.

He pulled the
blankets up over his muscled belly, folded his arms behind his head
and raised that eyebrow again. His armpits were hairy and the sight
made Charlotte blush.

“I'm lovely and
warm now,” he said.

Despite herself
Charlotte found herself laughing and before she could change her
mind she shrugged off his wet coat, but as her hands fumbled with
the buttons down the front of her bodice she realised he was
watching her avidly. He was still lounged casually but his dark
eyes had become darker. 

“Can you
manage? Want a hand?” he asked, his voice sounding almost
rough.

Charlotte gave
an exasperated sigh. “No, I'd like you to turn away please.”

Reluctantly he
turned over in bed, his back to her, the blankets just covering his
narrow hips. Charlotte took a moment to take in the broad expanse
of his back before she continued on with her buttons.

“I don't know
why you're being so bashful,” he said. “We have fucked after
all.”

Charlotte
continued to undo the buttons and then peel her dress away from her
chest and down her arms. Her skin was pricked with goose bumps
despite the heat from the now roaring fire.

“Although I've
never seen you naked,” he added and then was silent, seemingly
contemplating this point.

Charlotte had
hoped her underclothes would be dry, but to her dismay they were
soaked through. She was going to have to take everything off or she
would catch a chill. She looked at Johnson to check that he was
still turned away and pulled off her corset and chemise and
virtually threw them at the chair.

She put a hand
on the bed an inch away from Johnson's hot skin. She could feel his
warmth radiating towards her. “Move over,” she said and when he had
shuffled to the other side of the bed she dived under the covers,
pulling them all the way up to her chin. 

Johnson turned
round and she pressed her arms on top of the blankets to ensure
they did not move.

“See, that
wasn't so difficult,” he said and she turned to face him, suddenly
noticing how handsome he was. His unshaved chin gave him a rakish
edge and there was the bare chest of course, so smooth and brown
and inches away from her. She remained rigid under the sheet, like
a terrified virgin on her wedding night. Her pussy involuntarily
twitched. Oh why had she thought of that comparison! Now her mind
was full of visions of her rakish bridegroom coaxing her into
submission. What would he do? Push his hand under the sheets and
ease her legs apart? Ease the blankets down to reveal her nipples?
Suck one into his mouth as his fingers gently stroked her? She
closed her eyes and suppressed a moan. Getting into this bed with
him had been a very bad idea.

“What are you
thinking about?” he asked. Oh he had some inkling. She could
practically hear his smug smile.

She opened her
eyes and looked straight at him. His eyes were black pools of lust.
She could bet his cock was no longer so unthreatening. She wanted
to run her eyes downwards to see if he were showing interest but
she knew he would catch her doing it.