Page 44 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

“I didn’t know lovemaking could be so bossy,” she commented as she rose to her knees.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

She paused midway over the seat and met his gaze. “But you’ll show me.”

This woman. This woman. “Anything you want is yours. You know that.”

She swung her second leg over the seat, then settled into the back seat, much more ample and comfortable without the hand brake in the way. Unbuttoning her coat, she asked, “And what if I wanted to try one of those new things now?”

He was already undoing his boots and shoving his pants down his thighs. “I’d say yes.”

“Then come back here and sit.”

“Oh, you want to be the bossy one.”

“A little bit.” She chewed on her lip. “Would that be all right?”

“More than,” he assured her, gesturing to his cock, which was already waking up at the mere suggestion of Olive being in control of it once more. “Look how much.”

She glanced at his cock, licked her lips, and set to work unbuttoning her bodice. “I want to try something I read about. Undress. Quickly.”

In moments, he’d shed his overcoat. His tie hit the floor, followed by his vest and shirt. Grabbing the blankets, he crossed to the backseat and scooped her into his arms.

“Wait,” she protested. “I haven’t removed my chemise yet.”

“You’ll be cold.”

“I won’t be denied the feel of your skin on mine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He helped her out of her chemise, frowning at the gooseflesh that spread across her supple skin. He tried to tuck her beneath him. “Come here, let me warm you.”

“I want to be the one on top.”

His abdomen clenched at the mental image of her riding him, her breasts swaying in his face. “Where exactly did you read about this?”

“Some literature Clem gave me.”

“Thank you, Clem,” he muttered, and Olive laughed.

He sat in the seat, then assisted her on top of him.

Her taut nipple grazed his arm as she shifted, and his mouth watered in response.

Her inner thighs slid against his outer ones, her pubic curls tickling his shaft as she shifted into place.

He gritted his teeth at the sensation, determined to see to her comfort before they could get carried away.

Palming the flannel blanket, he brought it around her shoulders, trapping their heat between them.

“How’s that?”

“Lovely,” she said on a sigh. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rocked forward until his cock slid against her slit. He gripped her hips and moved backward with a groan.

“I didn’t think to bring a condom,” he said through clenched teeth.

She buried her face against his neck and whispered, “I used a sponge.”

He smiled. “Miss Becket, you naughty thing. You planned this.”

“I hoped I would need it.”

“I’m very glad,” he said, nudging her upward to meet her gaze, “that one of us managed to be prepared. Now, kiss me.”

He caught her lips with his, sliding his tongue along their seam until she opened and let him in.

He hummed into her mouth, intoxicated by her taste.

His hands roamed up her thighs, her hips, and across her back.

Her skin was chilled, but so soft. So perfect.

He couldn’t stop touching her. She was tugging at his hair, stroking his biceps, rocking up against him with sensuous, confident movements.

He never wanted her to stop touching him.

Their bodies rocked together, his cock once more nestled against her slick heat. She gasped and ground down on him. He moved his hands to her hips, guiding her motions forward and back until he was nearly delirious with pleasure.

“Are you ready?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “Fill me.”

He groaned at the shy command. He lifted her enough to position himself at her entrance, then nodded. She sank down slowly, shivering and quaking in his arms. Her heat seared him, her mewls of delight battered him.

“Tell me how I feel.”

“Good. So good.” He huffed out a laugh, thrusting his hips upward, making her gasp. “Fuck, I can’t think. I can’t find my words when you squeeze me like that. Oh God, do that again. Yes, just like that. It’s fucking heaven.”

He was trying, goddammit. But he’d never been so gone before. Never been so utterly destroyed by a woman. Swedish and English careened in his mind, but he forced himself to keep talking, to give her what she needed. To control the wave of pleasure rising to overtake him.

“I want to feel you come. I want to see you come apart all over me. It’ll be so good.

So fucking good. Oh k?raste, I can’t hold back—” His body no longer his own.

It was hers. He thrust a hand between them, using two fingers to rub gently at her clitoris.

She tossed her head back, her eyes still on him, and clenched him deep inside.

As soon as he felt her release, he gave in to his own.

She collapsed against him, her chest heaving. He wrapped one arm around her, drew the fallen blanket up around them, and held her close.

“I have a confession,” he said when he could finally speak.

“What’s that?”

“I usually last longer.”

She gave him a curious glance. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“The opposite. You feel so good that I can’t last. It’s mortifying, truth be told. I swear, after a dozen more times, I’ll be used to it. I’ll be able to hold off, make you come at least twice before I do.”

She giggled. “Think how much we’ll improve once we’re married and can practice every day.”

“That’s true,” he said with a light chuckle. “But since that’s still a long way off, we’ll aim for two or three times per week.”

She stilled in his arms. “A long way?”

“Until we marry, yes. But we can enjoy ourselves in the meantime.”

“I know we can,” she said, her voice slipping into that careful, neutral tone she used with strangers. She pushed off his chest, and the cold absence of her touch was immediate. “What exactly does that mean? When do you think we’ll be married?”

He blinked up at her. Christ. He hadn’t even caught his breath, and now she wanted to talk about dates and promises? “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”

Her frown deepened. She slid off his lap and began dressing.

The rustle of fabric was thunderously loud in the tight space of the automobile.

He followed suit, slower than usual, his fingers clumsy at the cuffs.

His mouth opened, then shut. He had no smooth answer.

No easy footing. Is this what she felt like half the time?

“You told your family you’re courting me,” she said, her voice low. “We are intimate. I think I deserve to know what that means. How you envision our future.”

He focused on his buttons, unable to meet her gaze yet.

Of all days for her to finally speak her mind.

He couldn’t even be angry. He’d just told her he admired her boldness, her unpredictability.

Just not, it seemed, when it worked against him.

Damn it all, this was exactly why he had rules in place.

Still, he’d never lied to her. He wouldn’t start now.

“We are courting,” he said, the words coming out sharper than intended. He cleared his throat. Tried again. “But there’s no need to rush. There’s no fixed timeline.”

Her brow knit. “I don’t know what that means. No rush to be with me?”

“No, not that. What I mean is…isn’t it freeing knowing that we control our future? That we can move at a pace that suits us?”

“No.”

He blinked. “No?”

“No, Emil, it doesn’t make me feel free. It makes me feel uncertain. Like you’re regretting your decision.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “But I can’t be rushed. You know how I am. It makes my skin crawl, makes me want to fight—”

“The thought of marrying me makes your skin crawl?”

“That’s not what I said.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. How were things getting away from him so quickly? She’d seen how his father tried to own his future—how he’d rejected that. Why couldn’t she see she was doing the same thing?

“I don’t like having everything laid out in advance. I need space. To choose things on my own terms.”

“You sound like a spoiled little boy.”

“And you sound exactly like my father.”

“Thank you,” she retorted. “He’s a very wise man.”

“It’s not a compliment!” His voice rose. “He’s controlling. He wants to dictate every part of my life. And right now, so do you.”

“God forbid someone asks you to follow through on your word. Did it ever occur to you that your father might want the best for you? That I want the best for both of us?”

“The best according to you,” he barked. “Why must I decide, right this moment, how the rest of my life will look? What if I’m happy with how things are?”

She gave him a long look. “I’m going to stop talking and let you reflect on what you just said. Maybe you’ll hear the irony. And the stupidity.”

His jaw dropped. She turned from him, climbing into the front seat to sit stiffly with her arms folded over her chest. When she fixed her gaze out the window, he plunked his hat on his head and moved into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “I thought today was fun. I thought you were happy.”

“It was fun. I was happy. But Emil, we can’t continue like this forever. I can’t keep sneaking around without a chaperone. Someday I’ll be caught. And then what? I’ll be ruined. I need more than fun.”

“Winnie and Mack seem content without a timer on their relationship,” he tried weakly.

She sighed, a long, weary sound that cut off his argument before it began. “I’m not like Winnie, Emil.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “It’s funny. Last month, I compared myself to her and felt lacking. Now I understand we’re simply not the same.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Winnie is a widow, and she supports herself. She—not Mack—is the one who isn’t ready to remarry. I have my mother. My brother. The rent. My risks are greater. Especially when they involve a man who doesn’t want to marry me.”

His hand struck the steering wheel. “I never said never! Just a—a year. Maybe two.”

“I need real help, Emil. And I need it now.” Her voice was strained and soft, but unwavering. “Help that comes from a legal husband. A partner in the truest form. I thought that man was you, but it appears I was mistaken.”

“I’m not the man for you because I want to wait a while longer? That doesn’t make sense. Plenty of people wait—”

She held up her hand. “I don’t wish to upset you. But you’re the one who opened my eyes to the truth. I do deserve more. I deserve everything. And if you can’t give it to me, then…then I’ll have to move on.”

No.

No, no, no.

Panic surged in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

She was supposed to challenge him, maybe even pout a little, but she was supposed to negotiate.

Not leave him. He licked his lips, floundering for something, for anything, that would make her stay.

“This is your chance to be bold, to defy society, to live on your own terms, like me—”

“How nice it must be,” she cut in, her words sharp, “to be a man, free of consequences, accountable to no one.” She turned, her expression flat, unreadable. “And Emil, I am saying no. To you.”

Her words were a slap. He stared, stunned, as the silence closed around them.

“I would like to go home now.”

Numbly, he slid from the auto and into the bracing cold. He wound the crank. The auto sputtered and died. He tried again. Nothing. A third time—the engine roared to life with a growl of protest. He welcomed the noise, anything to drown out the echo of her rejection.

They rode in silence. He stole glances at her profile, but she stared resolutely out the window. Her posture was still, her hands calm. As if none of this had affected her. It was maddening. How could she be so calm? So sure?

He wasn’t certain of anything.

He squinted through the windshield, his hands a vise on the steering wheel. The city lights blurred through a fine drizzle, and the streetlamps were haloed in mist.

Still she said nothing.

He pulled up in front of her building and slammed on the brake, not caring who saw them. He jumped out, circled the auto, and opened her door. She took his hand, stepped down, then let go. The only hint she felt anything at all was her unwillingness to meet his gaze.

“Please don’t do this,” he whispered. “I’m falling in love with you.”

Her breath frosted into the air. “I was falling in love with you, too.”

Then she walked away and took with her all the light in his heart.