Page 17 of Submitting to the Widow

He stared into her eyes, his now the deep green of the depths of the ocean. “Are you ready to let me pleasure you, or would you like some more wine?”

“I think that wine has something in it to relax me and enhance the feeling of pleasure. I don’t think I can stand anymore.”

“I think you’re right.” Stephen grinned again and took another sip himself before dribbling some of the dark red wine onto the outer lips of her sex.

After a short moment of a slight burning sensation, a sensual warmth spread all the way to her womb. When he slowly licked the dark liquid from her body, she tensed a bit before letting go and relaxing. And then he began the slow sucking and release of the bud of pleasure at her core. The sip and release motion of his mouth and tongue continued gradually with periodic circling of the lips of her sex before the sucking of the bud built to a rhythmic intensity. An anguished scream of pleasure ripped from the depths of her soul just as she felt the carriage jar to a halt. The sound of the jingling of the grays’ harnesses came clearly through the walls of the carriage. They’d arrived at the assembly rooms.

If she could hear her own horses outside, what in the name of Zeus had her scream of pleasure sounded like to the other patrons ascending the steps to the rooms probably no more than forty or fifty feet away?

Stephen swung her legs around and set her feet onto the floor of the carriage. He set to putting her stockings and boots back on before moving to help her into her costume.

She batted at his hands. “I can’t go in there now. What will the other patrons think of the sounds I made? I’ll be mortified.”

“Not if you help me now so that I don’t have to go in there with this.” He pointed to his considerable cockstand.

Her mouth dropped open. “What do you want me to do with that?” She pointed at his breeches.

A mischievous smile lighted his face in the low light of candle lantern inside the carriage. “All I ask is that you be kind.”

When he unbuttoned his falls, released his cock and handed her his handkerchief, she knelt as if to take him into her mouth. He winced and shook his head. “No, not this time.” He grasped her hand and wetted each of her fingers with a kiss. “Just pleasure him with these.”

* * *

Stephen did not knowhow much more gentle sensual torture he could stand before he’d crack into a thousand pieces, like a mirror pushed off a cliff to the rocks below.

“More gently,” he urged, taking her hand and showing her the perfect amount of pressure to bring him to release.

He tried to think of something else to keep from spilling too soon. He recalled how he’d spent most of his life trying to please his parents. Unfortunately, his father was rarely at Hawkshead, let alone within the shores of England. As an agent of the East India Company, the man lived his life either aboard an east-bound ship, or in some far-flung port such as Calcutta, or Shang-Hai. His mother, on the other hand, made herself a virtual prisoner and self-imposed martyr, refusing to leave the family estate whilst his father was abroad. He’d spent much of his childhood being forced to listen to her tirades about her life of “neglect.”

“Yes…that’s it, my girl.” He closed his eyes and tried not to get too used to the soft palm of Jane’s hand rubbing him exactly where he needed her to be.

However, closing his eyes might have been a tactical error. Memories of himself as a young man flooded back, seeking refuge in his father’s library. That was how he’d coped in the face of the enormous empty space left by the man’s extended absences. At some point the younger version of himself had finally given up trying to please his mother. After burying himself in his father’s books, he’d moved on to an extended education in law, ranging from college classes at Cambridge to his years at Lincoln’s Inn, culminating with his final call to the bar.

“Do you like this?” Jane’s soft question and clever hands brought him back to the present, and a finish so fierce, he exploded into the cloth he’d given her. When his eyes flew open, her knowing smile destroyed him, made him forget all his carefully crafted rules of detachment. Without thinking, he grasped her face in both of his hands and pulled her in for a long, searching kiss. His tongue would not be denied a thorough search of her mouth and he suckled her tongue with a need so consuming, he finally had to pull away.

Jane looked up at him, dazed, his soiled handkerchief still in her other hand. Her lips were bruised from his rough kisses and dark red from the wine they’d shared. “God help us. What’s to become of us now?” She licked her lips and looked to him for an answer, but he was terrified he didn’t have one. Her simple question echoed the fears banging in his chest.

When he’d first discovered how easily women could be pleased in bed, he’d became a connoisseur of the female anatomy, reveling in his ability to choose amongst the many bored women of theton. There were the determined spinsters and ignored older wives, followed closely by lonely, wealthy widows who sought him out when his ability to please became common, secretive gossip. That was the genesis of the accursed journals. He and his fellow university chums had become heady with the victory of countless conquests, and so aspired to see which of them could be the most imaginative, and prolific, in sex sport.

That was a long time ago. He was no longer that callow young man who’d believed his days of carefree assignations would never end. Jane’s feverish stare hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d stepped across some invisible, forbidden line.

His current behavior in pursuit of yet more pages of his journal he could burn in his fireplace was not giving him the feeling of satisfaction he’d expected. Instead, shame stalked his thoughts.

Using his power over a woman in sensual acts had changed into something else when he wasn’t paying attention. He’d begun to wonder when the baroness had turned into a fragile creature he yearned to protect from callous men like him. Stephen exhaled a deep sigh. He was now officially in dangerous waters.

* * *

Jane usedStephen’s handkerchief and also sacrificed her shawl to clean all traces of how they’d debauched each other that evening in the carriage. She had to stifle another wine-induced giggle. Her late husband’s carriage would never be the same. Perhaps she should have the servants dismantle the conveyance and then build a huge bonfire in which to destroy all evidence of her reckless, wanton night with the barrister.

Both she and Stephen carefully looked over the other’s state of dress to make sure they wouldn’t be denied entrance to the Assembly Rooms before knocking for James to bring the steps and help them down from the carriage. Although masks were not allowed to be worn at the Thursday fancy dress balls, Raj had supplied them with theatrical makeup to alter the look of their faces.

She pulled tickets from her pocket. “Here, these are in my husband’s name. He kept an address at the townhouse in the crescent and secured tickets each year. I’ve continued to pay for them ever since his passing.”

Stephen pulled her close again and gazed into her eyes. “I have secured a residence in Bath for the month, and purchased tickets in my name. Much safer for your reputation. Trust me on this.” He turned her around carefully observing the state of her costume before placing a chaste kiss on top of her head and steering her through the open carriage door with a light touch at the small of her back.

Once outside under the portico of the Assembly Rooms entrance, he held out his arm, she took it, and they climbed the steps together toward the Assembly Rooms.

“Are you ready for our next adventure?” he whispered low. She nodded her head gracefully, but tightened her grip on his arm, the only sign of trepidation she’d allow herself.