Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (15 page)

ass until she could lift her nightgown over her head. She tossed it over the side of the bed.

Her husband's eyes were shooting amber sparks of desire as his gaze slid over her lush bosom then

down to the dark triangle between her legs. He would have reached out to her but she shook her head.

"Lie there and let me handle this problem of yours," she said. “It looks to need a bit.”

Though he would have liked nothing more than to slide between her legs, lay outstretched upon her

sweet body, he knew he'd most likely do himself damage if he did. Instead, he did as his lady ordered

and reached up to grab the rungs of the brass headboard as she knelt between his legs—nudging them

further apart. His back was a mass of burning pain but he said nothing. It relieved his back to lie on his

side but lying on his side put pressure on the cuts on his chest so it didn't seem to matter how he lay.

Something was going to hurt. At the moment, he was more concerned with the burning, throbbing ache in

his cock than the burning, throbbing pain on his back.

Celeste took him between her hands and gently massaged the hard silk of his shaft. She ran her fingers

over his sac and along the insides of his thighs.

"Is that enjoyable to you?" she asked.

"Aye," he said, his breath coming in gasps for her tender, innocent touch was playing havoc with his

control.

She looked up at him. "Tell me how best to suckle you so you will find pleasure in it."

Just hearing her say those words was a pleasure unto itself. Her statement drove straight into his aching

desire and it was all he could do to lie still. Unconsciously he lifted his hips in invitation.

"Kiss him," he whispered breathlessly.

Celeste scooted down in the bed so she could bend over his cock. The moment her lips touched the

head, Sierran shuddered, his legs quivering.

"You like that, too?" she asked.

"Aye." He started to tell her what to do next but her mouth closed over his straining flesh and all thought

fled.

Celeste's lips were locked around the head of his rod and she was licking the moist slit with the tip of her

tongue. Suckling was the last thing on her mind at that moment for she was marveling at the salty taste of

him. Instinctively, her hand went under him to cup his balls and as soon as she did, his lower body arched

up and his cock went down her throat, gagging her.

"Oh, dearling, I am sorry!" he apologized, lowering his hand from the headboard to reach out to her. "I

didn't mean to…"

Celeste was staring at him. "Do you realize your dangly can go almost all the way down my throat?" she

asked.

Sierran winced. "Aye, but I didn't…"

"Let's see how far it will go if I relax my tongue!"

Before he could stop her, she was bent over him again and her lips were down to the very base of his

shift, his cock nestled in the warm, moist haven of her mouth. Stunned at her willingness to try something

most women found unpleasant—save for the whores who made a living from it—Sierran didn't dare

move. He was afraid he would frighten her, disgust her, or hurt her in some way that she wouldn't want to

do this with him ever again. He lay perfectly still with his hands clamped like vises around the rungs of

the headboard, and endured the most wonderful pleasure he had ever known.

Celeste was experimenting with squeezing his cock with her tongue in such a way she would not gag

again. When she began suckling him, she heard him groan and pulled back.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked anxiously.

"Nay, wench!" he said, shaking his head from side to side. He was on the verge of coming and he was

having trouble controlling the urge. "Get on me. Now!"

Celeste didn't question his order. She straddled his hips, reached down to take him in her hand, and

settled her warm channel over him.

"Oh, gods!" he hissed. He could no longer hold his orgasm at bay and his hands came down to her

clamp her thighs as he arched up and poured himself into her.

"Yes," Celeste said and began wriggling on that sweet rod. She was beginning to experience that wild

itch that came each time her husband put his cock or finger inside her and she bore down on his length

while it was still stiff, giving in to the release that brought a trill of pleasure from her lips.

Staring up at his lady as she came for him, Sierran felt his heart swell and his throat clog with emotion.

She was so open to him, so unspoiled and he wanted desperately to keep her that way forever. He slid

his hands to her breasts and held her, his thumbs stroking the hard little nipples as though he were

worshipping at the altar of her body.

She came again then again as his hands kneaded her, each release as strong as the first until she was

practically bouncing up and down on his thighs, pulling him deeper inside her, riding him, milking him until

she felt his flesh softening, easing free of her warmth. A little pout formed on her lips when she realized he

had slipped out of her.

"Oh, Sierran, your problem dissolved," she complained.

"I'm sure it will pop up again," he breathed.

“I sincerely hope so,” she said. She slipped down beside him and lay facing him, her face relaxed and

soft from spent passion. "I love you, Sierran," she said.

Those four little words rocketed through him as nothing ever had. They slammed against his heart and

wiggled inside to take root. No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever felt love for him. He

found himself on the verge of bawling like a babe and had to bite down on his tongue to keep from doing

so.

"I really do," she said, putting a hand to his cheek. "With all my heart."

"How…" He had to swallow before he could go on. "How do you know, dearling? We've not been

together that long and…"

"I
know
," she stressed. "Women
know
these things." She caressed his face. "The gods put us together,

Sierran, and the gods best protect anyone who tries to pull us apart!"

He turned on his side to face her. "Celeste, I would mutilate anyone who attempted such a thing," he said

earnestly. "I would turn them to so much bloody mush."

“And I would in turn stomp on that mush until it soaked into the ground,” she swore.

She leaned forward to kiss him. It was a sweet kiss but it held all the promise of many nights and many

discussions of problems to come.

Lord Jameson Morgan was fit to be tied. His face was as red as an apple and his piercing black eyes

glistened with malice. With his fists opening and closing as he stalked from one end of his office to the

other, he was cursing a blue streak his sole companion found very entertaining. It had been two days

since his eldest son had returned empty-handed from Zykanthos and Lord James had been stewing ever

since.

"Do sit down, Jamie," Beatrice Summerall commanded the man who had been her lover for nearly ten

years. "You are fair pacing a hole in the carpet."

"How dare he disobey me?" James shouted. "The impudence of the little bastard is appalling!"

"And you shall duly reprimand him for upsetting you but before you push yourself into a stroke, pray do

sit down and relax. Nothing will be accomplished with you striding about like a caged bear."

James shot Beatrice an angry look but he stopped and threw himself into a chair, his fist pounding the

arm in frustration. "I will not have one of mine acting in such a disrespectful manner, Bea! What

unmitigated gall!"

"I understand, my love, but until you can bring him to heel, nothing can be done."

"No wonder Thurston had him remanded to the Dungeon Master," James fumed. "It's a good thing

Thurston is dead else one of us would have been honor-bound to kill him for daring to order a Morgan

horsewhipped!" His lips twisted. "Although by disobeying orders, the brattling deserved to have his back

torn to shreds. Sierran does tend to bring out the very worst in people."

Beatrice had schooled herself never to frown for such actions would eventually mar the perfection of her

smooth brow. At forty-two, she prided herself in the softness of her complexion and the lack of wrinkles

on her beautiful face. She had learned to take very good care of herself for her lush body and fine,

unspoiled features were her only true assets.

"And this is the man you have foisted off on me?" she inquired, mentally frowning as she patted her silky

blond hair.

"'T’was Judith's notion, not mine," James said as he referred to his wife of fifty-eight years. "I say again I

believe she suspects you and I are involved and it was her way of putting an end to the affair."

"Nothing will put an end to our arrangement," Beatrice said, lifting her chin.

"Aye," James said. He began picking at a loose thread on the chair arm. "That is true. The only good

thing about your being Joined to Sierran is Patterly. I want Patterly under my control before the year is

out, Bea."

"That is less than a month away, Jamie," she reminded him.

"I'll have Sierran here well before then," her lover stated. "All he need do is sign over Patterly to me and

be on his way, free to go back to his little whore."

"There is the matter of the Joining being consummated, first," she said, a hint of disgust in her soft voice.

"According to Argonnese law, we must be true man and wife for him to inherit my husband's estate. You

know the old saying of leading a horse to water but being unable to make him drink."

James cursed. "If I have to tie him butt-naked, spread-eagled to the bed and have you crawl over his

cock and impale yourself, the Joining will be consummated, my love," he snapped. He glanced at her.

"Once that is done, you'll not have to ever touch the little bastard again."

"I should hope not," Beatrice said. "If he's anything like your other sons…"

"Worse," James snapped. "He's much worse than the others and he takes after his mother." He

shuddered. "He's as gods-be-damned ugly as that old witch!"

Beatrice shivered delicately. "Pray come and wipe that brutal thought from my mind, James." She held

out her arms to him. "I want a strikingly handsome man to comfort me in this trying time."

James grinned. "Strikingly handsome, eh?" he chuckled.

"A veritable Argonnese god," she cooed, batting her cornflower blue eyes.

The Morgan patriarch got up from the chair, ever eager to do her bidding when it came to sharing her

body. Already he was hard and ripe for her.

* * *

Vaughn, Dyllon, Fallon, and Peyton Morgan had spent the night before in the seaside town of

Edgeville where each of their personal ships was berthed. It was there the four brothers kept a plush set

of apartments that overlooked the harbor and to which their lady-wives—and certainly not their

parents—were never invited. Though their father knew about the apartment, he dismissed it as being a

necessary evil where his randy sons could go to relieve the boredom and staleness of their marriages.

"The old man was beside himself, eh?" Peyton observed as he joined his siblings at the breakfast table

where a duo of shapely maids had just set down huge platters of scrambled eggs and crisply fried

potatoes to join the bacon and toast already laid out.

"Livid," Vaughn replied. "My ship had barely docked before he was all over me demanding to know

why I had not returned with that idiot brother of ours." He slathered marmalade over his toast. "One

would think he had been prowling the harbor waiting for me to land."

"He had," Dyllon said. "I saw him out there pacing just as the sun was setting."

"He's tupping the widow Summerall," Fallon reported. "Did you men know that?"

"He's been tupping her for years!" Vaughn snapped. "That's no secret." He took a big bite of toast.

"Not even to our saintly mother."

"Saintly, my hairy arse," Peyton snorted with a roll of his eyes. "You can't tell me the head stableman

hasn't been tupping her since long before I was born."

"I daresay Sierran is most likely a by-blow of that stableman," Fallon quipped. “Looks a bit like him, I’d

say.”

"That would explain a lot, now, wouldn't it?" Vaughn said dryly. "Our mother and the randy stableman.

What a fitting pair to produce a bastard like our youngest sibling!"

The brothers laughed. Not a one of them cared a whit for the woman who had bore him and not one

ounce of respect was ever sent her way.

"I must admit the woman he married on the
Austru
is quite lovely, though a harpy of the first order,"

Vaughn related. "If she were mine, she'd damned well learn her place." He bit off a piece of bacon.

"Well, Sierran need not set her aside if that's the case," Fallon said. "He can go back to her once he has

slimed old Bea's slippery cunt."

Vaughn thoughtfully chewed his bacon. "She is really quite lovely," he repeated.

“Bea?” Fallon gasped.

“Hell, no!” Vaughn snorted. “Sierran’s doxy.”

"Do you want her, Vonnie?" Dyllon asked.

The eldest Morgan brother cocked a shoulder. "Wouldn't mind breaking her to saddle but I'd have to

gag the bitch in order to ride her."

"What was it you said Sierran told you?" Fallon asked. "Something about where he went, she went?"

"He said 'where I go, she goes'," Vaughn answered in a whiny voice.

"Well, that's it in a nutshell, then, isn't it?" Fallon asked.

Vaughn's brow slashed together. "What do you mean?"

"Father wants Sierran here," Fallon said as though speaking to the village fool. "Sierran doesn't want to