My Favorite Countess (13 page)
Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
His hands slid underneath her bottom. “That's what I thought. Come here.” He pulled her back to his mouth. “Just lie back and enjoy it, Bathsheba. Doctor's orders.”
His mouth descended once more to her heated flesh, and all thoughts of looking dignifiedâor at least not sweatyâfled her brain.
She groaned, leaning back on her elbows. Her head bobbed heavily on her neck, making her want to sink back onto his coat and the mossy rock as he had his way with her. But, wickedly, she wanted to watch as he feastedâand
feasted
was the only appropriate wordâswirling and flicking his tongue across her throbbing sex.
feasted
was the only appropriate wordâswirling and flicking his tongue across her throbbing sex.
Shifting a bit, she settled on her forearms and elbows, giving in to an impulse to spread her legs wide. He growled his approval, kneading the globes of her bottom as he tilted her hips up to delve more deeply into her body. He sucked, his lips closing around the rigid nub of her sex, and a series of small, intense contractions began to pulse through her sheath.
She gazed down over her breasts, full and white, the nipples stiffly erect, and longed to feel his mouth on them, too. Her smooth belly quivered under his onslaught, and she suddenly realized that she loved seeing herself like thisâspread wide, naked and completely open to the attentions of this handsome and powerful, almost fully dressed man. It was wickedâa dark, erotic fantasy come to life.
A hard spasm contracted her womb, drawing a long moan from her throat. He drew back for a moment and looked at her, his eyes fierce and possessive as he let his gaze roam over her body to finally rest on her face.
“God, Bathsheba,” he groaned. “I want to devour every inch of you. You taste so damn goodâlike hot honey.”
She wriggled her bottom. “Don't stop.”
He made a remarkably feral noise in his throat as he pushed her legs even wider. She finally collapsed onto the rock, gazing up through the dense trees but seeing nothing, feeling only the hot suck of his lips, the wet lave of his tongue thrusting into her. She began to lift her hips against his mouth, pushing hard, straining to find the climax that throbbed so close.
“John, please,” she begged, shocked by the desperation in her voice but too far gone to care.
He knew what she wanted. Without taking his mouth from her drenched flesh, he carefully inserted one, then two fingers into her sheath. Pleasure arced through her body with a pulsing heat. From a distance, she heard a woman's voice, pleading and sobbing, and realized it was her own.
But John was merciless, keeping up the tantalizingly slow pump of his fingers, all the while as he sucked her tender flesh.
Bathsheba couldn't take any more. She draped her legs over his shoulders and pushed down against his mouth. He responded by reaching farther inside her, pressing and massaging with a sustained rhythm. Deep within her womb the shudders began, rippling outward. He gave a hard suck and she detonated, her voice lifting to a high, keening wail. Spasms pushed her into a rapturous, quivering release until she fell back against the cushion of his coat, limp and spent.
She lay there, panting and staring at the rustling leaves above her, her heart still hammering in her chest. John planted a last kiss on her thigh and came to his feet. Although his hands drifted over her legs in a soft caress, he said nothing. The moment stretched, and as her body settled, the pleasure fading to a dim glow, a vague sense of unease began to overtake her.
“Are you going to stare up at the trees all day, or do you think you could bring yourself to look at me?” he asked.
Blast him, now he sounded amused.
She pushed herself up on her elbows and glared. Sure enough, he started to laugh.
“You, my lady, are remarkably hard to please. Here, let me help you up.”
He took her hands and gently pulled her into a sitting position. She looked down at herself, flushed, damp, naked, and . . . and . . .
“I look a wreck. God only knows how I'll put myself back together,” she grumbled, pushing back the hair from her face. Although she couldn't see it, her coiffure had certainly been demolished.
He shook his head. His silver eyes glittered with mischief, and he looked so handsome that her heart flopped over in her chest.
“You're daft,” he said. “You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.”
He bent and nipped her shoulder. She gasped, the painful little bite sending a thrill right down to her core. That's all it took for her to want him again. Which, of course, was out of the question.
“John, I really don't thinkâ”
“Stop thinking,” he purred, swooping in to take her breast as masterfully as he had taken the flesh between her thighs. His lips fastened to her nipple and he sucked hard. She moaned as her womb contracted, and grabbed his head with both hands, holding him to her chest.
He groaned, the vibration of it rippling across her skin. Reaching up to her other breast, he gently tweaked the rigid nipple. A maddening pressure built once more in the juncture of her thighs, and she thrust her hips against his lean, hard torso as the wildness returned.
That thrust brought her against the length of his erection, huge and hard on her damp flesh. She grew softer and wetter, aching for the feel of him inside her.
Although Bathsheba loved the sensation of his tongue sucking her and his teeth scraping over her tight nipple, she wantedâneededâmore.
“John,” she moaned, tugging on the silky ends of his short hair.
He murmured something, but refused to release her breast from the hot pull of his mouth. For a moment she just watched him, his masculine body thrusting between her naked thighs, watched as he devoured her, his eyes closed but his face drawn and intent with sexual hunger. One hand cupped her other breast, his fingers pulling the nipple into a stiff, burning peak.
She grabbed his head and yanked it up. He was so far gone in the throes of lust that it took a moment for him to focus on her face.
“Now,” she commanded.
His lips peeled back in a smile that looked more like a snarl, and he freed himself from his breeches. His erection sprang free, jutting huge and heavy between her thighs.
Before she could react, he grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the rock. With one sharp thrust he penetrated her, filling her completely and driving the breath from her lungs. He was so big, so hot, so perfect that she could do nothing but wrap her legs and arms around him and hold on for dear life.
“Oh, God,” he moaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “You're perfect, Bathsheba. So hot and wet. So tight.”
He began to move then, thrusting in a slow, controlled rhythm. Little spasms rippled along her sheath. Her heart began to beat erratically, and she knew her climax was almost upon her. She tightened her legs around him, digging her heels into his thighs.
Somehow he knew. “Not so fast, sweetheart. I'm not ready for you to come yet.”
He gently pulled her arms from around his neck and eased her down, laying her flat on her back. With a soft murmur, he urged her to relax the grip of her legs from around his thighs. Once more, she lay spread before him. But this time his cock pushed deep inside her, stretching her with a delicious, almost painful, ache.
He wrapped his hands around her hips and began to pump again, never taking his eyes from her face. She gazed back at him and felt herself tumble into the endless silver pool of his eyes. Sex had never been like this before, not even in that first year with Reggie, when she had been so mad for him. Her husband had manipulated her, always playing gamesâsometimes dark and perverse games that had been exciting, but afterward left her with a terrible sense of shame.
But here in this ruined little churchâlong since empty of its worshipersâeverything was right. Bathsheba felt wild, free and somehow innocent, as if making love with John in the sun and open air had cleansed her of her sins.
He watched her behind heavy lids, his handsome face bronzed with passion. Leaning over, he entwined her hands in his and raised her arms over her head. The next thrust brought his body in hard contact with the peak of her sex, and she cried out his name from the sheer joy of it.
“Bathsheba,” he groaned before taking her mouth in an urgent kiss. His pace increased, and the delicious fire between her legs spiraled high.
She broke free of the kiss and thrust up against him, loving the wild sound it brought to his lips. Their eyes met, and her heart took a leap at what she saw in his gaze. She saw no sick obsession in those smoky depthsâonly passion and, miracle of miracles, genuine tenderness. This man would never hurt her. With him, she was safe. To be herself. To cry out, to be messy, to not care who she was or how she looked.
The need was upon him now, she could tell. He pumped hard, his thick staff rubbing against her with delicious friction. The contractions began deep inside her sheath, milking him, sending them both in the final climb. She arched, silently urging him to the finish.
He understood. With a last demanding thrust he rocked her hips, sending her into climax. She cried out.
He shuddered, spilling himself into her. And with pounding hearts and fractured breath, they fell together into the sweet rushing tide of release.
Chapter 9
John was a big, powerful man, and right now he was doing a marvelous job of squishing Bathsheba into the rock. Even through his coat and the cushion of moss, every unforgiving jut of the uneven surface pressed into her body. As they sprawled in a heap, sweaty and panting, every muscle in her back shrieked in protest.
Even so, she couldn't bring herself to push at him to get off. It was heaven to be wrapped in his embrace, his erection still hard and thick within her. No sex had ever been so good, or so deliciously forbidden.
She wriggled, trying to dislodge a pebble beneath her spine. Sensing her discomfort, John withdrew with a reluctant groan and pushed himself up. She gave a sigh, one that mingled regret and relief.
“My poor sweetheart,” he murmured as he quickly buttoned up the fall of his breeches. He gazed down at her with seductive eyes, looking far from sated. “Let's get you down before I'm tempted to take you again.”
She groaned as he slipped his arms around her and helped her sit up. “Not today, I think, Doctor. I may possibly be crippled for life.”
He frowned and began to rub her back, smoothing his strong fingers along her spine.
“Did I hurt you, Bathsheba?”
His husky growl had been replaced by a quick note of concern and, perhaps, a touch of guilt. She loved that about him, loved that he was so aware of her, caring more for her well-being than he did for his own.
She smiled, resting her head against the rumpled linen shirt that covered his broad chest.
“No. It was delightful,” she said. “But I'm not sure I want to repeat the experience of making love on a rock pile.”
He gave a soft laugh, the huff of his breath stirring her messy coiffure. “I told you I was a brute. But it's your fault. I can't seem to keep my hands from you.”
Then he swept her off the mossy stoneâcoat and allâand into his arms. He lowered himself onto the ground and leaned back against the rock, cradling her carefully as he sank down. With a few quick movements, he had her arranged and resting comfortably in his lap.
“Better, my lady?”
“Mmm. Much better,” she purred, snuggling into his arms. They tightened around her, and his mouth pushed through the tangled curls of her hair to nuzzle the top of her head.
They sat peacefully as the quiet of the late afternoon and the deepening shadows settled around them. A drowsing hush fell over the small ruin and the sheltering trees. Even the swallows had lost their voices, and only the rustling wind through the leaves and the buzz of the cicadas broke the heated silence of the summer day.
Bathsheba decided to ignore the little voice in her head that urged her to scramble from his lap and get dressed. They had to return to town, preferably before the others made their way back to the Unicorn. But her energy had been drained away by their fierce lovemaking, and John didn't seem inclined to release her from his embrace. In any event, the bells announcing the end of the church service had yet to ring. With luck, Miss Elliott would buttonhole the rector and drone on about some problem or other, perhaps the evils of strong drink or all those loose women wandering about Ripon.
Besides, it was so comfortable sitting in John's lap, and she felt certain she needed a rest after such vigorous physical activity. After all, she was still recuperating.
She was drifting off to sleep when the bells of the cathedral began to toll, jerking her awake. And just like thatâas if someone had smacked her in the headâBathsheba realized how much trouble she was in. Sitting on the ground, naked, a few hundred feet from the road, having just made love to absolutely the wrong man. If someone crossing the Hewick Bridge decided to wander out to visit the ruins, and discovered her like this . . .
The scandal would be so enormous that she'd have no choice but to marry John.
A vague panic began to coalesce, curling its way up from her stomach into her throat. She was about to climb out of John's lap when he suddenly covered her belly with a large hand, his fingers spreading from hipbone to hipbone.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked. She winced at her shrill tone, but they just couldn't make love again. She had to get dressed and away from here before the villagers who lived on this side of the river began returning home.
“I'm measuring the width of your pelvis,” he said, carefully positioning his hand.
Despite her spiking anxiety, her stomach quivered to feel the calloused warmth of his fingers on her sensitive skin.
“Why?” she asked, momentarily diverted.
“For such a small woman, you have a nicely roomy pelvis.”
She scowled, anxiety quickly transforming into irritation. No man had ever complained about her hips before, especially after making love to her. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Are you calling me fat?”
He snorted, then nuzzled the side of her face.
“No. Your hips are perfect. I'm simply relieved to know you should have no difficulty bearing children. Small women often do, you know.”
She shivered as a cool breeze rustled through their little glade, chasing tiny goose bumps over her flesh. His arms tightened about her.
“Well,” she ground out, “since I never became pregnant after four years of marriage, I don't expect I ever will.”
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His lean, strongly etched features grew watchful as he perused her countenance.
“That may have been your husband's fault, Bathsheba.”
“It hardly matters.” She shrugged off his embrace and clumsily scrambled up, using his shoulders for balance. He tried to help her, but she wouldn't take his hands.
“What's wrong?” he said, rising to his feet. “You seem . . . anxious.”
A hysterical little laugh bubbled up from her throat as she swiped her chemise from the rock and pulled it over her head.
“What could I possibly have to be anxious about?” she said as her head emerged from the wrinkled linen.
He stood in front of her, hands braced on his hips, a big, dominating man preparing to be difficult. She knew the signs, and she knew exactly what she had to do about it.
“Bathshebaâ”
“It would be best if you not get in the habit of calling me by my first name, regardless of what just happened between us. I would hate for you to slip and use it in public.”
That shut him up for the ten seconds it took to retrieve her stays and slip them around her body.
“As you wish, my lady,” he responded dryly.
A sharp little stab caught her in the chest. She hated treating him like this, but what else was she to do?
“I'm sorry to ask you to play lady's maid, but I need your help,” she said, trying to sound both pleasant and unconcerned, as if he'd just examined her tongue and taken her pulse, not made her explode into a thousand little pieces of heartwrenching joy. She blinked back a few self-pitying tears.
Without a word, he began to deftly lace up the stays. After finishing, he trailed his fingers over her shoulders with a gentle caress.
Move
, she thought, but she seemed frozen in place by his touch.
, she thought, but she seemed frozen in place by his touch.
“My sweet, please tell me what troubles you.” His deep voice was as soothing as his hands on her body.
She had to clench her teeth against the sob that fought its way up from her chest. “Nothing is wrong,” she rasped.
His skillful physician's fingers moved up to her neck, massaging away the knot she didn't even know was there until he touched it.
“That's odd, because I could swear you're displaying the symptoms of a woman suffering from a full-blown case of regret.”
She forced out a laugh as she moved away from his tooseductive touch.
“Goodness, I make a point of never regretting anything in life, including my mistakes.”
She heard the slow hiss of an angry exhalation, could feel the change in the air between them. Still, she refused to look at him, knowing it would probably kill her to seeâwell, what would most likely be an expression of contempt on his face.
“Help me with my dress, won't you?” She grabbed her gown from the rock and shook it out. Thankfully, it didn't look too crumpled. With luck, no one would know how they'd spent the afternoon.
She slipped the muslin over her head and turned her back to him, her heart thumping as he began to fasten the buttons. His fingers moved slowly, torturing her as they drifted up her back.
“Do you call thisâwhat happened between usâa mistake?” Hurt, not anger, colored his voice, hurt she had inflicted on him when all he had ever done was take care of her. A small, cold ache of misery lodged behind her breastbone.
“No,” she whispered, unable to lie. “I could never regret this.”
He turned her around and took one of her wrists in his hands, going to work on the tiny buttons on her sleeves. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look at his face.
His fingers stilled on her cuff as his gaze lifted. The silver in his eyes had lost some of its luster, but his handsome features remained etched with determination. She had an inkling why he looked so serious, and it filled her with nervous dread.
“Bathsheba, we must talk,” he said in a gentle voice, as if he didn't want to frighten her. “It's true that what happened between us was unexpected. My behavior has been nothing short of outrageous, and for that I must apologize. But, like you, I regret nothing. Just the opposite, in fact.”
He finished with her cuff and moved to the other wrist, his eyes firmly trained on the task of securing a dozen little pearl buttons.
“There seem to be many differences between us,” he continued in a suspiciously neutral voice, “but I believe our similarities outweigh those differences. I am a gentleman, from a well-established and prosperous family. My prospects are excellent, and I can offer youâ”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded. She sounded like a fishwife, but she was surprised she could even hear herself over the mad thumping of her heart.
He sighed and engulfed her cold hand in both of his. “I'm trying to tell you, if you'd stop interrupting me. Do you think you could do that?”
She gave a jerky nod. He answered with a tight smile, and for the first time she noticed the tension around his eyes and the slight flush glazing his cheekbones. Her alarm spiked even higher.
“My feelings for you have grown quite strong,” he continued, looking more stubborn by the second. “While it's true we didn't plan for thisâfor what happened here todayâI want to explore it. I want to see what the future holds for us, and hope you will agree.”
“Explore it,” she said, feeling blank.
He gave an annoyed sigh. “I want to court you,” he said in a slow voice, as if she were an idiot. But his gaze fastened warily on her face, gauging her reaction.
A sharp pang of regret sliced through her, and she had to choke back the sob rattling in the back of her throat. Exhaustion and something else tempted her to just give in to himâto say yesâbut that was impossible. John's prospects might be good, but they weren't good enough. Not for what she needed.
She pushed back the useless, stifling emotion, taking refuge in the cynical persona she had created during the bitter years of her marriage.
“You must be joking, Dr. Blackmore,” she said, tugging her hand away. Reluctantly, he let her go.
“Your gallantry is charming, but completely unnecessary.” She grabbed her bonnet and shoved it onto her head, avoiding his eyes as she tied the ribbons in a large bow under her chin. “As I mentioned to you a few minutes ago, I'm incapable of getting pregnant, so there is no need for you to feel any concern.”
“You can't know that,” he said harshly.
“I assure you I can. You needn't give what happened between us another thought.” She moved to brush past but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Finally, she looked at him and the breath seized in her throat.
He was furious, as furious as any man she had ever seen. His eyes blazed with it, as deadly as a lightning strike in a summer storm. Something awful closed like a fist around her heart, and suddenly she saw her husband's face. He used to look at her that way, just before he lost his temper.
“Let me go,” she rasped, struggling to escape him.
John released her and she stumbled back a few steps. With a visible effort, he wrestled his emotions under control.
“Hell and damnation. Forgive me, Bathsheba. I didn't mean to frighten you. You know I would never hurt you.”
She fought to calm the pounding of her heart, then gave him a stiff nod. Of course he would never hurt her. He wasn't Reggie. But John posed a threat to her with his foolish desire to marry. He wouldn't give up unless she forced him.
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