Rachel Carrington (8 page)

Her legs jerked as Sinclair slowly rose from his kneeling position. Carla couldn’t move and she didn’t know how long he stood there, staring down at her dripping pussy, her flushed face and bunched nightgown. She was too exhausted to right her clothing.

But she could look at him as he rose up over her, the left side of his pants damp from the head of his engorged cock. He leaned over her, allowing the hardness to press against her thigh.

Carla reached out to touch him and he quickly caught hold of her wrist. “Not yet. When the time is right, my sweet, I will fuck you and then I will make love to you. I will make you mine and you will not want to leave Castle Heath. Ever.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before backing away from her. He stood in the doorframe for a long moment without speaking, just watching her as she lay among the tangles of her nightgown and then he finally tugged the heavy bedroom closed behind him.

Carla pressed her hand against her pussy and closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever had such terrific oral sex, but that wasn’t reason enough to remain at Castle Heath.

Was it?

* * * * *

Sinclair slammed the door to his bedchamber and leaned against the heavy wood. His cock throbbed, demanding release. Even walking was a chore at present. Pleasuring himself would be a pale comparison to pumping into the treasure between Carla’s golden thighs, but he would need to release the pressure.

He could only imagine how long it would take for the erection to subside otherwise.

Cursing, he began to rip his shirt from his body, keeping his back toward the mirror atop his dresser. He didn’t want to see his own face or the look in his eyes. He knew too well what desire looked like. The sounds of Carla’s pleasure tore through his brain like a runaway stallion. His cock throbbed, demanding his attention.

He gritted his teeth and released the buttons on his trousers one by one. Even the rasp of the material against his erection was painful. Carefully, he eased his pants open and his cock sprang free, the head glistening from his feast of Carla’s pussy. He curled his hand around the thick flesh, picturing Carla’s pink-tipped nails touching him, holding him. By ye gods, what was it the woman used to color her nails in such a manner? The images were maddening.

His balls drew tight as he pictured Carla’s face, her full moist lips. He gave a groan and gave into his need to release the pent-up desire, bracing one hand against the wall beside the door. He tightened his hand, imagining her tight sheath as he slipped into her. Would he stretch her with his size? The thought sent his senses whirling.

He didn’t know much about Carla Morgan and while she may have already lain with a man, he would be the first man who would make her scream when she came with his cock inside her. He shuddered at the thought.

He started slow at first, just gliding his palm up and down over his shaft while Carla’s voice rang in his head. Her moans, her pleas, only served to intensify his pleasure. He imagined her lips glossing over the head of his member, her tongue caressing each vein. He heard the moist sounds her body would make as he thrust into her pussy and he pictured driving so deep that she screamed his name, clawing at his shoulders in wild abandon.

“Carla.” Her name broke from his lips.

His hand began to work faster and his breaths came in short pants. He heard footsteps outside his door, soft, gentle footsteps which paused right outside his door. He paused, wondering if Carla had left her chamber. Was she even now standing on the other side of the gnarled wood, listening, hearing his whispers? The thought intensified his pleasure.

He wanted to know how she ate cock, how she would take him deep inside her mouth, stroke him with her tongue. Everything. He wanted to know everything. Would she make little sounds of pleasure as she feasted on his hard flesh and would her nails scrape his balls, tickling him, driving him mad?

The questions punched him in the gut and his cock jumped in response. He scooted his free hand toward the door and flattened his palm against the wood. He wanted to call to her, to invite her in, but he was sure she wouldn’t accept the invitation. The rustle of a dress enhanced his fantasy and he clenched his hand around his cock once more.

He quickened the pace, his hand running up and down the length of his shaft while the images of Carla’s wet, red pussy played before his eyes. The taste of her lingered on his tongue and her scent clung to his nostrils, a slight musky fragrance, like a woman’s pussy should smell.

The strokes would soon bring release, but he would never feel fully satisfied until he fucked Carla Morgan. Now that he’d tasted her, he would fuck her. It was only a matter of time. And soon, he would know what it was like to pump his juices into her, to bring her to a shattering orgasm while her nails scored his shoulders.

He was close, so close.

He covered the head of his cock with his free hand and gave one last jerk. “Carla,” he whispered her name again as the spasms ricocheted through his body and a long stream of hot juice spurted from the tip of his cock, covering his palm. His knees bumped against the wall and he gave a long, low groan. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his muscles continued to clench for several long moments while he cried out.

Then, just as he released himself, the footsteps he’d heard earlier returned, but this time, walking away from his door at a much more rapid pace.

He rested his forehead against the door while his cock went limp. His body still jerked and his breath came in short pants. The release had felt good, but not good enough.

His hands curled into fists. He would have her.

Soon.

* * * * *

Though the day had warmed to a tolerable heat, the library carried none of the warmth. Expelling her breath in the frigidly cold air, Carla shivered her way toward the bookshelves. “Where is that damned book? I can’t even remember the name of it. What was I reading that day? Damn.” One long fingernail held her place as she scanned the bindings, searching for something to jog her memory. She forced her mind to think about anything but the feel of Sinclair’s tongue, yet, even now, her body recalled his touch with vivid clarity.

A thick, gold-rimmed volume of poetry caught her eye and Carla’s eager hands tugged it from its space.

Carrying it with her toward the settee, she settled down atop the cushion and flipped through the pages.

“‘Were I to have one chance at love, I would cross the lines of sea and time to make you mine’.” The words touched a chord inside of her and Carla knew those had been the words she’d been reading the day she had fallen asleep in this very room. “‘Cross the lines of sea and time.’ That has to have something to do with this. I crossed the lines of time. But how?” Frustrated, she slammed the book shut and tucked it under her arm. It gave her no answers.

Halfway to the door, a gust of cold wind sliced through her skirts, bringing Carla to an abrupt halt. She took one more tentative step forward and the wind returned, stirring the air around her. Catching her breath at the iciness, she tried to skirt around the edge of the blast, but the swirl intensified, pushing her back against the row of shelves. In that instant, Carla realized that it wasn’t just a wind holding her prisoner. Just as many of her gender had done in times past when faced with a situation she couldn’t control, Carla let out a bloodcurdling scream that brought servants and master racing to her aid.

“Carla.” Sinclair reached her side first, assessing the situation, looking for any signs of trauma. “Are you hurt?”

The air around her had stilled, the book fell from her nerveless fingers to hit the floor with a loud thump.

“I remember there was a wind.” Carla tipped her face back to see the concerned expression Sinclair wore.

He glanced around her, taking note of the calmness. “Are you sure you were not imagining things?”

“I tried to take this book.” She bent to procure the volume and waved it in the air like a banner.

A collective gasp went up behind Sinclair and the servants took a simultaneous step backward, hands over hearts.

Carla’s gaze shot over Sinclair’s shoulder to pin the first hapless worker. “What? What is it? What do you know? Is it this book? What is it about this book that brought that wind?” She met Sinclair’s gaze.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Sinclair folded his arms across his chest. “It was the last book my wife read before she died. One of the servants tried to take it out of here last year. She said that a wind stopped her.”

“’Tis haunted, my Lady,” came a timid voice from behind the couple.

Sinclair’s hand sliced the air. “Enough. My servants believe the book holds the key to a lot of strange happenings here in the library. I don’t tend to agree.” He looked at the gathered group over his shoulder.

“You may return to work. I will see to Miss Morgan.” He tucked her in the shelter of his arm and led her toward the settee. “Sit down for a moment and catch your breath.” Capturing the book from her hands, he returned it to its proper space.

Carla couldn’t take her eyes off the spine of the book. What secrets did it hold and had the ghost of Sinclair’s dead wife have anything to do with her arrival here at the castle? Her mind whirled. She had to find a way to talk to this woman. Perhaps there she’d find answers. “Why didn’t you tell me about the book?”

“What was there to tell? That my household believes in superstition? That they believe my house is haunted by the spirit of my wife? It’s nonsense.”

“You weren’t here with the wind.” Carla searched his face for any sign of deception, but saw none. She shivered as a slight wind lifted her hair and brushed it over her forehead. “Did you just feel that?” She held her breath.

Sinclair knelt in front of her, his hands on her knees. “I’ve lived here for many years, Carla. There has been no ghost before or since my wife’s passing.”

Carla felt the warmth of his palms even beneath the thickness of her gown. “How did your wife die?”

Sinclair’s face closed and he stood, signaling an abrupt end to the conversation. “I should take you back to your bedchamber. You’ve had quite a scare.”

Sinclair wore an expression that did not invite further inquiries. Carla felt a sadness she couldn’t shake.

Sinclair had loved his wife. The pain was evident in his eyes. He still ached for her. So why was she here? And who had brought her? Allowing him to pull her to her feet, Carla walked out of the library, the book safely tucked away back on the shelf.

But her curiosity was running higher than ever.

* * * * *

The speckled horse nuzzled against the palm of her hand, searching for a treat. Carla laughed and gently stroked the coarse hair, rubbing the muzzle and scratching behind her ears. “You are a beauty.”

“Do you ride?” Sinclair approached her quietly and now, he leaned over the edge of the rail, his arms folded, a half-smile on his face.

Carla couldn’t take her eyes off of his long fingers, those same wonderful fingers that had…she blushed, realizing he still waited for an answer. “I used to. It’s been a while.”

“You are welcome to ride any of my horses while you are here.”

“What about her?” Carla continued to stroke the mare.

“She was included.” Sinclair straightened. “If you need any help, you should ask Decker. He is one of the stable hands, but he has forgotten more about horses than I will ever know. Would you like to talk a walk? You haven’t seen the hothouse or perhaps you’d like to see the lake. It’s just over the ridge.”

Carla tucked the lace-fringed shawl tighter around her shoulders and gave him a small smile. “I’d like that.”

Sinclair offered her his arm, the perfect gentleman, and Carla wondered where the wild side had gone.

Could he tuck it away as easily as he could tuck her fingers against the material of his waistcoat? He led the way across the grass while Carla tried not to concentrate on the feel of the hard muscles beneath her palm.

“This might sound like a stupid question, but how did you get to be a Duke?”

“My grandfather’s father was a Duke as was he and my father as well. I was born into the title.” Carla heard the smile in his voice.

“And this castle? Were you born into it as well?”

“This castle has been in my family for as long as I can remember. I was born here as was the rest of my family.”

“You have brothers and sisters then?” Carla lifted her skirts with her free hand.

“I have two brothers and one sister. You will meet them tonight.”

“Why tonight?”

“My brother is the Duke of Rochester. He sent a message that he would be arriving with his wife and their two sons this evening. It is custom for the remaining family members to gather upon the arrival of one.”

Carla laughed slightly. “Unfortunately, that’s our custom as well. If one family member comes from a long way off, the rest of us are expected to make an appearance as well.”

“You do not miss your family, do you?”

“I miss my sister.”

“You have no brothers?”

“No. My father wanted a son, but I was a difficult birth and the doctors advised my mother against having any more children. So some souls don’t realize how fortunate they were. There but for the grace of God, they could have been born into the Morgan family.” She couldn’t quite manage to keep the bitter smile from her lips.

Atop the rise, the lake came into view, the water shimmering brightly even in the waning sunlight. The coolness of the water combined with the warmth of the air to create a steam that drifted in a hazy cloud.

Carla’s hand tightened on Sinclair’s arm. “It’s beautiful. Sometimes, I wish…” she broke off. “Never mind.”

Sinclair’s face dipped to hers. “You wish what? Wishes are like dreams, Carla. Sometimes, they can come true.”

Unable to resist, her hand lifted and she brushed her fingertips along his cheekbone, smoothing the taut skin. “But I am too well aware that sometimes, they don’t come true.” She tried to shake off the melancholy mood and even managed a smile, but the look in his eyes made her catch her breath. She recognized the look, the same one she’d seen in her bedchamber right before he’d brought her to orgasm time and again. He could certainly teach twenty-first century men a thing or two about oral sex. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered.