Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (52 page)

She stilled like a scared rabbit beneath my finger and closed her eyes. “I do not think so.”

I explored her face and neck with gentle fingertips, and she sighed.

She stilled again as I wandered to her collarbone and then between her raised knees to the space between her breasts. I thought she might faint from lack of breath as I slowly worked my way toward her left nipple, and I finally touched it just to get her to gasp. Soon, she was leaning back against my upraised leg, with her hands grasping at Gaston’s arm and my shoulder, and her legs spread as much as the space would allow, and we found her pleasure faster than I had imagined.

When she stopped gasping, she raised her head to regard me with wide and wondrous eyes and proclaim, “That is why people do it.”

Gaston erupted in mirth.

As she was not the first woman – virgin or otherwise – I had been the first to bring across that threshold, I was not nearly as surprised. I cuddled her close and kissed her forehead before tilting her head back and teasing her lips with mine until she opened for me to explore her mouth: a thing she seemed amenable to me doing: a thing which gained me a poke in the ribs and a tight hand about my balls from my matelot.

I pulled away from her mouth with amusement and turned to him.

“Would you not have me enjoy her at all?” I murmured chidingly in French.

I was initially faced with the Horse’s stubbornness; but though it was fractious, he seemed to have it in hand, and my balls and turgid member received a far more pleasant caress and my lips an apologetic kiss.

“I had not seen you kiss another,” he murmured before kissing me deeply.

When he let me breathe, I found her watching us with narrowed eyes.

“I would like to see you make love,” she said as if it were a curiosity.

“You will,” Gaston muttered in English, which set me laughing.

He disentangled himself from us and stood to put a kettle to boil on the brazier and transfer some glowing coals to the tray beneath the tub. I despaired of that much water ever growing warm. I stood and stretched, as much to readjust my member in my breeches as to straighten my spine and legs. She lay on the floor in the blanket and regarded us.

“Are you aroused?” she asked. “May I see it now?”

I gave my matelot an inquisitive glance, and he snorted with annoyance at either his jealousy or my teasing him of it. I dropped my breeches and kicked them away, and she knelt to peer at my member with the same frown she wore when studying a thing beneath a lens before sketching it. I watched Gaston’s breeches join mine in the corner with hungry eyes.

“Have her please you,” he said huskily in French.

As always, I would deny him nothing, especially not when he asked in such a manner.

I bade her stand and she came to me with outstretched hands. I caught her wrists and said, “With any lover, be it man or woman, it is best not to start with the organs of desire.”

She nodded her understanding and redirected her hands to my neck. Then she proved she had indeed been an apt pupil, by stroking and exploring me gently much as I had done her. She even mimicked my movements in playing with her nipples, and I was surprised at her adeptness in discerning action from sensation.

Gaston watched us all the while with a lustful gaze that kept me far harder than her ministrations. At last he slipped behind her. She started a little as he put his arms around her, and her eyes went quite wide as he adjusted their positions, and I knew he had nestled his cock between her buttocks. Then his hands were running down her arms while he nuzzled her neck, until he at last reached her hands and guided them to my member. He whispered in her ear of how I liked to be touched while I held her hips and tried not faint from dizzy pleasure.

She squeaked with delight and surprise when I came on her belly.

Then she explored the stickiness of my jism with a child’s amusement.

Gaston used my come to lubricate his slow exploration of her body until she was panting and grasping at me with sticky fingers and I was kissing him over her shoulder. She came such that her being pinned between us was all that kept her from sinking to the floor.

“May I take you?” Gaston asked her.

She nodded mutely, and he lowered her to lie on the blanket. I sank down the wall to lie beside her on my side, with my head propped upon my arm. We watched Gaston empty the kettle into a basin and dutifully bathe his member.

“This first time it will be uncomfortable and might hurt,” I said gently.

She nodded, “I know,” as if it was a small matter, but I could see the fear begin to grip her.

I ran my hand over her body and sank my fingers between her legs.

She squirmed a little as I explored her readiness. Gaston returned to us and gazed in wonder as I pulled my well-lubricated fingers from her.

“You are as ready as you will ever be,” I teased her lightly in order to tell him he might proceed.

They each nodded at what they heard, and Gaston eased himself between her legs. With amusement I recalled the last time I had seen him between a woman’s thighs: at Jamaica’ s birth. I studied his face and found as much fear there as Agnes’ still held.

I wiped my fingers on the blanket and then caressed her face and turned her head so that she looked to me. “Close your eyes,” I whispered.

“And relax.”

Then I looked up at him again, my eyes asking the questions I did not wish to voice in her presence. All I could think was how very fast touching her cold flesh had taken me back to a barn I did not wish to remember.

Was a girl spread before him carrying him where he had feared it would?

He took a deep breath and nodded that he was well enough. He did not take his eyes from me as he positioned himself and slowly entered her. Then he held still, and I held his eyes as I would a rope to keep him from falling even when she gasped and tensed at the discomfort of his presence.

At last he looked away and fought a sob. I glanced to her and found her eyes still tightly closed and her teeth upon her lip. I caressed her cheek and then his, and wiped his tears away before they fell upon her.

He kissed my fingers.

“I do not like this,” Agnes whispered.

I looked to her and found her eyes open. Thankfully she was only staring at me. My hand went to her cheek again and I kept it there to keep her facing me while I kissed her forehead.

“Do you want him to withdraw?” I asked.

She shook her head as much as I would allow. “He can finish. Will it take long? I feel I am on a spit.”

I chuckled. “Aye, it does feel much like that. Some come to enjoy it.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“Aye, very much.”

She began to turn her head to Gaston and I glanced at him and found that though his eyes were puffy, he was in control of his emotions again. I let her see him.

“Do you like it?” she asked him.

He shook his head and smiled at her. “Not as much as Will does. It is odd and... aye, as if one is impaled.”

“Gaston is usually the one within me and not the other way around,” I said quickly.

“Oh, so you do not take turns?” She seemed surprised.

“Nay, not… evenly,” I said.

“Do you need to move?” she asked him, with a frown that said she did not think that would be pleasant at all.

“I will go slowly; and you will tell me if I should stop,” he said.

She nodded, and he began to move. She grimaced a little, and clutched at my hand, but then her expression became one of perplexed curiosity and she studied the ceiling and wall with her tongue in her cheek, as if she were attempting to determine if she liked the taste of the endeavor.

“With the moving it is not as bad,” she noted. “But it is not as fine as the touching.”

“It rarely is the first time,” I assured her as I turned back to Gaston.

He was finding his pleasure, or rather his cock was; and I thought once it gripped him he would make short work of the matter. I was correct: he came a few strokes later.

She gasped with surprise as he thrust deep and grunted.

“I can feel it moving in there,” she said.

He withdrew and collapsed on the floor beside her.

“If I fetched my paper, could I draw you making love?” she asked.

Gaston regarded the ceiling with bemusement.

“I suppose,” I said slowly, “but perhaps we should rest for a time...”

There was a knock on the door and we jumped.

“Sirs, are ya in there?” Henrietta called.

“Aye, aye,” I said quickly. “We are bathing.”

“On a day like taday? Sam said ya were but I didna’ believe ’im.”

“Henrietta, what do you need?” I asked.

“It na’ be me, it be the mistresses,” she said. “Lady… Mistress Williams be askin’ for ya, an’ Miss Vines, an’… well sir, I think perhaps Lord Montren should be speakin’ with your sister.”

“We will be out soon,” I sighed.

Gaston had already stood and found his breeches.

I waited until I heard Henrietta walk away before speaking. “Well, if we all so desire, it appears we must continue this another time.”

Agnes toyed with the edge of the blanket thoughtfully. “I would be amenable to that. Even this last part. I would try it again.” Then she looked to Gaston. “Do you feel Sarah is ready to birth?”

“That is what I suppose I must determine,” he said. He stopped at the door and looked down at me with hundreds of unsaid words.

“I am well,” I assured him. “I will see to Vivian. You go to Sarah.”

He leaned down and kissed me deeply. “I love you.”

“And I you, more than I can say.”

He nodded and my words seemed to calm him somewhat. He looked to Agnes. “Thank you.”

She nodded with a small smile, and he left us.

“You should probably wait after I leave before slipping out,” I said.

She nodded her understanding. “I think I will take a bath. I am still sticky with you.” She grimaced.

I kissed her lightly, found my breeches, and slipped out the door. I wondered if the Gods had delivered us a blessing or a curse.

Sixty-Nine

Gaston was more than a step or two ahead of me; he had already donned a tunic and was standing outside Sarah’s door. I saw the door open, but with the rain I did not hear what was said; I only saw that he entered.

Now, standing half naked in the cold, I found I could easily consider the whole interlude a pleasant dream. I wished to speak to him of it, more to confirm it had indeed occurred than for reassurance that he was well with it – or that I was, for that matter.

Reluctantly, I went to the stable and found a tunic before dashing to see Vivian.

“Where have you been all day?” Vivian demanded as I entered her room. “Henrietta told me you were still sleeping this morning, and now you have been in the bathing room.”

“Well, it would appear you have no need to ask where I have been,” I said with some amusement. “We did not hear you were seeking us until a few minutes ago.”

She glared at me. “My breasts are full and I would like to feed my baby.”

“Let us go, then,” I said. “I am sorry you have been waiting.” And I silently cursed my thinking the baby and she were fine without us this morn.

She did not move. “Have you been fucking all day?” she asked vehemently.

“Would it make you angrier if I had?” I asked, my ire rising. I was beginning to feel she wished to fight far more than she wished to see her child. I was curious if she was drunk, but I smelled no rum or anything else that she might have used to mask it, and her words and eyes were clear and cold. “Is that what you want, to be angry?”

“Nay!” she roared. “I do not wish to be angry. That is why I am angry.”

I took two steps to the door and stopped. On the one hand, I had never seen any man – myself included – win an argument with a woman when she was thus; on the other, leaving would solve nothing and we were asking ourselves to live with the woman: she was going to have to learn to convey her thoughts and feelings in a rational manner.

I turned back to her, grasped her shoulders, and met her angry gaze. “Think about your answer. Why are you angry with me?”

“Because you were not here,” she said quickly.

“Why did that make you angry?”

“Because you are…” She stopped and looked away.

“Because I am what?” I asked.

She pulled away and I allowed it. “It is nothing. Let us go.”

“Nay,” I said. “I will go, and you can stay here with your full breasts and pout all damn day, or you can speak your mind.”

She crossed her arms and sat on the bed. “You will not like what I have to say, and it matters not. It will change nothing.”

“I already do not like what you have been saying, so in that respect, it matters not,” I said. “But I would know why you are angry with me for not being here when I did not know I should be here. Aye, I should have looked in on you sooner, but I thought Henrietta was available to do that. I forgot that you had begun to feed the baby. You could have simply asked Henrietta to wake us. But no, you did not do that. You sat up here and became angry, did you not?”

“I am not being childish,” she said bitterly.

“Call it what you will,” I said, “but if I had not sworn I would never beat you, I would consider putting you across my knee.”

She shook her head and looked away stubbornly with teary eyes. “I do not wish to fight with you.”

I thought myself a fool for staying, but here I was. I guessed wildly in the name of goading her. “You are angry that I was fucking and you were not.”

She swiped her tears away and glared at me. “Not everyone wants to spend their lives fucking.”

“You are angry that I was lying safe and warm in someone’s arms and you were not.”

She flinched and flushed and looked away with pain in her eyes.

I sighed. “Damn it, girl…” I could not envision us ever being with her as we had just been with Agnes. And I did not know if I wished to continue what we had started with that girl. But I surely knew Vivian would wish for far more love than we had shown Agnes. She wanted love: she needed it. I could not ever place one foot on that path without breaking her heart. “I am sorry I cannot love you as you deserve.”