The Moonstone and Miss Jones (24 page)
She wrinkled her nose. “Too muddy.” She dipped her head back to wet her hair. “What about this . . . a lovely pond nymph is taking her bath in a woodland thermal spring, when a hot and dusty warrior comes along, and begins to disrobe . . .”
Phaeton grinned. “Start us off darling.”
She looked up at him as though he were a complete stranger. “Don’t be shy handsome warrior, show me everything.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
P
HAETON DROPPED HIS PANTS
and America’s brows lifted. She pretended that she saw entirely too much of the beautiful warrior. Squealing with laughter, she turned around and did not move until he plunged into the pool.
HAETON DROPPED HIS PANTS
and America’s brows lifted. She pretended that she saw entirely too much of the beautiful warrior. Squealing with laughter, she turned around and did not move until he plunged into the pool.
She circled back as he rose out of the water. “Are you a Greek god? Tell me sir, what is your name?”
“Sir Phaeton.” He swept wet hair back behind his ears, and waded straight for her. “And compliments like that will get you ravaged soon enough.”
America back-paddled farther away from the swinging sword. “Very impressive, sir.”
“Alas, the beauty extols not my intellect, but my lance. Come here, little nymph.”
Warily, she swam around him. “ ’Tis a very grand and ferocious lance, sir.”
Phaeton narrowed his gaze. “I take what I want, pretty one. You will do as I say or there will be consequences.”
America shook her head. “I have come to this place to bathe, not to screw.”
He waded after her. “Coward.”
“Bully,” she countered, drifting closer, her head just above the water.
“Beware, my love.” Phaeton sank deeper into the pool and soon they were close enough to kiss. “That kind of impertinent speech requires punishment.
Without touching him, she pressed her lips to his. “I feel great love for you, Sir Phaeton.” His body stirred.
“As well and as deeply, I hope, as my affection for the ravishing pond nymph.”
She gave him another kiss for his endearing declaration.
“Again,” he ordered gently, and she complied. “I must see more.” With a bit more coaxing he led her to the shallow part of the pool and America allowed him to look upon her. “Tell me what you are feeling little nymph.”
She blushed. “I feel beautiful and seductively naughty.”
Phaeton remained the strange knight as his eyes roved appreciatively over her body. He experienced the strong rush of desire that swept through her voluptuous frame. She shivered slightly under his scrutiny.
His cock was as hard as a stone. “You are perfectly made, America.”
She stared for a moment, then shook her head with a laugh. “What flattery and nonsense.” She noted stacks of rugged towels and huge wooden bowls filled with soft brushes and soaps.
Her eyes grew wide. “Look, the pool for bathing.” She led him over to the separate bath, and admired his rigid, bobbing lance. She took up a block of soap, and pushed it into his hand. “This will give you a chance to appraise every small detail. Count the beauty marks.” America turned her back to him and held her hair up as he scrubbed from shoulders down to the pleasantly curved small of her back.
He couldn’t see her expression but he was sure she smiled as he counted her flaws. “Three small moles thus far.”
“ ’Tis a relief to turn away from such a penetrating gaze, sir.”
“And what about you, my dear? I can still see the blush on your cheeks from the sight of my erection—I mean my savage sword.”
He pointed out a bruise above America’s hip and traced it to the booty bumps she had taken this evening. “Yes, I think my back did ache some after a dance.” She turned enough to see the frown on his face. “Phaeton, you must not treat me like a fragile little flower.”
The irony of her remark elicited a bark of laughter as he scrubbed her lower back. “Two perfect dimples above a plump little derrière.”
“Too plump?”
The frown in her voice made him chuckle. “Perfectly plump, my love, and very desirable.” His hands were full of lather and he slipped them around her hips, to softly stroke her belly.
America shuddered from his caresses, falling back against his chest and into his arms. Her knees had quite literally grown weak from his gentle fondling.
He moved his hands lower, under foaming water, to stroke between her legs. “Open for me.”
Catching his fingers in hers, she brought the well-practiced, stimulating hand back up out of the water. “Not yet, sir.” She found herself arching back against his chest as she encouraged him to explore her torso. His fingers lightly traced along her hip bones and up past a hint of ribs, to the crease under her breasts. Cupping both mounds, he pressed her against his body and she felt the hard thrust of his erection pass across her buttocks.
Her entire body relaxed, as his fingers moved past her navel, and lowered into the channel below, the one that made her writhe with arousal. His fingers circled the place that made her want more and more of his touching.
“Please, I cannot breathe.” Wrenching herself out of his arms, she moved away. She reached out to hold onto the edge of the pool, and took up a cake of soap.
He did not follow her directly, but watched her wade through the pool, a beautiful woodland water nymph in a garden of earthly delights. “You have the most glorious flush of arousal on your chest and neck . . . and cheek.”
Lathering her hands with soap she offered to bathe him. “Come here, handsome knight, and let me clean you up.”
America washed his unruly hair and brushed the dirt from his fingernails.
“My turn.” Phaeton soaped her tangled mass of waves. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he used the other to support her head as he laid her back into the gently stirring waters to rinse the soap away. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her shoulders, and when he reached her breast he covered her nipple with his mouth and tongued until she arched against his arm. She uttered his name in the most erotic and innocent bedding voice.
“Sir Phaeton.”
“Let yourself explore, little virgin nymph. I will not hurt you.”
Guiding her hand below his navel, her fingers tangled in the mat of wet hair, landing on his erection. She wrapped her fingers around the velvet shaft and stroked. He groaned and encouraged her to soap and stroke some more.
There was something wickedly daring about flaunting their nudity and sexual response to each other in such a potentially public place. The more he touched her—the more she opened up to him. Most provocatively, Phaeton wanted them to be chanced upon. And she could not deny that their possible exposure felt delicious and decadent, as long as she was safely in his arms.
Phaeton lifted her up onto the ledge of the pool. America drew her legs out of the water, and he moved between her thighs, opening her. He remained in the water with his head buried between her legs.
“Phaeton,” she moaned, “We’ve got company.”
“What?” He looked up to see two chaps step into a pool across the room. Steam swirled off the circular shaped bath. And there was a low motorized humming and a great deal of foaming and churning at the surface of the water.
Phaeton vaulted out of the bath, pausing briefly to take in the vision of her nude figure as she reclined in repose. “You are a beauty, my love, but you are mine alone.” He carried her into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed.
Propped on her elbows, America directed her most radiant smile toward him. She shook her head, and a mass of damp waves descended past her shoulders and down her back.
Phaeton rested on his side, chin propped in hand, enjoying the beautiful picture as she pushed her hips up and tossed her head back. In fact, he watched her erotic undulations with a sinful amount of lust building in his groin.
“She lays beside me naked, not a stitch of clothing
I cannot fault her body, not a single part
Soft shoulders, lovely shaped arms
Nipples that invite my mouth, her slightly
rounded belly
Beneath her rounded breasts
That comely curve of hip and heavenly thigh
There is not a detail that falls short of perfection . . .”
Phaeton ran his finger along her comely curve of hip. “Ovid—third century poet philosopher—”
“I think he died in prison from syphilis,” she interrupted. “And that was rather a mangled recitation.” America’s eyes had changed into challenging, smoldering pools of desire.
Phaeton was very aware that she had moved her knees farther and farther apart so he might see more and more of her. Pink folds of moistened flesh, framed by close-cropped curls. She moved her fingers through the folds and opened farther, bidding him to enter her. She smiled, a bit dreamily. “Let’s see if I can torture a bit of the old Roman poet . . .
“Such wicked behavior—please do save your badness for bed.
“Strip me naked with no embarrassment—
Your knee between my thighs,
And vary your passion, sir, thrust that tongue
between cherry-ripe lips.
Do not hold back your whispers, your moan of pleasure
Make this bed shake like mad . . .”
America watched his desire grow as she spread her legs. “How long can you stand this?” she whispered.
Phaeton had not far to reach her. He was on his knees and took her up into his arms. She kissed his face and ears and neck and helped him reach her breasts by arching her back. She watched him bring one tight, swollen nipple at a time to his mouth to suckle, then nibble until she moaned with pleasure.
America pushed Phaeton away and moved off the bed. “Perhaps your difficult pond nymph needs to be taught a lesson?”
She held out a hand, and Phaeton was on his feet. He ordered her to the tall bedpost. Obediently, she turned her backside to him and held onto the heavy carved post above her head. Her body quaked in anticipation. He stood to her side, and placed one hand on the flat of her belly, the other on her rear.
He spanked firmly, until her stomach shuddered from arousal. Then he stopped and moved his fingers between her legs and stroked softly until she wet his hand from her pleasure.
“Again,” she whispered. Phaeton repeated this punishment several times, moving his hand up her belly, across her ribs and over her breasts. He whispered in a dry husky voice, “I will use my hand as long as it makes you moan in ecstasy.”
“Umm, yes, that kind of playful force that goes well with pleasure.” America stopped his fingers, and backed away. “Punish me with demands, if you can catch me, sir.”
He pursued her around the bed and across the room. Against the wall, she allowed herself to be captured by her ravager and made to do his bidding.
Taking her by the hair—he pushed her down on her knees and presented his turgid cock to her mouth. “Take it—all of it.”
They aroused each other against every wall, inside the water closet and on a secretary chair. By the time he cleared the top of the writing desk they were out of breath, skin glistening with sweat and the delicate perfume of America’s musky emollient all over their bodies.
Phaeton nuzzled her hair, her throat, pausing above her mouth to recite.
“Ladies, in fact, love to yield,
Even prefer a rough seduction.
It delights them, the audacity of near rape,
And the lady could have been forced,
Yet she asked . . . for the pleasure.”
America took Phaeton by the hand and led him to the end of the secretary where she bent over, laying her chest on the table so she might present her backside to him. Phaeton was so highly aroused he nearly thrust in for immediate relief—but he stopped himself.
He gathered her wrists together and held them down with one hand. “You can’t escape from me now,” he whispered. With his free hand he gently stroked and rubbed until the lady begged him to stop. “Turn over.”
Lifting her up, he set her buttocks on the edge of the worktable. She faced her lover and he gently brought her forward, inch by inch. Slowly. Until she moaned in frustration. He then ordered her to do his bidding. “Open your legs.”
“Make me.” America had drawn her legs up and she teased him with just enough resistance, until she allowed him to push them open. Then wider still.
“Now for a taste.” Phaeton kissed the lovely flesh of her belly, moving down through fleecy curls into moist petals of rose flesh. His tongue found the small throbbing place in need of his attention and teased.
He brought both legs up close, leaving a trail of soft kisses over the inside of her thighs. He understood what she wanted, the pleasure of his gentle, measured force. It was so like his America. In these last days together he felt more certain of her affection than ever, and he had somehow found the courage to love her utterly and completely.
Phaeton guided his tongue over and over the most sensitive places, his face wet with her scent. He felt her legs and belly tremble and heard her gasp for breath, and only when he knew she neared the peak of her pleasure did he enter her.
America threw her legs up over his shoulders and he yanked her closer so that he might have a mouthful of breast. He nipped and bit her nipples harder than he ever had before, and she cried out from both arousal and pain. As he pumped into her, America took hold of his hand and placed it so that his fingers reached just the right place.
All it took was one touch and she went over the edge. Phaeton shook from his own climax and finished loudly, to underscore his pleasure.
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