The Stanhope Challenge - Regency Quartet - Four Regency Romances (7 page)

Shivering in expectation, she pressed her thighs together and laughed. “You will not disappoint me?”

“Eager woman,” he took her mouth in a quick hard kiss. “I will happily satisfy you as often as you wish. I promise not to disappoint you. Or myself.”

She was a succulent piece.

He lay awake beside her for hours, enjoying the sight of her voluptuous body in the abandon of sleep. Her large, perfect nipples, her firm breasts. Her rounded stomach. Her thatch of pubic hair. Thick and dark as the hair on her head, her pussy was a beautiful cat. He could not stop himself from stroking her there as she slept. Still swollen from their romps, her body gripped his fingers and made him hard and hungry for her.

Luscious creature that she was, she’d purred in response even as he’d brought to bed water and soap to bathe her. So moved by his cleansing, she’d let him caress her until she rode his hand and begged him to possess her once again with his cock. He’d had not the will to refuse her but had taken his shaft in hand and watched it sink inside her hot walls until he swore she was replete and he milked dry.

How many times had he taken her last night?

He stared at her. Her arms flung out in repose, her expressive lips parted, her large golden eyes closed, she was an erotic sight for only him. His heart bounded with pride. How often had he taken her to the ecstasy she’d asked for and deserved? He grinned and brushed his fingertips over her navel to the top of her seam. Should he make her come again? She came with such abandon every time he touched her. Never had that happened to him here in England. Not even with the woman he had once thought he adored.

Sarah crossed his mind like a ghost. Her spectre matched the woman who, when alive, had transformed within a few months of their marriage into a lying, manipulative unfaithful creature.

He climbed out of bed and made for the balcony. Pale dawn lined the sky. The translucent yellow reminded him of Sarah’s pale hair, and in contrast, the deep blue recalled the color of her eyes. At once, the horror of their marriage came rushing back to him like the hideous travail it had been.

Sarah Collingswood had been the fairest debutante of her Season. Petite, quick and coy, she had interested any young buck who had a mind to marry. Why Adam had found her attractive after his many years in China, he could not say for certain. Perhaps, he was simply ready to marry. She had been lovely. Celebrated. The picture of youth and health. He had known her briefly when she was but a child and had not seen her until he returned to England from Hong Kong and his tenure with his cousin in the export company. But Adam had never delved too deeply beneath the surface of the charming doll who danced at the assemblies and commented with some intelligence over politics and books.

Beneath that façade, Sarah had been childish and vain. Worse, she’d craved attention. Yet even he, for all his knowledge of yin–yang intimacies of sexual congress, could not bring her to orgasm. That had been a harbinger of her other petty traits. She’d been too stiff, too interested in her dignity and what she’d thought were society’s dictums that a wife remain elusive and unresponsive, even in bed. He could never have predicted that she would need other men’s attentions. Or that she would go so far as to commit adultery. And thus, she destroyed his own belief in the goodness of women and substantiated his belief that the famous Stanhope curse was real. Would that he had sought out Felice and wed her instead when he’d returned from Hong Kong. Perhaps he would never have had cause to give the curse any credence.

Yet, for his career and for his son, he’d sought out Felice with the plan to solve his problems with a simple solution of marrying his childhood friend. But one look at her, one conversation with the charming widow, and he’d found he laughed at her wit. On instinct, he’d wanted to offer her marriage. He’d discussed it with Jack and Ulmsly. A few other party leaders as well. His years in China had brushed his reputation with hints of the exotic. Men thought him adventurous. Women thought him dashing, bold. Both sexes attributed to him an eroticism that appealed sub-rosa, but which was too bold for a politician of any national stature. He needed a wife, his friends and colleagues said. And soon.

Two weeks later, he’d ridden down to her cottage, knocked on her door and within minutes, he’d offered marriage with no thought of the hideous family blight of the curse. But the day of his wedding, he’d gotten cold feet. As if abstinence could cure his family’s problem, he had deluded himself into believing the union could be in name only. He had forgotten that he was a man who liked women. Educated, witty, lovely women. Out of bed. And definitely in it.

“And now what have you done?”

Two arms wound around his waist and the warmth of his wife’s body lured him from his dark mood. “I’ll tell you what you’ve done, Mr. Wild.” She pressed a tender kiss to his shoulder. “You have made love to me so often that I am ravenous.”

He chuckled and turned in her embrace. “Hungry, eh?”

Christ, she was stunning in the soft morning light. Gleaming dark hair and luminous eyes, she was so unlike Sarah that he was grateful and proud he’d done so well for himself. Tousled and sleepy-eyed, she smiled up at him.

“What would you like? Eggs? Bacon?” He settled her near to him.

“A bath.”

“A wonderful idea.” He nuzzled her ear and brushed his lips along the line of her throat. “You smell divine.”

“I smell like us!”

“Precisely.” He arched her up to take a nipple between his teeth.

She panted in delight as she let him have his fill of both nipples. “And sex.”

“And you are mine.”

“Oh, yes,” she sighed, “very much yours.” She pushed away and danced backward toward their bedroom.

He stalked her. “My tub is big enough for two.”

She arched a brow. “Is it indeed? I need food before I make love to you again.”

“I shall feed you as you wash me.”

She sniffed, feigning indifference. “Demanding creature.”

Her need to play spurred his interest. His cock rose. “I have not yet begun to show you just how demanding I can be.”

“Nor have I,” she tossed back, her chin up in the air.

He laughed, waving a finger to indicate his robe that she’d donned. “Remove that, madam. You hide what feeds my hunger. And I refuse to wait to teach you more.”

She shrugged and the garment flowed to the floor.

His balls twitched. His cock rose higher, harder.

“Do you never tire?” she marvelled at his erection, her eyes gleaming with interest.

He took a step, caught her as she giggled and would have run from him. “Not of you.”

She licked her lower lip as he backed her to the wall. “What can you be thinking? To do it standing up?”

“You will like this,” he promised and braced her upright as he lifted one thigh over his hip. “This position is called Bamboos by the Altar.” He tilted her hips so that he could claim her tight little core. “What say you about it?”

“Ahh. Um. Do the bamboo stalks move?”

Words failed him as he filled her to the hilt and rocked with her. Jesus. She was swollen and hot for him. He had not ever had a woman so ready for him at a moment’s suggestion. “Mine does.”

“Deliciously so,” she affirmed as she tried to get closer to him.

He rolled his hips to give her what he asked for. “My stalk is the Yang. It reaches and caresses your grotto.”

She hummed and clutched him closer, her nails in his back. “And does so well, too.”

“Then I can show you this,” he crooned and slid out of her with a pop.

“No!” She beat his shoulder as he snagged her arm and led her toward the bed.

He grinned at her, his pretty, insatiable wife. “I give you another position for your education.” He paused to look her over with narrowed eyes. Her nipples beaded. Her lips parted. How had the gods decided to grant him a woman who truly wanted him in bed? “Bend over. Your hands to the floor.”

She stared at him, her hands stiff at her sides, her gaze searching and yet curious. She moaned, her desire and anticipation warring. But she bent, her modesty defeated, and he could not believe his good fortune.

He grinned at the sight of her shapely ass pointed up in the air toward him. Knowing that to touch her little hole would be too quick, too stunning to her sensibilities, he pushed down the temptation. Instead, he spread his hands on her derriere and fondled the fullness of her cheeks. “You are lovely here, my darling.”

She made a tortured sound. “Touch me, damn you.”

“Like this?” he asked as he reached down to spread her labia wide and send his cock along her seam.

“Yes!” she ground out.

“And this?” He nudged at her clitoris with the tip of his penis.

“
Yes
!”

“But this…” he told her as he sank his jade stalk deeply into her warm fountain, “this is what you need. Say it.”

She was moving with him, whimpering in delight. “I do. I do.”

“So do I,” he said between gritted teeth, the ribald position, her wet warmth setting him on fire.

“What is this called?” She grabbed the mattress for support, bending further to give him better access.

His hands caressing the silken skin of her thighs, he smiled at her inquisitive nature and her charm. “Donkeys of Spring.”

“I should be mortified,” she grumbled.

“Instead, you are edified,” he whispered as he rocked inside her over and over again. “I feel how thrilled you are, Fee. God, has there ever been a woman to compare to you?”

She huffed. “There better not be.”

He hooted in joy as he increased his tempo. “Jealous type, are you?”

“A harridan.”

“I will remember,” he assured her as he pumped into her with ferocity.

She squeezed her muscles together, and once more, he knew she was so tight, so ready that her orgasm was near.

He pulled out.

She beat the mattress with one fist. “You devil!”

He laughed. “All the better to make you rejoice, my love.” He urged her up and around. “Lie back on the bed. Just here at the edge.” He ran his hands down her taut thighs to her knees and grabbed her feet. “Put these in the air.”

“I am definitely beyond the pale here,” she murmured, her gaze rolling to the ceiling in mock criticism of her fully exposed position.

“I adore this view of you. The flower petals of your sex are so swollen and pink. You drip with nectar, inviting my honey bee to pierce you. Like this.”

She hooted at his imagery, but let out a whoosh of air as he entered her, seated himself fully and held.

“Oh…that’s…quite a sting,” she managed between his thrusts.

He held her ankles, his own breath tremulous. “Quite a luscious flower.”

“Adam.” She gasped. “Dearest, now. Would. Be. Good.”

She pulsed all around him, squeezing his cock to the point where his discipline flew away and he came in a long hot stream that had him growling.

Caught in his own euphoria as his own joy washed over him, he realized he still held her feet in the air. If he had adored the look on her face as she slept, if he had admired her beauty as she met him in ecstasy before, the expression on her face now was unmatched. Every contour, every line of her visage was relaxed in a rapture that rocked his reason and tripled his pride. He had thought never to find a woman here in England who could match him for sensual awareness. Yet in this childhood friend whom he had married for convenience was the most eager, stunning partner he had ever imagined.

He lowered her legs, caressed her thighs, her pussy and her breasts—and kissed her. He lifted her by the arms onto the fullness of the bed, lay down beside her and cradled her to him. He pushed her soft curls from her cheeks. Her brilliant eyes opened and she considered him with languid ease. He would say she was more than satisfied. Indeed, she looked as though she cherished him.

“Thank you,” he told her, his words as full of delight as gratitude. “That was the finest experience of my life. Each time, I do enjoy you,” he whispered as he placed a kiss to each eye, “thoroughly.”

“And I, you,” she whispered as she brushed her fingertips over his lips. “Is it always like that?”

He dared to voice the answer that surprised and delighted him, “With you, I think it will be.”

“Does that mean you want me to stay?” she asked, searching his gaze.

“Will you? Please?”

“What of your curse?”

He winced. “Ah, well, that. Whether you stay or not, it may well fall down upon us.”

“What could happen? You could hate me for being a wanton woman?”

He grinned and hugged her. “Or you could reject me for being such a lecherous husband.”

Her mouth curved in a soft smile. “I will take both.”

“As will I,” he told her sincerely. “Dare I conclude that each of us sees more potential here than what we find in this bed?”

She met his gaze frankly. “I thought there was hope for that all along. I would not have married you otherwise, Adam.”

“I’ll brave the family problem, if you will.”

She caressed his cheek with her fingertips and rubbed her breasts against his chest. “I need that bath and breakfast.”

“Do that and our bath will be delayed.”

She smiled against his mouth. “What a fine idea.”

But making love in a tub and being handfed by one’s husband meant Felice was starving for real sustenance. When she mentioned it, Adam ordered a full service for them to be served within the hour.

Threatening to eat the tablecloths, Felice braved the dining room, dressed in her ball gown. Adam had just pulled out her chair for her when his butler appeared to inform him he had a caller. Though it was unusual to have a visitor before eleven, this gentleman, declared the butler, requested a few minutes of Adam’s time and awaited his host in the sitting room. When Adam asked the identity of the man, the butler told him it was Lord Ulmsly.

“I shan’t be long,” Adam told her and brushed a kiss to her lips. “I’d tell you to wait for me, but the fact that Ulmsly is here at this abominable hour is truly astonishing. Enjoy yourself, darling, and I promise to return as soon as possible.”