Chloe squirmed against him enchantingly with her sleek black hair mingling with the curling hairs on his chest. Her buttocks through her skirts did erotic things to his stiffening dick as he held her captured with his forearm, and then with his free hand he began hauling up her skirts. Chloe’s struggle against him was not of escape or defiance but of sexual arousal. Her femininity commanded that he take her, force her to surrender her arousal to him. This is what excited her. This is what freed her.
She was naked beneath her skirts and the discovery provoked him hotly, yet he clamped down on his own spiraling desires. He intended to take his woman mercilessly there in the sunlight, in the stream . . . to start with. His hand found her hungry cunt, already slick with eagerness.
“Raven, I
need
you so,” she gasped with the back of her head twisting restlessly against his collarbone while she clutched his wrist between her thighs not in forbearance but with urgency. He unveiled the shameless thrust of her clit with his two outside fingers and brought his middle finger down to bare over the hungry begging protrusion.
“Please,
please,
” she moaned even as he lifted his knee between her legs from behind to splay her thighs wider and open her more to his fingering. Her unbridled response to him was thrilling.
“Show me your breasts, baby girl,” he uttered gruffly. “I want to see your hard little nipples”
“Yes, Raven,” she cried. “Oh yes, anything!” Her hands frantically tugged at her bodice until her breasts were bared into the sunlight. The thrusting pink spikes of her nipples were bold with arousal, so tight they poked outward like small rosy-pink spears.
“Play with your breasts, Chloe,” he commanded. “Pluck those shameless little nipples. Let me see you.”
“My one,
” she gasped with her hands cupping her breasts raising them upward as her head twisted from side to side on his chest and the backs of her thighs quivered uncontrollably over his leg. He flicked his finger faster over her jutting clit. “Oh hh!” she cried as she played with her breasts, lifting and fondling them, then wildly plucking the aroused spikes.
Christ,
his woman was passionate beyond belief. Just for him, he thought heatedly, only for him. “Raven, I need you. I need you!” she cried and even though he knew she was senseless in the throes of passion, the desperation in her voice alarmed him.
So much so he rasped harshly, “Chloe, I am here. I will
always
be here for you, baby girl.”
“Oh hh! Oh hh!” she cried sharply, convulsing against him like the rushing water of the stream at their feet. He felt the pulse beat wildly in her clit as she held her breasts in both hands with her graceful neck arched backward. He knew this moment as sure as his own breathing, and he caught her as she gave one last gasp of pleasure, and then she fell limp into his arms.
That he could do this to her, that she gave herself so freely, and that he could arouse her so strongly as to faint with pleasure . . . was arrogantly fulfilling. Yet even as he carried Chloe out of the stream to lay her down upon his discarded clothing, he set that arrogance aside. Shoved it aside as the many niggling worries that something was not right with his love came around full circle in his mind.
Chloe woke slowly to the wondrous feeling of warm male hands gently stroking her breasts. It was not sexual at the moment but more soothing and she languished in the feeling of being petted so tenderly. However, her murmurs of pleasure gave away her awakening and she lazily opened her eyes to see the sharp angles of Raven’s face above hers. She could not help the blush that heated her cheeks when she saw the sure knowledge of her complete abandon in his eyes. He was arrogant in the knowledge of what he could do to her with his touch . . . and he was proud of it. She would not have it any other way, yet that still did not mean she could not help but be a little embarrassed.
“Your blushes only encourage me,” Raven murmured, cupping and lifting one of her breasts warmly in his scarred palm as he continued to say, “On the day we marry, when I say the vow, I will be thinking of all the years you will spend in my bed and of all the ways I might make you blush for me.”
“Raven!” she exclaimed with instant tears gathering beneath her eyelashes. He had said they would marry! She could not speak as she gazed up at him.
“When you look at me like that, Chloe, the world around me ceases to exist,” he murmured with his head lowering until his lips covered hers. The kiss was hot and male, completely possessive and she drowned in the heat of it, raising her arms upward around his neck. “I love you,” he murmured through his kissing. “I do not deserve you, but I do intend to keep you forever mine.”
“And I love you too,” she murmured within the heat of their lips touching. “And I will be forever yours.”
“Mm,” Raven murmured, breaking their kiss to lean above her. “And now, baby girl, you will tell me what is wrong and you will let me be your strength.”
Chloe’s eyes misted over again with love and uncertainty. “I might not be w-well, Raven,” she stuttered through her uncertainty. “The opium . . . or-or, I do not know,” she finished wretchedly.
“Hush,” he murmured stroking her hair, then his scarred fingertips brushed over her cheek. “Is it because you were sick earlier, Chloe? Is that what you are afraid of?” he asked.
“Yes . . .
no
,” she responded trying to hold back her tears. But then she blurted, “I cannot remember, Raven! I keep losing what people say to me as though . . . as though, I never heard them and-and I do not know why!” She sobbed then no longer able to hold back her weeping as she reached for him and he lifted her upright into his embrace. “What has happened to me?” she cried into his shoulder.
“Chloe, Chloe,” Raven rasped gruffly as he held her tight in his embrace. “No matter what is wrong, baby girl, I am here. Do you understand, Chloe? You do not have to be afraid.”
“It w-was j-just so h-hard to t-tell someone,” she gasped, ending with a teary hiccup.
“But you are not afraid now, are you? Here with me?” he asked as he rocked her in his embrace.
“N-no,” she answered with a watery gurgling sound as her tears abated further and she snuggled closer into his embrace.
“You need to be brave for me now, Chloe,” Raven murmured. “I want to ask you something.”
“W-What?” she asked.
“Could you be carrying our child, Chloe? Do you think perhaps you are pregnant?”
“Oh
sacred Buddha!” Chloe exclaimed, clutching Raven even tighter. “Oh
my
one! That is it! That is it,” she cried leaning back to look up at him. “Oh, Raven, that is what is wrong. It is just the same as when I had Sebastian. I was so forgetful when I carried him. This is just the same and my sickness-”
“-Morning sickness,” Raven supplied with love showing in his ebony eyes.
Chloe blushed instantly and grew suddenly shy as she asked, “T-Then you are happy? About our baby?”
“I am, baby girl, for the first time in my life a very happy man,” Raven replied.
The End.
Try the entire Erotic Regency Series
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My Lady Compelled
My Lady Enslaved
My Lady Captive
My Lady Taken
My Lady Enthralled
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My Lady Captive
by Shirl Anders
When Wyndham caught his first sight of Orèlan in the white and gold marbled front salon at Valcourt, he was momentarily rocked back on his heels by the vision of her exotic beauty. Nevertheless, he allowed none of his intense feelings to show other than an involuntary tick on the left side of his firmly placed jaw. The presence of that tick was forced, because a swarthy Arabic man, at the beset of Alexei Tropov, was lewdly groping the lovely Orèlan.
That Arab had one diaphanous sleeve of Orèlan’s plum-colored gown shoved down to her elbow, as he burrowed his ugly mustached face into the supple pillows of her bosom, while he forcefully held her against the wall. Orèlan struggled helplessly beneath him, but the Arab had her wrists clamped behind her back, as Alexei watched from a haute relaxed pose in a gilded chair, laughing as he quipped. “Struggle, my beautiful
puta
, that will only cost our most esteemed sultan more rubles to bed you, if I allow him.”
The sound that escaped Wyndham’s throat was a low human snarling. He ignored the jarring pain in his right leg and stalked forward, surprising everyone, when he seemed to come out of nowhere to grab the Arab from behind and literally shove him across the room. His voice, when he spoke was a low dangerous hiss. “I have come to claim my marker, Alexei.
This
woman is mine!”
The Arab hit the far wall as Wyndham quickly grasped Orèlan by her slender bare shoulders. He tried to gentle his hands as he pulled her forward, whispering intently beneath his breath into her startled face. “Kiss me now, spit fire, as you would no other.”
“Wyndham!” she cried out, with a desperate and emotion filled voice as she flung herself the rest of the distance to him, just as his mouth came down roughly over hers.
“Bravo!” Alexei sneered behind them.
Wyndham ignored Alexei as he took his brazen kissing of Orèlan’s lush lips and propositioned it into bedroom passion. Bending her flowing body over his arm as she clutched his shoulders and opened her honeyed mouth to his advancing tongue.
She was more the woman now, in the six years since he had seen her last. Tall, opulently curved at bosom, belly, and hips. But her mouth was the same. It had always been a sensual wish. Any man who looked upon her pouted lips could do nothing less than desire to ravish their erotic plumpness. She mewled, a soft ardent sound in the back of her throat.
Thrilling.
It was surrender, pleasure, and desire mixed as he twisted his larger tongue around the dainty petal of hers, while his free hand curled into the thickness of her black-sable hair. He was lost again . . . that quickly, even when he knew that he needed his wits about him.
“If you were to insure that she pays completely for her misdeeds to me, I would consider it, my most deviant friend,” Alexei’s disembodied voice sounded through the flames of Wyndham’s passion.
Wyndham tore his lips from Orèlan, and rasped defiantly, “I
will
. . . you know I will.” He held Orèlan securely with one arm about her waist as she crumpled to his chest, where he could feel her heartbeat fluttering against his.
“Da, I have enough on you, to make certain of it, I am sure,” Alexei answered with an aristocratic sneer thinning his lupine mouth and shading his crystal blue eyes. “Enough to own you,
Khrisinan
,” he finished, preening his thin blond mustache with one tapered finger.
“Nevertheless, Alexei,” Wyndham replied evenly, contrary to the heat of his blood. “You
owe
me first.”
“That I do,” Alexei agreed, crossing one leg casually over the other. He wore a Russian premier’s dark green uniform with a dozen medals on the right shoulder. His sandy head turned sharply toward the Arab stumbling upright. “Now what am I to do with him?”
Wyndham knew that he'd won the first battle in what would be an all out nasty war as he tightened his arm around Orèlan and began to move. “That, my esteemed friend, is your problem. I am taking my woman to my suite.”
He and Orèlan had barely made it through the entryway when Alexei called out. “Why, khrisinan? Why this particular woman?”
Wyndham turned slowly, looking back at Alexei as Orèlan clutched his jacket lapels. He did not look down at her small head beneath his chin, but he could feel her trembling. “She
spurned
me once,” Wyndham hissed roughly.
Orèlan gasped at his words and Alexei laughed, a slashing evil sound. Wyndham ignored Orèlan’s expression as he pulled her from the room and up the marbled staircase to the floor that held the bedroom suites. Once in the hallway leading to his suite though, his leg gave out under the determination he'd been holding it to, trying to make it appear normal. He had known any sign of hidden weakness during the first round with Alexei would have been fatal. There was time enough for Alexei to discover the injury. He limped suddenly and heavily, grumbling beneath his breath, he expelled, “This will not be easy.”
“You hate me!” Orèlan gasped, breathless at being forced to keep up with him until now.
Wyndham ignored the question completely and the newest brace of fears showing in Orèlan’s incredible golden-amber eyes as he stopped before a footman stationed in the hallway. Still holding firmly onto Orèlan’s slender arm, he addressed the footman. “See that Mademoiselle Becou’s entire belongings are brought to my suite as soon as possible.”
“No!” Orèlan exclaimed, trying to pull her arm free from his relentless grasp. “I will not be made your-your-.”
“Whore,” Wyndham supplied gratingly, as he pulled Orèlan away from the footman, while she sputtered wordless sounds in her apparent indignation. Which ultimately suited him completely, because he needed her distraction to get her into his room and into his bed as quickly as possible. The next round was certain to begin shortly. In this, he would never give Orèlan leeway. Never, until they were well away from Valcourt . . . and then-.
“I will not do this! You-you,
barbaro!
” Orèlan cried, as he literally twirled her into his suite, slamming the door shut behind them. His hands became filled with plum-colored silk and supple woman as he lifted Orèlan easily into his arms and limped to the bed, while she pounded his shoulders ineffectually. “Wyndham, after all I do for you! How! How could you do this to me?” she cried.