Authors: Elle Q. Sabine
She blinked but didn’t move—she hadn’t intended to anyway. Instead, she watched him methodically lock the main door to the corridor, then the doors to their respective apartments. This time, he took the keys from their locks and tossed them into a drawer in a bureau along the far wall, along with his watch and a seal ring he removed from his right hand. Fascinated, she stared as he stripped off his form-fitting coat, then set to work rolling up his shirtsleeves.
Inside, Abigail felt her stomach knot with the first stirring of nervous anticipation. She licked her lips as he untied the white linen stock from its triangular display around his neck. His shirt was loose, open at the top, and Abigail swallowed at the hint of hair covering his chest. He turned to face her as he slowly, deliberately, unbuttoned his waistcoat, stripping it off and leaving it behind.
Abigail held her breath when he slid the drawer closed and strode towards her, dressed in nothing more than his fine linen shirt, breeches and top boots.
She couldn’t help her widening eyes, but she’d be damned if she let him realise she felt more like a wild animal in heat than a helpless, trapped one.
He said nothing—or had nothing to say—when he stopped in front of the chair, took her hands in his, and pulled her to her feet.
They were so close there was no way to deny him a kiss, and Abigail didn’t bother to try. She trusted her mouth to his now, lifting up on the toes of her slippers so that he didn’t need to bend down quite so far. She had nowhere to go but into him—the chair prevented any backward movement.
He untied the laces of her gown while her mouth clung to his. Abigail felt his hands tugging down the sleeves, then gently pulling her hands back from his face so that he could relieve her of the bodice. It fell around her waist, but she only lifted up against him again.
Then his lips left hers and he bent, trailing his hot mouth down her neck. Abigail couldn’t help but arch, presenting him with the bare skin. His mouth burned a path to her collarbone and stayed there to suckle for a moment, and suddenly Abigail realised her skirts were loosened and he was pushing them—both her gown and two layers of petticoats—from her waist.
She shuddered, a violent reaction that caused him to growl. His arms slipped around her to cup her bottom in the palms of his hands, and he stood, lifting her up against him, off the floor.
With nothing between them but her fine muslin chemise and his thin linen shirt, the heat of his body seared her. She could sense the contours of his muscled chest against her breasts, and he must have been experiencing a similar revelation because he tightened his arms painfully, practically crushing her against him. He stepped back, lifting her away from the pile of silk and muslin on the floor, and his mouth met hers with an almost brutal intensity.
Abigail could do nothing but accede to the invasion. Dimly, she felt him moving, until he tore his mouth from hers and they stared at each other. His heart beat against her breast and Abigail stopped breathing.
The fire crackled in the background, and Abigail drew a shaky breath as Meriden sank to the chaise, opening his thighs and drawing her between them. She touched her lips with her tongue. His face seemed drawn and fierce. He’d not spoken a word since putting her in the chair, and Abigail’s nerves suddenly were suddenly more than aroused. She shook and whimpered and still he stared at her, holding her in tense, silent possession between his legs.
“Just do it,” she finally gasped, unable to hold back, having no idea just what
it
was, but earnestly praying it ended in that blissful satiation she’d earlier enjoyed.
“Not yet. I just want to look,” he said, in the huskiest voice she’d ever imagined. “Look, and memorise every little, perfect detail.”
“You have me confused with my sisters.” She laughed awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious. Removing her hands from his shoulders, Abigail crossed her arms over her chest. He immediately captured her wrists and held them to her sides as he continued to look.
“I’m going to let go of your hands, Abby-heart, and you are going to do something for me,” he said, a long moment later.
Her heart pounding, Abigail shivered. “What? Why?”
“You are going to lift up your hands to your hair and unpin it, so that your lovely mane flows over your shoulders. You’re going to do that for me, and only for me, because you are mine. I’m the only one who will ever see you like this, innocent and courageous and sensual as hell. So very vulnerable and trusting and skittish—” He paused, shook his head for a moment, then growled, “Are you ready to do that for me?”
Abigail waited a moment. “Yes,” she finally breathed, when his eyes seemed to focus on her trembling breasts. Although still covered, she knew that her nipples were hard and visible through the thin material. If she said yes, he’d look up.
And he did look up, unclenching his fingers with deliberate slowness from where he had been trapping her hands against her sides. She pulled her fingers free, unsurprised that he continued to clasp her hips firmly as she did as he asked.
But she did it slowly, taking in the concentration on his face as her brownish-red locks fell about her shoulders. The pins, she clutched in her hand until the last tendrils fell. Her hands followed, then she was truly surprised, because his hands caught hers and took away the pins. But then he lifted her palms back to her head, holding them there as his gaze roamed, his face unsmiling and his jaw stiff.
It took Abigail far too long to realise that, with her hands on her head, her breasts were pushed farther against the low-cut chemise, much like an offering.
She hadn’t offered, but given the pleasure she’d felt already from his hands and mouth there, Abigail considered it.
“Leave them there,” he whispered, in a voice so soft that she barely understood him. He moved his hands then, and began rearranging her long, thick hair around her shoulders, draping and smoothing the riotous curls as he pleased.
Abigail did so, fascinated by the concentration on his face.
“I have never confused your with your sisters. Genevieve and Gloria are little girls still,” he said, dropping his hands to her hips again and meeting her eyes. “And hardly complex or strong enough to interest me for more than a passing glance. Fiona, while she does have a head on her shoulders, looks at men with the same awareness with which she greets her mother. But you, Abby, you see with your heart as well as your eyes. You feel inside, and trust instinctively, and you’re giving me a chance to have something intimate and sacred with you. There is nothing more alluring or sensual than that. Nothing more enticing than you, like this, giving of yourself to please me. It’s true that I could take your body whether you wished me to or not, but your trust, respect and your gift of your body are immeasurably more precious than what I could seize without permission.”
Abby felt tears form at the corners of her eyes but she swallowed them back with absolutely rigid determination. His gift of words she didn’t think she could return, but she could give something else.
Without more thought than that, she slid her hands down from her head and pulled the drawstring tie of her chemise free, dropping it so that the fabric fell down around her hips and Meriden’s hands.
He looked as though she’d knocked the wind out of him, and she flushed as his eyes predictably dropped to her breasts.
“Naughty girl,” he growled suddenly, releasing her hips. The chemise fell farther, catching at the point where his thighs met hers.
But she was bare to the tops of her stockings and he was grasping her wrists and pushing them behind her to the small of her back, with a rough abruptness that told Abigail just how close she was to pushing him out of control.
“You deserve a very hard spanking for that,” he growled, staring at the patch of dark red curls that marked the entrance to her heated core.
“Is that the right of a conquering warrior,” she teased softly, wondering from where her courage came, “over a mere girl?”
“Over the Queen herself,” he muttered.
Meriden released her hands then and tipped her forward, drawing her down over his knee. Abigail gasped, catching her body on the green velvet and feeling the chemise slide down her calves to the floor.
She felt foolish wearing only her stockings and slippers, and blushed a bit into the firmly packed cushions to think of her daring. But Meriden hadn’t seemed to mind—she knew instinctively that he had turned her upside down to keep control of himself. She’d survive whatever came next. The fierce desire and devotion on his face had been worth it.
He brought his hand down to the small of her back then, and tilted her a bit, until her rump was pushed up against the supple leather of his breeches. She gasped at the thought of how she must look, flagrantly displayed, and dug her fingers into the pillows that decorated the chaise.
“Perfect,” he rumbled, tracing the sensitive curve of her bottom cheeks so gently that she shuddered helplessly at the contact. She felt sure he knew what sort of response his touch was drawing from her because he growled a bit in his chest, and with one finger drew a line down her thigh to trace the edge of the garter on her right leg. With intent, he crept his fingers upwards, slipping deeper between her thighs until he was stroking the soft, short curls that adorned her there.
“Do you enjoy this too, Abby?” He spoke in that deep rumble Abigail was beginning to crave.
“Yes,” she whispered helplessly into velvet, having no idea if he heard her or not. She was too caught up in his insistence that she open her thighs, and in the warm finger he was gently sliding through the moistness he had found.
“I can see that you do, naughty girl,” he went on gruffly. “You’re still far too innocent to go daring me like that with your body. You have no idea how very close you are to landing flat on your back instead of over my knee.”
But Abigail had known. She moaned, surprised at the sound, but it was followed by a growl from Meriden.
His hand left her and came down firmly at the sensitive juncture where her bottom softened into her labia.
Abigail started and squirmed, but the pain sparked a fiery vibration along her folds to that hidden source of pleasure he’d touched before. She paused and let it wash over her, a wave of excited delight. “Yes,” she breathed. “Please. Do that again.”
Chapter Ten
Charles felt the shock wave slam through him at her words. His body and cock, impossibly hard already, were about to humiliate him. He raised his hand and brought it down again, more to keep her from saying anything else than from any real desire to cause pain.
He wasn’t ready for any more declarations. So he smacked her a third and a fourth time, fascinated by the pinkish tinge forming over her lower buttocks and darkening her labia. Instead of moaning and squirming, Abigail was arching under his arm now, lifting for him, her body begging for more. He smacked again and again, then paused to explore her sweet folds, wetting his fingers in the arousal that was now leaking from her. “You have the sweetest pussy I have ever seen,” he growled from deep in his chest, lifting his hand to lick the cream.
He shuddered. She had the sweetest cream he’d ever tasted, too. Suddenly grateful that she was facing away from him, and unable to see that erotic revelation, he brought his hand down again and again and again, seeing now that she was climbing a peak he hadn’t actually planned to reach.
The surge of desire to see if she would climax from his assault on her rear was too much to resist.
He clamped his legs together, trapping her thighs between them. Slightly spread, her tender flesh was exposed to his fingers. He slid his index finger unerringly inside her heat, feeling the tight walls of that tunnel cling desperately to him.
Charles fought back the haze of lust that nearly overtook him again. He wanted his cock buried inside her as she came for him. It wasn’t just the tightness he craved, but the contractions that would surround him. How he’d manage through the next four nights was a mystery—she was going to have him on his knees in desperation in more ways than one.
He withdrew his hand and smacked her again, tightening his arm around her waist to control her mindless and uncontrolled responses. He felt her near frantic state to the core of his soul, and smacked over and over as he watched her tighten.
She was begging into the velvet now, the words garbled. He could hardly make them out, except the occasional
more
and
please
. It was enough to drive him on, and he rained smacks not just in that one tender place that led to her clit, but along the lower edge of her bum from hip to hip, too.
At least once he felt her body almost crest, but some instinct called to him and he pulled back and stroked, settling her slightly. It wasn’t that he wished to be intentionally cruel, but drawing for the edge and starting again kept her in the position he had so often fantasised about. He needed her on the desperate edge of need—given the throbbing in his cock and the limits of his own tenuous control, he was not ready to see sleepy, sated satisfaction on her face. No, his cock most definitely preferred that she be fully cognisant and eager for what came next.
He smacked those tender places again, and watched her spiral towards completion. It was a beautiful sight, even if he was watching her spine and thighs and rump shudder and arch and contract instead of her face and breasts and vulva. Implacable and stiff, he inwardly swore he’d repeat the entire experience when daylight drenched the rooms, and there would be mirrors. He wanted to see her face when she exploded, and soon he’d want to see her face as he took her afterward and lifted her to heaven again.
She shuddered, and let out a plaintive plea. “Please. Charles, please.”
At his name on her lips, Charles found he couldn’t help himself. He smacked again, even lower, his hand landing firmly on her labia and his middle finger sliding easily into her.
Abby screamed into the fabric and the orgasm ripped through her. He felt her pussy clench and vibrate around his finger and his head spun for a moment with the effort it took to not release his cum inside his breeches.