Again and Again

Chapter 15

They came to their feet “Finally,” Simon said.

“May I attack you now?”

He opened his arms.

She ran to him and he held her close.

“It was torture,” he whispered.

“Absolute torment” She gazed up at him. “I want you upstairs. I want you upstairs, now.?‘

“I may not want to wait”

“You have to.”

“Because?”

“I’m the boss.”

“Are you now?” he said in a velvety breath.

“Now and always.”

He grinned. “You’re obviously drunk.”

She shook her head, her breasts moved against him with a delectable friction and he suddenly didn’t care who was what to whom. Sweeping her up into his arms, he gazed at her through half-lowered lashes. “If you want to go upstairs, we’ll go upstairs.”

“You have to be quiet.”

He was already moving toward the door. “I’m always quiet. You’re the screamer.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better.”

“Now I know you’re drunk.”

Not wishing to have their tryst curtailed, she was discreetly silent on the passage up two flights of stairs to the third floor. As was Simon who wasn’t about to jeopardize their time together. As he moved cautiously down the nursery floor corridor, he listened for any unusual sounds. Everyone should be sleeping at this time of night.

The moment he entered her room, Caro rained a flurry of kisses on his face. “Finally,” she whispered. “Now put me down, because I’m in a vast, vast hurry.”

The instant he set her on her feet, she reached for his trouser buttons. “Wait a second-the door,” he murmured, holding her at arm’s length, trying to shut the door while she struggled to reach him.

Held back with Simon’s stiff-armed grip, she wiggled her fingers just short of their goal. “Hurry, darling, hurry… no one will come in.”

He glanced back from pulling a chair under the latch. “You seemed more concerned last night.”

“But no one came in, so there,” she replied. “Just undo the bare minimum, darling-really, the absolute minimum-hurry.”

She was clearly willing to say anything in her current mood, but one of them at least had to be rational. Only when the door was secured did he relinquish his grip on her shoulder. “So, now, do you want something?” he teased, turning back with a grin.

“As if you don’t,” she said, pettishly. “Now, hurry,” she added, waving him after her, kicking off her slippers as she moved toward the bed. “We’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping.”

“Well, that’s fortunate, because you won’t be.” Pulling the quilt from the bed, she spread it on the floor and began taking down her braids.

“Are you giving orders tonight?”

“I thought I would for a change.” Under his interested gaze, she loosened her hair with a few combing sweeps of her fingers and lifting her skirts and petticoats, lay down on the quilt. Raising her hips enough to shove a remnant of azure velvet out of her way, she drew up her legs, opened her thighs and offered Simon a sultry smile. “Come, Your Grace, I won’t make you to do anything you haven’t done before.”

“I think I like your shyness best,” he murmured, sardonically, taking in her wanton pose with a connoisseur’s appreciation.

“Just so long as you like it at close range, Your Grace, I would be grateful.”

“How grateful?”

“As grateful as you wish, naturally,” she purred. “But do hurry, darling, or I may come without you.”

He immediately complied because it had been an extremely long evening for him as well and Caro was very apt to do what she said. Swiftly unbuttoning his trousers, he knelt between her outspread legs and moved into her welcoming embrace and body, fully clothed.

She rose to meet him, and he sank into her heated warmth, her sleek, tractable tissue closing around him with gratifying tightness.

They fit with unerring accord, as though they had together contrived the prototype for sexual splendor. And he more than she understood the rarity of that ravishing bliss. Gorged full as she was, Caro was more intent on the immediacy of sensation than on theory. “Don’t move, don’t move… don’t move,” she breathed.

But he did, a soul-stirring measure more and with a small cry, she climaxed.

He raced to follow her, on the same wild, impetuous ride as she after the tedious hours of waiting.

When their breakneck orgasms were over, she looked up, her expression fretful. “That was too fast”

He chuckled. “Then you should let me slow the pace.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like that either when I-”

“Want what you want.” He smiled. I know. We’ll have to work on that“ Kissing her gently, he rolled away. ”I warn you though,“ he said with a roguish grin, ”it could take hours of fucking to get it just right“

“You do know how to charm a lady,” she purred.

His grin was pure impudence. “Some ladies are easier to charm than others.”

Her smile was as cheeky as his. “Lucky for you.”

“Indeed,” he breathed, considering himself the luckiest of men.

“Now take your clothes off,” she ordered.

“You are drunk,” he murmured, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and quickly wiping himself dry.

“I don’t think a man who drinks a bottle before dinner should be questioning anyone’s sobriety.”

“You’re right.” He reached for a towel from her washstand.

“Did I tell you I was the boss tonight?”

“I believe you did.” He dropped the towel on her stomach.

She smiled. “Good, because I want sex again.”

He grinned. “You’re not going to remember anything tomorrow, are you?”

She rubbed the towel over her stomach and sat up. “What was your name again?”

“Fucking tart.” But his voice was teasing.

“Your favorite kind of female if I recall.” And seemingly oblivious of his assessing gaze, she began rolling one garter and stocking down her leg.. She was drunk and for the briefest moment, he took issue. Not with her present inebriation, but with what may have been past instances when she’d been similarly hell-bent on having sex. Placing his hand on hers, he curtailed her undressing. “Do you know where you are?” he asked, softly.

“Do you mean whom I’m with?”

His grip tightened over her hand. “That’s what I mean.”

“I adore you when you’re jealous, Simon Blair of Monkshood. Satisfied?”

He released his hold.

And she continued rolling down her stocking as though they’d been discussing the weather. She stripped off both her stockings and her petticoat under Simon’s critical gaze. Then, raising her arms, she said, “Be a dear and lift off my gown. It comes off rather easily.” She had to say, “Please,” a moment later because Simon hadn’t moved. “You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with,” she added in a sportive tone.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, but he finally complied, pulling her gown over her head as directed.

There now,“ she said, cheerfully, a moment later, seated beside him, nude and lush as a hothouse orchid. ”I think it’s your turn to undress.“

“You’re going to be insatiable tonight, aren’t you?”

“It rather seems that way. Would you like some help?” And without waiting for an answer, she tumbled him back, straddled his hips and reached for his erection. “Speaking of insatiable,” she murmured, stroking the length of his aroused penis.

A second later, he was buried deep inside her and she was moving her hips in a delectable rhythm while she pulled his cravat loose. She took pleasure in playing the teasing sorceress for a time, undressing him slowly as she rode him, flaunting her voluptuous body, not letting him touch her, moving up and down on him with tantalizing deliberation.

He obliged her although he was taut with the effort, fiercely aroused and not sure how long he could play the subservient role. She made the mistake of saying, “I never let men touch me,” as she slid his trousers and undershorts down his thighs. That plural noun seriously provoked him, his jealousy very near the surface and instead of obliging her this time, he took her lavish breasts in his hands and gently compressed the pliant flesh.

“You aren’t allowed,” she said, her voice coolly imperious.

“Now if only you could stop me,” he murmured, raising the pale mounds of her breasts upward as he kicked off the last of his clothes.

“I insist.”

He kept lifting.

“Simon! Stop!”

He didn’t and she was forced up on her knees until she was resting on the very tip of his erection. “You’re going to let this man touch you, aren’t you darling?” His voice was whisper soft.

Her breasts were jutting out like great ostentatious globes, her spine arched against the pressure of his fingers. “Yes, yes.”

“And if you’re very good,” he whispered, lifting his hands a fraction higher so she whimpered at almost losing contact with his penis, “I’ll let you come again.”

“I’ll be good.” She was utterly still, the tip of his erection barely grazing her vulva. She bit her lip. “Really, I will.”

A wave of jealousy so intense he felt its heat, washed over him. How many other men had brought her to this state? “Fucking slut,” he growled, his fingers closing cruelly on her flesh.

Her cry was one of desperation, not pain and she tried to move downward on his erection.

He should have pushed her away.

If they weren’t so well matched in lust, he would have.

“Please,” she whispered, her gaze half-lidded, smoldering.

And he rolled her under him with quicksilver agility, plunged to the very depth of her body and rode her with a ferocity and brute force that he couldn’t have controlled for God himself.

She met him, thrust for thrust, her wildness matching his and he offered up a small prayer to all the spirits that had brought him to Netherton Castle and reunited him with this flame-hot, glorious woman.

No one played at amour as well as Caro.

Or was so greedy.

Or ravenous.

She could set the pace as well as he and keep up with his most outrageous sport.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, how much he wanted what she gave him.

How alike they were.