Blood Fire (8 page)
Her palm flattened against the velvet seat, and she let her nether lips lower onto him. She was right on his mouth, her legs wide. He was devouring her with his mouth. His tongue played, but it was the suckling on her nub that made her want to go mad.
She thrust against his mouth in her excitement. She mustn’t do that—it must hurt him. How could he breathe?
But when she tried to pull back, Sutcliffe gripped her rear firmly. His hands were big and strong. If he wanted to smother himself with her cunny, how could she argue?
It made her feel naughty but so good. . . .
Embarrassed but lovely . . .
She thrust madly on him, praying she wasn’t hurting him, and then he suckled her clit, harder then softer, in the same wild rhythm. Perfect . . . it was so perfect. . . .
The carriage lurched, and her hands slipped. She was balanced on his mouth, and he was . . . merciless. He nuzzled her, his stubble tickling. Then he suckled really hard, really intensely.
She screamed loudly enough to deafen them both when the orgasm exploded in her.
God . . . God . . . God.
Exhausted, sobbing with delight, shaking, she slumped on him.
Then realized she was on top of his face.
Octavia tried to scramble off him, aware he would want to breathe again. With his long body sprawled along the velvet seat, her foot caught, and she stumbled.
He launched up and caught her again, wrapping his strong arms around her.
Suddenly, she was on his lap, and he was embracing her. The carriage swayed, but he ensured she didn’t fall off his firm, slightly spread thighs. He gave her the most beautiful smile. Her breath caught. She had never seen a man smile like this—his eyes literally glowed at her.
He captured her mouth with his. She tasted an earthy, salty taste—the flavor of her cunny.
As amazing and impossible as it should be, already she felt stronger. Octavia glowed with strength and delight, and she wanted to share. “I want to do this to you.”
Matthew blinked. He thought Lady O had just told him she wanted to pleasure him with her mouth. He gently laid her onto the soft velvet of the carriage seat. He began, gruffly, “I don’t expect you to—”
“I want to,” she said quickly. “But—but shouldn’t I be on top?”
She was so sweet in her innocence. And innocent, gently bred ladies did not suck men’s cocks. He should not let her—
She grasped his trousers and efficiently unfastened the top two buttons. Her graceful hands went to the next fastening, and his cock strained against his underclothes. He’d been thinking of something. Something he had to do. What was it?
Oh yes, he’d intended to stop her. But he couldn’t . . . hell, he couldn’t . . .
Her knuckles brushed his linens, and the muscles of his gut tightened reflexively. She wriggled on the velvet. “What do I do?” she asked ingenuously. “I have no idea. I’ve seen pictures—”
“You’ve seen pictures?”
“One of Father’s books. He collects erotic books in his studies of human civilization. I suppose they do show a lot about society.”
She was adorable. “They depict what people—mainly men—fantasize about,” he said. “Not necessarily what they do.”
“Well, it showed women holding the man’s privy part in their mouths. But you lick and suck at me, so obviously it cannot be as easy as just holding you between my lips.”
Dear God. “Sweeting,” Matthew managed to rasp, “I would not mind just being held.”
“But you made me have a peak of pleasure. An orgasm.” She frowned. “I want to do the same for you, but you must tell me how.”
She was going to kill him. “Lady O, you do whatever you want. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
She undid the last button of his trousers, though she was breathing hard. She squirmed on the seat.
He’d forgotten—she was wearing a gown and a corset. She couldn’t be comfortable. He was going to marry her, so he asked, “Can you spend the night with me?”
“What?”
Holding her arms, he lifted her to a seated position. “Stay with me, and I can remove your clothing.” With fumbling fingers, he undid her cloak, then dealt with the fastenings of her dress. Once the bodice was falling off her, he drew the sides off her shoulders, and undid the bow at the base of her stays, and loosened them.
Freed from her dress, Octavia lay down again, on top of her cloak and the seat. She felt strength coursing through her whole body. She would spend a night with Sutcliffe if she had to move heaven and earth to do it. “Yes.”
But he had asked her to marry him.
Could she? Was he in love with her? Had he fallen in love with her while making love to her?
“Good, because I want to be naked with you.” As the carriage rumbled along, he grasped his trousers and pushed them down. Even with the vehicle swaying, he managed to get his trousers down around his ankles, and get his coat, his waistcoat, and his shirt off.
He was certainly determined to get undressed.
She certainly loved seeing him naked.
Once he was nude, she suddenly discovered how erotic it was to lie on her back while he straddled her. Above her, his ballocks dangled, wrinkly and intriguing. They swayed with the carriage motion. She put up her flat palm and bumped them gently. She wanted to stroke, but knew they were sensitive, so she just cradled them. Even that slight touch made him take a sharp, hard breath.
His erection pointed straight up. Now she could see all its fascinating details. The thick shaft was not smooth, but seemed to be made of three long, tall stalks, and veins encircled it. His curls were a dark brown, and his shaft rose out of the thicket of them, so amazingly straight.
Octavia tentatively wrapped her hands around him. She couldn’t touch her fingers together near the bottom of his shaft.
It was utterly straight, stiff as iron. The head looked glossy, and a droplet of moisture rolled off the full, smooth crown.
What would it taste like? It looked clear, like champagne. She wanted to know. She opened her mouth and touched her tongue to the head. . . .
Salty. Ripe tasting. Intriguing. She clumsily ran her tongue over the tip of his member. It bobbed away from her, so she clasped it with two hands—it was like holding a sword. She tried to tug it down, but it didn’t want to come to her mouth, and she didn’t want to hurt him.
He put his hand on the shaft, near the hilt. Ruthlessly he pushed it down. He was breathing fast, faster than he’d done even when making love to her.
She arched up, opened her mouth wide, and gobbled him inside.
It was so astonishing. The head of his cock was soft, but obviously full. Against her tongue it felt as smooth as silk. She hadn’t thought it would be so hot. The taste was . . . not at all like her, but it tasted intimate.
“You—you can suck it if you like.”
He sounded hesitant. For all his arrogance, he didn’t make demands now. It was rather . . . mmm . . . sweet of him.
How did she do this? He had thrust this shaft in and out of her quim. That had stimulated him, so she must try to do the same with her mouth. Holding her lips tight around the shaft, she took him deep inside. As deep as she could, before she realized how big he was, how much he filled her mouth.
Goodness. Her cheeks were hollowed so much, she must be hurting him with suction. She couldn’t quite breathe. She let his member slide out a bit.
She’d wanted to be good at this, but it was complicated. How did the women in the pictures do it?
Sutcliffe, however, was smiling. He looked utterly delighted. Then he frowned with concern. “Are you all right? You look like you’re choking. You don’t have to—”
“Did I do it right?” She waved away his concern, blushing. She hated showing her innocence so plainly. Though what did it matter? He knew what she was now. He’d even asked her to marry him, after they’d been to bed once. She could not be that bad. But to make sure, she asked, “You liked it?”
“Yes.” His voice was so soft, she barely heard it over the creak of the rolling wheels. “Watching you do that is the most miraculous thing I’ve seen.”
She felt her brows shoot up. “You’ve stood almost at the rim of Mount Vesuvius. You’ve seen the sunrise from Mount Kilimanjaro. You have seen exotic jungles and the beauty of the East. This can’t be—”
“It is,” he murmured.
Boldly, she grasped his bare legs and lifted, so she could graze his ballocks with her lips. He closed his eyes and moaned. She felt the most remarkable surge of power. And she felt strong.
This was scandalous, shocking, wonderful—to be underneath him, taking his erect cock in hand and guiding it back to her lips. His legs were amazing. His thighs were rock hard, his calves beautifully shaped. His hips were lean, his stomach a plane of defined muscle.
He was a gentleman, but also an adventurer. He had climbed mountains, paddled wild rivers, had ridden everything from a camel to an ox to an Arabian mare. All that adventuring gave him the body of a Greek god and made him heartbreakingly beautiful.
He wanted to marry her. The thought of it made her dizzy with delight.
When she was ill, she couldn’t even think of marriage. If she married Sutcliffe, she would be healthy again. All the time. She could bed him all the time.
She suckled hard. Suckled and suckled . . . until her jaws ached . . . and though his hips rocked and he breathed hard, he didn’t seem to be reaching any peak. He had made her melt in mere minutes. Why couldn’t she give him the pleasure he gave her?
He reached down and gently eased her hands away—she was gripping the hilt of his thick cock, trying to stroke and pleasure where her mouth could not reach. Then he eased out of her mouth, and she was struck with a sense of failure.
This was her wildest adventure. And she hadn’t been good at it.
“I—” Did she apologize? Should she? The thought of it was so embarrassing. She had wanted to do well on her adventure.
“I can’t let you make me come,” he said softly. “It would take me too long to recover. After all, my duty here is to give you as much pleasure as I possibly can, to ensure you become healthy.” He gazed at her with the studious seriousness he’d displayed in his lecture. “If climaxes heal you, I have to last as long as I can to ensure you have many orgasms.”
“How many?” she whispered.
A slow grin brought out deep, sensual lines to bracket his beautiful lips. “We’ll find out how many you can enjoy.”
She’d never dreamed—even in her maddest fantasies—she would end up in Lord Sutcliffe’s bed. Yet here she was.
Octavia drew the covers up. Sutcliffe’s sheets were a dark blue satin; his thick counterpane was embroidered with silver. A mountain of pillows propped her up.
He had helped her hastily dress in the carriage, had placed her veil and her cloak back on her. She prayed she had been sufficiently disguised. He might have offered marriage, but she didn’t want Father to hear any gossip about this. He had dismissed his footman at the door, after giving the man instruction to have the other servants leave them alone.
She clasped a brandy balloon. Lifted it to her lips, and took a small sip, a little bit for courage, as he stripped off his clothing—he had fastened it only enough to leave the carriage and get up his stairs without his trousers falling down.
He climbed on the bed, naked, and took the glass from her fingers. He set it on the bedside table. His breathing was harsh, and he whispered, between pants, “I’ve been hard for you for almost an hour. You have no idea how much it hurts . . . no, perhaps you do. I’ve no call to complain. I just want you to know how much I ache for you.”
She loved him like this: when he smiled at her and she felt so close to him.
This was what their married life would be like. She had dreamed of adventure for her entire life. Marrying Sutcliffe, leaving her home, having a family—this would be her dazzling, wonderful adventure.
His fingers stroked her sensitive clit, and she cried out in pleasure. How could just the brush of his fingers make her feel as if she were flying?
When he lifted his fingers from her and gently held them to her lips, so she could taste her own juices, she blushed fiercely with shyness.
He licked his fingers, making her moan and squirm.
She was ready. So very ready for this—
He faced her with a serious expression. “First we must get on with the matter at hand. I’ve ruined you. You told me you were dying; otherwise I would never have deflowered an innocent maiden. I want you to understand that about me. I’m known as a rake, but I’m not a rogue, or a scoundrel. I’m not the sort of man who ruins women’s lives. So, because you are well, I owe you marriage.”
“You asked me to marry you because . . . because you
have
to? You don’t really want to?”
have
to? You don’t really want to?”
“It’s a gentleman’s duty.”
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