Claiming His Wife (22 page)

Hugh chuckled as he
climbed between her legs, the head of his cock rubbing against her
slick pussy lips as he hovered over her.  "You can give me
that appalled look all you want, sweetheart, I can see how aroused
you are.  Your pretty pussy is nearly as pink as your
arse."

Even as he caught her lips in a deep,
passionate kiss, Irene whined in embarrassment that he'd pointed
out her shameful reaction.  She whined again, the sound
muffled by his lips, as his body weight came down on her, pressing
her into the bed.  There was no way her legs could hold up
both of them, and the pleasure of his body against hers mingled
with the flaring sparks in her poor bottom.  Writhing against
him, trying to escape the fiery burn, her nipples and body rubbed
against his hard muscles and wiry hair, further stimulating her
senses.  She could feel his cock bobbing between her thighs,
the tip coated in her juices.

With his own groan, Hugh thrust his
hips forward, impaling her on his shaft.  She gasped, opening
her mouth even further, and he took full advantage, his tongue
sliding in deep just like his cock.  Irene clutched at his
shoulders, her nails digging in, as she was driven into the
mattress by his hard thrust, her bottom bouncing painfully against
the bed.  

Almost immediately, Hugh
started moving, hard and fast, slapping her pussy with his body and
making her bottom bounce and rub against the mattress.  Irene
cried out at the painfully pleasurable sensations, her body
confused as to what it was feeling as his cock massaged her insides
and her sore buttocks were further abused.  One of Hugh's
hands slid down to grip a red cheek, fingers digging in and making
her mewl as she squirmed beneath him, her pussy clenching in
lustful passion as he rode her hard.

Their lovemaking was
always passionate, but Hugh was rougher with her, harder on her,
after a spanking, as if punishing her woke some kind of animalistic
urge inside of him.  Irene was caught in the waves of his
desire, almost as though she was being dragged into his ardor along
with him.  All she could do was cling to him as they came
together, hanging on to him for the duration and hoping not to get
left behind.

Her body was clamoring for
more even as she shrieked with pain and pleasure.  The same
part of her that loved the discipline reveled in being ravished and
dominated by her husband, her own urges making her hotter and
wetter as he pounded between her thighs.  She gave herself
over to the sensation, letting him take complete control of her
body, accepting both the ecstasy and the exquisite
burn. 

Hugh could feel her
softening beneath him, her pussy clutching at him as he lost
himself in her sweet heaven.  The slight pain from her nails
digging into his shoulders gave way to a masculine pride at how she
clutched at him, writhed for him, cried out for him.  The wet
slickness of her body coated his cock, making it easy for him to
pump in and out of her.  The soft, breathy noises she made
whenever her bottom was pressed against the bed - half enjoyment
and half distress - sent shudders of pleasure down his spine.
 

"Cum for me, sweetheart," he growled
in her ear, his raspy, heated voice making her insides clench and
dance.  "I want to feel your pussy milking me while I fill you
with my seed."

His dirty, salacious words, combined
with all that incredibly sensation, finally sent Irene careening
over the edge of pleasure.  She opened her mouth to answer him
and ended up screaming his name instead as she clawed at his chest.
 The pleasure surged, lifting her high, and then dropping her
into a free fall of ecstasy.  It was stars and light and
surging warmth all around her and inside of her.  Hot liquid
splashed her insides and she clenched, her pussy squeezing and
milking Hugh's cock of his seed, just like he'd wanted her
to. 

The connection between them felt so
incredibly deep, so completely encompassing, that both of them were
breathless as Hugh's body partially collapsed on top of hers.
 Still joined intimately, they breathed deeply, inhaling each
other's scents, nuzzling and holding each other as closely as they
could.  Irene's eyelids fluttered as she felt contentment and
exhaustion sliding through her.

As the pleasure high began
to wear off, she was more and more aware of the throbbing pain in
her bottom.  She whimpered, shifting beneath their combined
weights, and Hugh immediately knew what was wrong.  Holding
her tightly, so that she moved with him, he rolled on to his back
so that she lay atop him. 

His softened cock slid reluctantly
from the warm haven of her body as he reached down to gently caress
her ass.  The soft cheeks were still emanating heat, and he
was sure they retained their bright pink color even if he couldn't
currently see it.  Irene made a soft little noise as he
stroked the sore flesh, wriggling to find a more comfortable
position, since he seemed determined to keep her sprawled across
his body.  

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," he
murmured, one hand still cupping her bottom as the other drifted up
to brush the hair off of her neck.  

"But what about Cynthia and Grace?"
Irene asked softly, her voice sultry with sleepiness.  "I need
to know what happened to them."

"We'll see them tomorrow at the
wedding," he said, letting a hint of authority trickle into his
voice.  He didn't doubt that Wesley and Alex had the situation
well in hand, otherwise he would have heard from them by now if
they'd needed assistance.

A small smile went across his face as
he stroked his sleepy wife, his own contentment making him smug.
 He didn't doubt that all of their women would be sitting very
uncomfortably at the wedding tomorrow.  

******

Getting back into the
house that Alex had rented proved much easier than leaving the
Countess' home unnoticed.  On the way out, Grace and Cynthia
had hid several times from maids and servants.  They'd slipped
out a side door that Cynthia said she had used on occasion to sneak
out, both of them giggling with relief when they weren't stopped.
Neither of them had seen the eyes that followed them out the door,
watching with disapproval.  For the first block, as they
hurried down the street, Grace kept looking over her shoulder, the
hairs on the back of her neck standing up as if in warning, but no
one called after them.  

The darkened streets had
made her heart beat faster - or maybe it was just because she was
finally going to achieve her goal.  Most of the house was
quiet and dark, and she was relieved, because that meant Alex had
certainly gone out with the other men.  His study was at the
front of the house, and she was sure that he would have been in
there still working if he were home.  The darkness of that
window in particular was reassuring.

They'd slipped in through the front
door, moving silently so as not to alert the butler, and easily
made their way up into Alex's room.  Grace hadn't hesitated to
light the candles and gas lamps available, brightening up the room
enough so that they could look. 

Surprisingly, despite the fact that
most of the documents on Alex's desk were completely standard
business correspondence, Cynthia didn't look bored at all as they
leafed through them.  She occasionally held one out to Grace,
wanting to know if a particular transaction or deal might have
something to do with Grace or her father, but nothing had.
 The documents on Alex's desk were entirely benign.

"Time to go through the drawers!"
Cynthia said gleefully, when they finished the third small stack,
not even bothering to whisper.  

For some reason, Grace's
stomach did a little flip when Cynthia opened the first drawer.
 It seemed more invasive to go through the drawers than it did
to go through the things on top of his desk.  Something
disturbingly like guilt wiggled in her belly.  But it was far
too late to turn back now; curiosity, and a strange kind of
desperation, drove her onward.

"You take that side, I'll take this
side," Grace said, shooing Cynthia to the left.  The younger
woman eagerly pulled open the first drawer. 

"Boring... boring... boring..."
Cynthia was muttering under her breath as Grace did her best to
ignore the soft chant.  Her own drawer wasn't proving to be
very interesting either.  Mostly it was long-term contracts
between Alex and others with whom he did business.  She did
find the one between Alex and her father, but it hadn't been
updated since it had been signed. 

Which meant that the deal
between her father and Alex hadn't changed at all, despite her and
Alex's estrangement.  Not that her father had ever been the
type to allow sentiment or family to get in the way of refilling
his coffers.  The man had decadent tastes, and didn't mind
dabbling in business to support that, especially if he could do it
under the guise of a socially acceptable transaction like a
marriage.

Scowling, Grace shoved the
papers back into the drawer and moved on to the middle
one. 

"Grace," Cynthia whispered
excitedly, making Grace's head jerk up.  But Cynthia wasn't
holding papers, she was holding out a portrait in miniature, which
had been carefully wrapped in paper in the middle drawer of the
left side of the desk.  "Look!  This is you, isn't
it?"

It was.  A younger her.
 Grace hadn't realized how much the face in her mirror had
changed over the past years.  In some ways, she was exactly
the same; oval face, creamy skin, bright blue eyes with their
extravagant lashes, deep black hair.  Looking at this image of
her past self, she could see the innocence of youth, the lack of
lines around her eyes, and the artist had even managed to capture
some of the hope that Grace had always felt when she was
younger. 

When had Alex had this done?  It
wasn't a portrait that Grace had ever seen before, and yet it was
irrefutably one of her younger self.  This wasn't something
he'd commissioned recently.  So when?  And how long had
he been carrying it around with him.

Something painful pressed
inside of her chest, as if her heart was growing and pushing
against her rib cage and lungs, making it hard for her to breathe.
 
What does this mean?

The question echoed inside of her
head, so loudly that she didn't even realize Cynthia was talking to
her until the other woman shook her.

"Grace?  Grace, are you well?
 You've gone white as a sheet!"  

Blinking, her eyes refocusing, Grace
looked up at Cynthia's panicked gaze, although that panic
immediately lessened as the younger woman realized that Grace was
back with her.  

"I'm fine," Grace said, although it
was a lie.  She didn't feel fine.  She felt... unsettled.
 The hope that seemed to never quite die away was blossoming
painfully inside of her again, as if the portrait was a spark that
had hit some very eager tinder.  She hardened herself against
that, gathering the hurt that she'd used to build her walls and
reminding herself of why he wasn't to be trusted.

But there were cracks in her defenses.
 That bright, shining hope leaked through, tempting her.
 Why did her husband have to be so bloody
confusing?!

Looking slightly worried, Cynthia took
the portrait back and carefully wrapped it back up in the paper,
the exact way it had been before.  Grace couldn't help the
little smile when she realized how very good her friend was at
making it appear as if the drawer she'd just rifled through was
untouched.  No one, looking at the portrait's carefully
wrapped package, would realize that they'd opened it.  Cynthia
was quite practiced at snooping, it appeared.

It was in the final drawer on her side
that Grace found her prize.  Packets of letters, all from
business, and one from her father.  This was what she had been
looking for.  Saving her father's for last, she skimmed
through the other packets, quickly confirming that none of them had
anything to do with Alex's marital status.  The hope pulsing
outside of the fortress around her heart felt as though it was
pressing inwards as one by one, each packet was set aside without
any evidence to condemn Alex.  Without revealing some ulterior
motive or purpose for their reconciliation. 

But she didn't allow herself to
crumble.  After all, she still had the packet of letters from
her father to go through.  Who knew what her father and her
husband had discussed during the years she and Alex had been
estranged.  She certainly hadn't spoken with her father in all
that time. 

As she peeked back at the bottom of
the stack, to the earliest letters, and work her way to the front,
it quickly became clear why.

Alex had kept every single letter from
her father, from the approving ones when they had first been
married, to the ones which became almost threatening in tone when
she left Alex.  Her father had demanded that Alex get her
"under control," or he would do it himself.  The very next
letter following that one had been filled with frustrated fury and
confusion that Alex not only refused to give in to her father's
demands, but that he, in turn, ordered her father to stay away from
her.

Each letter was
successively angrier, although it was obvious from the rest of
their correspondence that the business deal they had made was
making them both quite a bit of money.  From the tone of her
father's letters, it appeared he became resigned to the fact that
Alex wasn't going to curb her behavior or allow her father to
either.  He called Alex a fool and worse, but bowed to his
dictates.  Apparently, her father had needed Alex far more
than Alex had needed her father.