Susan Johnson - Again and Again

“No,” he said, thinking of the days he’d spent looking for her, of the years she’d been abroad without him-with other men. “You’re wrong. This isn’t the same.”

There was another long pause. She sighed, grimaced, finally spoke. “You still have to observe-”

“Your rules? Agreed.”

She gazed at him with patent discontent. “I’m still not sure why you’re here or why I’m allowing this.” She blew air through her teeth. “Merde. Maybe I’m thinking too much.”

His smile was tight. “Maybe we both are.” Un-trammeled behavior wasn’t unusual in his life; this irrepressible craving was. “Why don’t we both stop analyzing?” he murmured. “I’m going to undress you because I want to, not for any other reason, and you’re going to let me.” Taking her hand, he began to draw her to the bed.

“Carpe diem,” she said, under her breath.

“I suppose,” he muttered. “Probably,” he added. His dark brows drew into a faint frown, and he forcibly tamped down the discontent that always came with too much speculation on Caro’s past. Having reached the bed, he turned to her, unbuttoned her nightgown in silence, pulled it over her head and pointed at the bed.

There was a certain irony in his reluctant seduction that made her smile. “I suppose since you’re paying me, I have to do what I’m told.”

“It would be a welcome change,” he grumbled.

“Oh, dear, was I supposed to be docile and amenable?” she purred, throwing him a look over her shoulder as she climbed into her narrow bed.

He snorted. “That I’d like to see.” Stripping off his trousers and undershorts in the same businesslike manner, he left them where they fell.

“I know what I’d like to see,” she murmured.

He swung back at the seductive whisper.

And his thick upthrust penis swayed in provocative allure. “Ummm… you’re going to hurt me with that great big-”

“Cock with your name on it,” he murmured, moving toward the bed.

She opened her arms.

And he felt a kind of joy he only felt with Caro.

A second later, the bed squeaked under his weight and a second after that they were joined and the creaking was so loud, Caro went stiff in his arms.

“Stop!” she hissed. “We’re going to wake-” Her words ended in a low moan as Simon held himself perfectly still within her, or almost still; the pulsing of his penis against her vaginal walls, against her clitoris, the faintest of sensations at the very mouth of her womb were unbearably intense.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, his mouth resting against her ear. “And you can’t make a sound,” he added, the faintest whimsy in his tone. “Can you do that?”

She nodded, delirium coursing through her body-willing to do anything to keep him inside her.

“Good girl.” His voice was warm against her ear as he slid his hand over her mons and upward just to where the dip of her stomach began. He flexed his hips minutely, forcing himself fractionally deeper at the same time that he put pressure on a small sensitive area under his fingertips.

She gasped, went rigid at the shocking pleasure and felt an orgasm begin in a headlong, monstrous rush of rapture. She began to scream and he covered her mouth with his. “No,” he said against her teeth. “Understand?”

She nodded or she thought she nodded, overpowered by the staggering pleasure.

He kept her in thrall to stupefying orgasmic pleasure, bringing her to climax over and over again until she nearly fainted from excess. And then he took his pleasure with his little governess courtesan, climaxing quietly in hot, deep, hammering, internalized waves that seemed to rise up from the very center of his body to explode on her stomach.

But neither was sated, their sexual hunger perhaps exaggerated by the days at Shipton, then-senses attuned to a new level of carnal need. And they explored the limits of sensation that night, on the floor, on the chair, against the wall-anywhere but on the noisy bed. Until with morning coming, Caro whispered nervously, ‘You have to go.“

He almost said, Screw your rules and the Carlisles, and everything that had to do with the curtailment of his pleasure. But he didn’t, because she was looking at him with a gravity even he recognized as deeply earnest. “I’ll be back tonight.” He didn’t ask; it was a statement of fact.

And like some lovesick maid, she murmured, “I’ll be waiting…”

“It’s going to be a helluva long day,” he grumbled, but he carried her to her small bed, tucked her in and gently kissed her.

And when he was dressed, he stood beside the bed for a moment, his smile affectionate. “I’m really glad I found you.”

He didn’t look like a disreputable rake or a celebrated duke or the man who fueled most of the lascivious gossip in the ton. He looked eighteen again, his cheeks flushed, the same smile on his face as the young boy she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. “Take your money,” she said, nodding at the bills on the table. “I don’t want it.”

He hesitated.

Take it or you can’t come back.“

He grabbed the bills and shoved them in his jacket pocket. “Thank you… for-” he tipped his head “everything.”

“I should thank you.” She smiled. “As usual. Now go, before I say something I’ll regret.”

He took a breath as though to speak, then grinned instead and turned away. At the door, he swung back and blew her a kiss. Like he always had a lifetime ago.

Then he was gone.

At the soft click of the latch, she fought back sudden tears welling in her eyes. She refused to cry about the past. What was done was done, and all the tears in creation wouldn’t change a single second. She and Simon wouldn’t be naive and young again, although the word naive and Simon perhaps had never been a match. But she at least would never be naive again. Nor would tears bring back her father or her former life. Or wash away the misery of her marriage.

And more pertinently, she’d be a fool if she waxed nostalgic about her relationship with Simon. It was sex-no more, no less. Although, certainly… the very, very best of sex, she mused, a half-smile playing on her lips. She might fault Simon for any number of sins, but she couldn’t fault him for his talents in bed. He was unrivaled.

She smiled. She probably shouldn’t have mentioned that to Henri. Although, under the circumstances-what with the light-skirt in her parlor that afternoon-he richly deserved it

At the faint knock, Caroline dragged herself up from the depths of sleep. Taking note of the pale dawn light, she came fully awake, and a small knot of alarm formed in the pit of her stomach. Why was she being wakened so early? Her teaching duties didn’t begin until nine.

“Come in,” she called out, struggling into a seated position, trying to shake the cobwebs from her brain.

A young servant girl appeared on the threshold. The mistress wants to see you right quick… afore she goes off ahuntin‘. It be all right fer you to come in yourn nightrobe, she said. She be waitin’ for you in her bedroom.“

Caroline’s alarm intensified as the servant relayed her instructions. Surely some crisis was on hand. Thank you, Betsy. Tell Lady Jane I’ll be right down.“ Tossing aside her blankets, she rose from the bed and walked to the small armoire that held her wardrobe. She put on her worn robe with reservations. Hopefully, she’d meet no one in the corridors.

Running a brush through her hair, she tied it with a ribbon at the nape of her neck, slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and reminded herself she’d dealt with crisis before. Compared to losing her family and home, surely this was manageable.

But apprehension followed her as she moved through the corridors to Lady Jane’s bedroom. Had her rendezvous with Simon been discovered?

It required steel nerves to knock on Lady Jane’s door, to enter when she was invited in, to present an appearance of calm.

“Come sit, Caroline.” Jane waved to a chair opposite her at a small table. “And my apologies for waking you so early. But I wanted to speak with you before I left for the hunt. Have some tea.” She began pouring a second cup. The scones are warm.“

Such banality vanquished Caroline’s fear. She moved to the table with lighter spirits.

“Now, then,” Jane said, as Caroline took her seat, “first things first.” She handed her the plate of scones. “It’s Lord Blair.”

Caroline almost dropped the plate, and had not Jane immediately said, “I’ve warned him to stay away from you,” she might have had a mess on her hands. Instead, relieved, she said, “Thank you, ma’am,” took a scone and carefully set the plate down.

“That’s another thing… There’s no need for such formality. Simon mentioned the difficulties of your father’s-er… passing at dinner last night Please, call me Jane, and if I might, I’ll call you Caroline.”

“Yes, of course, I’d like that”

“Good. Perfect. That’s all settled then.”

But her eyes wouldn’t quite meet Caroline’s gaze.

Girding herself for something unpleasant, Caroline said, “Is there more?”

“It’s rather delicate… I mean-it’s probably none of my business, that is… you may have already heard of-” She stopped, her face flushed in embarrassment.

“Please be plain,” Caroline remarked. “I’d prefer it.” If she was going to hear bad news, she’d rather not be kept in suspense.

“I’m afraid, it’s about Lord Blair. And the reason I hesitate is because you may think me interfering in your life and being uncharitable about the duke who is a very dear friend. But regardless,” the countess picked up her teacup and then nervously set it down again, “I must speak my mind. You see, although you both are from the same parish, you may not be fully aware of the duke’s libertine propensities. I wanted to be sure you were advised of them.” Her expression was grave. “He can be quite charming… indeed enormously charming. I wouldn’t wish you hurt should he turn his attention on you. I have, of course, warned him to mind his manners in my household, but I’m afraid he’s very used to doing as he pleases. So…” She fluttered her hands. “I feel very foolish. But I thought you should be cautioned.”