Susan Johnson - Again and Again

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.

As the sun rose, he held her close, not wanting to leave, frustrated at the thought of having to pretend they were nominal strangers when they met downstairs.

It was exasperating they couldn’t be together- doubly so to a man who had commanded the world to his whims for most of his life. There wasn’t a reason in creation why Caro had to be a governess. Good God, he could pay for a hundred governesses-a thousand. Not that he was interested in her for her governess abilities, he reflected, heated memory spiking through his mind. Nor was he interested in playing a milksop role before Ian and Jane for the indefinite future. He couldn’t stay at Netherton Castle forever. He didn’t want to. He wanted Caro beside him like this when he woke in the morning. He particularly wanted her warming his bed at night. The obvious solution leaped to mind. “Come live with me,” he said.

She came out of her doze with a start and stared

He nodded. “Precisely.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because we get along famously, that’s why.”

“If I were to live with you,” she said a trifle too softly, “what would that make me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Caro.”

Her gaze turned cool. “I’ve not yet sunk to the level of whore.”

“I meant nothing of the kind. I’ll buy you a house of your own. You can be independent. Isn’t that what you want? And we wouldn’t have to sneak around like fugitives.”

She sat up and moved away. “My independence would be your reward for sexual favors? Don’t look at me like that. Of course it would. I don’t have the funds to support a house even if I let you buy one for me.”

“You’re making this much too complicated,” he grumbled.

“You needn’t buy me anything, Simon. I don’t want you to buy me anything. I can make my own living.”

“With the stated price for your favors, no doubt you can.” The resentment in his tone matched hers.

“That list and those conditions were meant to discourage you.”

His gaze turned cynical. “You obviously don’t understand men.”

“Or men of your ilk, who insist on having their way.”

“I don’t see you obliging me, so obviously I don’t always get what I want.”

“A shame. Or perhaps a lesson in humility.”

“So you’re saying no to me?”

“Is that a shock? Having a woman refuse you? I suppose women are standing in line to be your mistress,” she said with icy sarcasm.

“Damn you, Caro. It’s not about being my mistress.” In fact, he’d always scrupulously avoided making such an offer to a woman.

“Good. Then I’ll say no thank you to your kind offer and you’ll politely go back to London.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“That’s not my concern.” She began to rise from their makeshift bed. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed for my workday.”

“Not just yet,” he murmured, grasping her wrist.

“Release me.” Her voice was chill.

“You want me to leave?”

She struggled against his grip. “I distinctly want you to leave.”

“And you’re not interested in my offer?”

“If I ever decide to become a whore, I’ll let you know. I don’t at the moment.”

“But you might?” he lazily drawled.

She was rigid, her gaze filled with rage. “Perhaps when hell freezes over, but I wouldn’t guarantee it even then.”

“In that case, why don’t we call this a farewell fuck?” He jerked her back.