Susan Johnson - Again and Again

She felt it most intensely, where her engorged clitoris and unsated lust waited for surcease.

He didn’t have to ask again whether she liked what he was doing to her. He could tell. And when he moved to her other breast, she arched her back against the exquisite pleasure and pressed into his mouth.

“You want more?” he whispered, lifting his head.

“Please,” she breathed, beyond questions of sovereignty, aroused and ravenous, aching to feel him.

“Are you ready for me? A wife must be ready when her husband wants to have sex with her.”

“Yes, yes.”

He dropped his hands from her breast and sat back. “Will I slide in easily? I can’t have my wife unprepared to receive me.”

“Yes, yes… please, Simon-I’m more than ready.”

“I think that would be for me to decide. Open your legs wider.”

She instantly complied and he slid three fingers into her pulsing core with unimpeded ease. He gently stroked the sleek flesh while she panted and strained against his hand. “Very nice.” His voice was velvety. “Are you ready to perform your wifely duties?” He slid his fingers deeper.

“Yes, yes,” she gasped. “Whatever you want.”

He kissed her lightly. “I’ll untie you then.”

“Thank you-I mean it, Simon-thank you very much.”

He smiled faintly, withdrew his fingers and came to his feet. “Get into bed and wait for me,” he ordered as he began to untie her.

Her lashes came up, her eyes filled with entreaty. “Will you be long?”

“I don’t know. You must wait. Dutiful wives wait. I’ll come to you when and if I decide to fuck you.”

As he pulled the last knot open and she was suddenly free, she lunged forward and seized his testicles in a punishing grip. “I’m not in the mood to wait,” she said, fretful and peevish and strongly averse to further delay. “Perhaps,” she added, very, very softly, “this would be a good time to discuss husbandly duties.”

“If you squeeze much harder,” he murmured, standing utterly still, “you’re going to lose whatever chance you have for sex tonight.”

Her brows arched upward. “If you don’t oblige me, what do I have to lose?”

“Compromise?” he breathed, every muscle taut with restraint.

“I’m open to compromise,” she replied, dulcetly.

“Sex now?”

“Here?”

“It’s up to you.”

She grinned. “You can be so agreeable, darling. I think it’s your most charming trait. Would you like to sit or stand or lie?”

“How about all three?”

In answer, she released her hold and winked at him. “Perfect”

He could have retaliated had he wished, and for a brief moment, he considered the possibility.

But more pressing, overwrought urges impelled them both and issues of conjugal duties were abruptly dismissed in favor of orgasmic bliss. Very frenzied, heart-stirring, unbridled orgasmic bliss.

Caro even overlooked Simon’s cautious withdrawal at climax.

And Simon overlooked the fact that his wife appeared to be disturbingly insatiable.

The next few days were an unrelenting contest of wills, the battleground confined predominantly to the bedroom. Sometimes Caro won and other times Simon prevailed, both equally stubborn and uncompromising on issues of independence. But when it came to sex, they grudgingly came to the conclusion that they shared an astonishing compatibility.

Which considerably muddled the other areas of contention.

On the fifth day, late in the morning, while they were still abed, temporarily reconciled on their treaty ground of sexual gratification, Simon withdrew for his orgasm, glanced down and suddenly smiled.

He’d not realized how profound his misgivings until he was struck with the full force of his relief.

Lying beside her a moment later, his heart still beating furiously, exhilaration inundating his brain, he murmured, “It started.”

There was no need to question the unspecified phrase after the contentious nature of the last few days. Sitting up, Caroline looked down, saw the minute streak of blood on the sheet and turned to her husband. “You owe me an apology.” Rapping him on the chest, she put a hand to her ear. “I’m waiting…”

“Yes, dear.” Which was all he was capable of saying with the image of Caro kissing that man at Netherton Castle still inciting an ungovernable jealousy. In his experience, grown men and women didn’t exchange single kisses. In his experience, Caro certainly didn’t exchange single kisses-regardless of her protestations. And her insatiable sexual appetite of the last few days hardly induced him to change his mind. “Get dressed,” he ordered, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “We’re off to London. You need some clothes. I need to get back to my life. And I haven’t fucked you in a carriage for years.”

“And you’re not likely to now, either, unless I hear an apology,” she retorted, not moving.

“You think I and my guards can’t throw you in the carriage?”

“I think I need an apology. And then I’ll consider whether I want you or your guards to touch me.”

He was standing beside the bed, his smile benign, all suddenly right with his world. ‘Tour father has much to answer for, darling. I’ve never known such a difficult, obstinate female.“

“My hearing is very good, however.” She put her hand to her ear once again.

“Good God, I apologize. Now, may we leave?”

“Why should I?”

Because he had no intention of allowing her out of his sight, he wished to say and he no longer had reason to stay. The unknown Will was now free to fuck whomever he pleased. It wouldn’t be necessary to kill him. “I thought you might like to pay Daphne a visit,” he said instead, his grin a flash of mischief.

“You do know how to tempt a woman,” Caroline murmured, a sportive light in her eyes.

“And then there’s mother. You two could discuss the disposition of the Hargreave jewels.”

She laughed. “Perhaps for that, I’ll harness the horses myself.”

“And as an added fillip, I could introduce you to the publisher, Bothwick. Gore knows him well.”

“Bothwick! You don’t mean it! If you’re teasing me, Simon, I’ll never forgive you. Do you know how many wonderful authors he publishes?”

“I have no idea, darling, but I’m sure Gore will know. Are we agreed then?”

“I don’t really have to see your mother, do I?”

“Not without me for protection. I promise.”

“Will you come with me to Daphne’s?”

“If you wish.”

“Why are you being so cooperative?”

He was quickly dressing. “I’m always cooperative,” he said with the perverse presumption of a man who bent the world to his will. “Do you want me to send up a maid?”

“I haven’t been to London in five years.”

“It looks the same.” He glanced at her. “You’re not worried about”-he made a dismissive gesture-“what would you be worried about?”

“Nothing, everything… I don’t know.”

Moving to the bed, he sat down and drew her into his arms. “You’ll enjoy yourself, darling. And I’ll keep the Daphnes away if you’re worried. And mother too.”

“I don’t know if I’m worried or not.”

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t live without her. But he couldn’t so he understood a measure of her incomprehension. “We’ll see Bothwick first thing,” he promised, offering her an indulgence sure to please. “What do you think?”

She nodded, jettisoning her apprehensions about the viciousness of the ton, and Simon’s patterns of amusement. He was offering her a lavish world and a place by his side. She’d be foolish to refuse on principle. And Bothwick. She couldn’t help but smile.

Twenty minutes later, they were traveling south.

The news of Simon’s marriage had raced through the ton within hours of their arrival at Hargreave House. But all the curious callers were turned away until the new duchess had a suitable wardrobe-a process much accelerated by Simon’s wealth.

In the meantime, though, as promised, the publisher, Martin Bothwick was sent for immediately. And for the occasion, Simon presented Caroline with an at-home gown he’d had the modiste who made her wedding gown deliver to Hargreave Home in his absence.

“How did you know I’d be coming back?” Caroline asked, her life one of uncertainty and transience for so long, she still didn’t think in terms of the future.

“I was hopeful, of course.” The ultimate politesse from a man who would have abducted her from the dungeons of hell. Try it on. We can have some adjustments made before Bothwick arrives if need be.“

“Bothwick is really coming here today?” she said, still in awe. “Do you know how important he is- how influential?”

“He must have had time in his schedule,” Simon replied casually, more aware than she perhaps of a wealthy duke’s position in the hierarchy of influence. The moss green silk gown fit well, as did the matching kid slippers; and the cashmere paisley shawl that was all the rage was so delicate and fine it could be drawn through a ring.

“You look good enough to eat,” Simon said with a wolfish grin, lounging in a chair in Caroline’s dressing room while she finished her dressing with the addition of beaten gold earrings. “A shame we don’t have time.” He glanced at the clock. “Although…”

“Don’t you even dare think of it,” Caroline interjected, shaking out the folds of her shawl so they draped over her arm properly. “I’m not going to meet the important Mr. Bothwick with my hair all atumble and my face flushed from lovemaking.” She pointed a finger at him. “You stay right there.”

“Yes, ma’am. And if I behave, will you lift up your pretty green skirts for me later?”

“I may if you don’t embarrass me with Bothwick.” “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” he murmured, grinning.