Regency Romance: An Intriguing Invitation (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Romance) (75 page)

“Touch me,” Annabelle whispered in the darkness, the only light was blue, from a full moon and streaming in through that open window.

The Duke didn’t speak, but he complied, his lips still locked around one nipple. He ran the pad of his index finger up the wet pink lips between the young woman’s legs. He didn’t penetrate her, he just ran it up and then down her slit. Annabelle groaned, and she widened her legs, and when he looked up, tearing his mouth away from her breast she was looking at him, her eyes begging him to make love to her.

“Do it,” she said in a breathless voice. “Do it.”

He would oblige the young woman. He rocked back away from her, standing at the edge of the bed. She watched him, her eyes going from his face to his trousers as he
undid
them lowered them to his ankles. His cock was pulsing before him, red and big and yearning for her tight womanhood.

Bertram used his hands to push Anna’s knees further apart, and then he was back on the bed, kneeling before her. Annabelle lifted herself up onto her elbows so she could look down and see herself. Her womanly lips were slick with her own juices, just below a curly tuft of pubic hair.

Bertram touched her there once more, using his fingers to spread her lips wide as his other hand guided his penis towards her. The swollen head of his cock pushed against her, moving up and down her slick lips. And then he was going inside her, and it was all the young woman could do not to yell out in pleasure.

“I’ve never felt tighter,” Bertram gasped as he pushed further into her, the head of his cock disappearing completely, and then his shaft sliding in. He fell forward, on top of her, his hands holding himself up, and their lips were clashing sloppily together, their passion overtaking them.

Anna ran her hands along the man’s back, pulling his shirt up so her nails could drag across his muscular back. His cock was sliding in and out of her in a furious pace. There was love making, and there was something else, and what she and the Duke were doing was decidedly something else.

One hand continued to hold himself up, and the other groped at her breasts, even as their tongues danced together.

“Oh, God,” Annabelle groaned into the man’s mouth. Something she had not felt before was growing in her loins, deep within her. It was a feeling that she could hardly bear, it felt so good. It was a growing sensation, hot between her thighs, in the pit of her stomach. An orgasm rocked her body, and then she was crying out, so loudly that the Duke laughed and covered her mouth with his hand, so no one would think a woman was being attacked and come searching upstairs.

Her body quaked, and spasms tore through her inner walls, the sensation on Bertram’s cock as her vagina squeezed him unlike anything he had felt with any other woman. It was almost too much, but he didn’t want the feeling to end, he wasn’t ready to finish, so he fought off his own orgasm.

He kissed her once more, and then he pulled out of her and the girl let a look of worry flash across her face. “Is that all? Did I do something wrong?”

Bertram grinned and shook his head.

“No my love, nothing wrong at all.”

And then his strong hands were on her waist, and he was moving her, rolling her over. He tugged on her waist so she went onto her hands and knees, and he positioned himself behind her, and once more he was sliding inside of her tight, wet pussy.

His rough hands were on the cheeks of her rear, squeezing and gripping almost painfully, but Annabelle never wanted him to stop. He pumped in and out of her at a furious pace, the sound of her rear and his pelvis making an audible slapping sound each time he pushed into her.

He couldn’t hold off for long, her womanhood was too tight, the sex too good. He felt himself nearing climax, and he had the mind to pull out just as he came. The Duke gripped his own cock and jerked his hand back and forth, spraying thick strands of semen over the girl’s plump, pale ass. She lay down on her stomach as he did so, breathing heavily. Their bodies were slick with sweat, which shone in the moonlight.

“I can’t go back down there,” she said softly, and the Duke laughed as he moved to lay next to her.

“Take a moment, they’ll never know,” he said.

“You ripped my small clothes.”

“Well, don’t make love with anyone else, and they won’t know you aren’t wearing any,” he said with a wink.

“That’s what you call that? Making love?” Annabelle asked.

“What would you call it?” Bertram asked.

“Being used,” Annabelle said with a grin to the man. “But I enjoyed it.”

“Marry me my sweet lady. Marry me, and I will use you often.”

Annabelle began to laugh. “I should return.”

“Are you going to speak with Duke Blackburn?”

Annabelle nodded. “Does that bother you?”

“No. He may speak to you. With his words or with his manhood. If anything, I am confident that my cock can speak better than any man’s.”

Annabelle smiled as she stood up. She kept her skirt hiked above her hips as she bent to retrieve her torn small clothes. She wiped his semen off of her bottom with the small clothes, and then dropped them back to the floor. Certainly some servant was in for surprise on the next morrow.

“I like your confidence, Bertram,” the young girl said.

“And I like you and your body,” the Duke said, shocking Annabelle and making her blush.

They worked
in silence
to make themselves presentable, and then she left first to return to the party. Bertram would wait a few moments and then follow her down.

Chapter 5

Annabelle found Duke Blackburn dancing with another young woman and so she waited in his line of view until the dance had finished. She was glad when he dismissed the other woman and approached her.

“Would you care to dance?” the man asked her.

“I would rather speak with you,” Annabelle said.

“Very well. How about a stroll through the garden, if it would not make you too cold?”

“Yes,” Anna said, nodding.

The air was chill, but the Duke gave her his jacket, and it was a nice stroll. The garden on the grounds was beautiful and secluded, and they were the only ones walking in it, except for Mrs. Clack 20 paces behind them. They found a bench near a fountain and sat. Anna expected the Duke to ask her for a kiss and she was quite dismayed when he did not.

“Why do you want to marry me?” Annabelle said as they looked at one another. “I fear you do not find me beautiful.”

Duke Blackburn laughed. “Who says I don’t find you beautiful?”

“Duke Sutherland was quite forward with his compliments.”

“I want a
many great
things from you,” Duke Blackburn said. “You are beautiful, and I desire you greatly, but I am slightly older than Duke Sutherland, and I must confess that I’ve
learned,
desire often grows with love.”

“You desire me?”

“I do.”

“I’m yours, if you’ll take me.”

“And I would. But I want you on our wedding night, and not a moment before. But I will give you something of me,” he added, and they leaned together and kissed. Where Bertram was rough and passionate, Duke Blackburn was soft and tender. There was still passion there, but the kiss was electrifying in a way the other man’s wasn’t. He felt as though he was holding back, and it made Annabelle want him even more. When he broke away she leaned forward, stealing one more kiss.

“Please,” she said after planting her lips on his but then breaking it again. “I want you to want me.”

“I do,” the Duke said in a whisper. His voice brushed her ears sensually. She could feel his desire, and she put a hand on his leg, and her fingertips could sense the bulge at his crotch.

“Take me.”

“I will. If we are married.”

“You’re saving yourself for marriage?” the young woman asked.

“I am not. I am saving you for marriage,” he said.

Annabelle had never wanted anything more in her life. She desired him, wanted him to tear her clothes off, to make love to her under the moon. She knew he would make love to her. Bertram had fucked her. Duke Blackburn would not do that. His hands would be soft, electric like his kisses.

“Take me,” Annabelle said again.

“Marry me.”

Anna began to feel frustrated. She had just had a man inside her, but here she was, her loins screaming for Duke Blackburn, and he would not give in to her. It drove her wild.

“Please,” she begged.

“Marry me,” he said again.

Anna stood up and huffed. She spun on the man. “You are pig headed!” she said, suddenly angry, unable to think clearly. She wanted the man inside her so badly.

Duke Blackburn laughed, which made her even madder, and she spun and rushed for the manor.

She went upstairs, wishing to be alone, and found another room, drawing room of sorts with a balcony. She went outside and stood in the breeze. She still had Duke Blackburn’s jacket around her shoulders, and she held it around her.

“There you are,” a voice said, and she turned to see Bertram.

“I do not wish to speak,” she said.

“Things did not go well with Duke Blackburn? Then I am the winner, am I not?”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “No, you are not. I enjoyed what we did, and I will never regret it, as long as I live. But to you, I am just another warm woman in a cold bed, am I not? You will never stop doing what you do, and I don’t think I wish to be a wife who sits at home alone, while another woman warms you.”

“That’s not fair,” Bertram started.

“Goodnight, Duke Sutherland,” Annabelle said shortly, and the man knew not to argue. He left, and she turned to gaze out at the grounds again.

She never heard Duke Blackburn sneak up upon her, indeed didn’t know he was there until he was wrapping his arms around her from behind. He pushed against her, and she felt his penis harden against the cheeks of her ass, the cheeks which Bertram had expelled the contents of his testicles across. Knowing that she had so freshly been penetrated, and having another man harden against it, it made her slicken once more down there, and made her knees weak.

“I want you,” Duke Blackburn said against the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her there. It made her flesh tingle, and then his hand dipped down, and he was gathering her skirt up. When he felt her, he made no mention of the fact that she wore no smallclothes. She was wet, and his fingertip found her clitoris, tucked under a fold of skin. It sent shockwaves through her system.

“I thought you did not wish to make love to me,” she groaned.

“Then you were not listening. I do, but I will not. Still, there are other things I could do,” he said. The man used his hands to turn her around, and he held her skirt out to her. She held it up and he knelt down. He lifted one leg over his shoulder, and then his lips were against the lips between her legs.

His tongue lapped along her slit, and then pushed into her. She groaned and moaned. He flicked the tip of his tongue against her clitoris, and Anna used her free hand to grip the short hair on the back of his head.

“Oh my,” she said, and it was all she could think while the man brought her to an orgasm that was more intense than the one she had had just half an hour ago. When he was done the man stood up, and helped her smooth her skirt down.

“Marry me,” he said again, and she threw her arms around him and kissed him. She tasted herself, and it made her smile. Duke Blackburn was giving. He was kind, and gentle, and he had made her feel like no man ever had, or ever would.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I
will,
under one condition.”

“What is that?” he asked.

“Don’t stop doing that, even after we marry.”

Duke Blackburn laughed and kissed his young fiance on the cheek. “I will not,” he promised.

*****

THE END

Chapter 1

Annabelle Catesby sat before a plate of untouched food at lunch time. Her mind was on one thing, and one thing only. There was a ball later on that evening. But it wasn’t just any ball, it was the most important ball of the year, and possibly, of her life. Of course, some would think that no ball was important, but Annabelle was not one of them. She was Anna to her family and friends, a beautiful girl of nineteen with an overprotective father and a mother who doted upon her only daughter. She had two brothers, both older, both young men working with her father at his business, each of them learning so that they may run it themselves one day.

For Annabelle’s part, she didn’t quite know what her father did. She knew it was something like banking, but not exactly that. He loaned large sums of money to people sometimes, often if they were trying to open a business themselves. The whole world bored Anna, and she stayed out of it.

Anna liked nature. She spent hours upon hours atop a horse, or walking through the woods which surrounded her father’s lavish home and grounds. Her eldest brother Edwin had even taught her to fish, and though her mother looked down upon it, Annabelle did so in the small pond on the grounds as often as she could, when weather was permitting.

She would miss the pond most of all, if she wasn’t taking people into account, but she was ready to leave. And the ball had finally come, and that meant she would perhaps have a chance to find a husband.

The petite young girl had caught the eyes of men since she was just fourteen. But in the recent years, sideways glances at her large, perky breasts had become something else entirely. First it was requests to dance, and then it was men calling at her home for her. And for the past two years, there had been the proposals.

Henry Catesby, Annabelle’s father, had built such an impressive business for himself that it had done wonders for his social standing. He had been raised poor himself, and he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t put his own children through that. And so he hadn’t, and in his late fifties he commanded a certain respect that was shared with his wife and children as well. Anna would not be marrying just anyone, the offers she had received had been from men of great standing. Nobility. Dukes.

Last year at Lady Patterson’s annual dance, Annabelle had been proposed to by Colonel Warren, a man of thirty-three who had no doubt had his eye on the young girl for quite some time, judging by how often he came by to see her.

Anna liked the man, found him to be attractive and kind, and she was eager to marry. She saw how happy her mother was, how fulfilled she was to be a mother and a wife, and she had yearned for the same for years. But her father had forbade it.

Anna spoke to him that same night, a year previous, in his study after the ball. Hot tears had streamed down her face, leaving trails down her cheeks which shone in the soft light of a single candle, burning on her father’s desk top.

“Please, daddy,” she had pleaded.

“You are too young,” her father had said. He was a tall man with a bushy moustache, though he had no hair upon his head.

“I am eighteen!” she said. “A woman grown!”

“No to me,” her father had said, and then he looked to see his daughter crying, having been previously staring out the window, and his hardness vanished in an instant. When he spoke again his voice was softer, gentler. “A year from now. Alright, my daughter? My beautiful little girl? That is what you are to me, even now, so grown and amazing. You will always be my little girl, running around in this home, getting underfoot. But that is not fair to you. This ball, it is every year, the same date, yes?”

Anna nodded her head, and used the back of her hand to wipe away the tears.

“And then next year, at this ball, if a man wants your hand, and you’re willing to give it, I will not stop you.”

And so it had been, and for a few months after the conversation, Annabelle gave herself to a string of daydreams and hopes, wishing that Colonel Warren would ask her again. The young woman was worried he would ask someone else, but instead he lost his life. It was an accident out of the city, something the Colonel had been doing with his men, but he went out alive and came back dead, and Annabelle found herself mourning him. He was going to be her husband. She had thought about it so often, and though she didn’t know the man well, she had grieved for him.

But the sadness ebbed, and as the ball had drawn close, her dizziness returned. The deceased Colonel hadn’t been the first man to propose to her, and he wouldn’t be the last. She was sure of it.

“You are not eating,” her father said to her, from over his own bowl of soup.

“My stomach is in knots,” Annabelle said.

“You think you will be engaged tonight,” her father said in a knowing tone.

“As if father would be so lucky, to get you taken off his hands,” Annabelle's brother, Reginald, said. He was two years younger than Edwin, and still lived at home, while Edwin had been married for three years, and had his own home elsewhere outside of London, in the same green fields and pastures where Henry’s home was built.

“I’ll marry before a woman will accept your proposal,” Anna said, glaring across the table to her brother.

“You two bicker too often,” Anna’s mother said quietly, and both of her children bowed their heads slightly.

“Eat,” Henry said, and Anna lifted her spoon to her mouth, knowing there was no sense in arguing with her father. “You do not want to waste away,” he said with a laugh as he watched her. With each bite she took, Annabelle realized just how hungry she was, and through her nerves were on edge, she cleaned her plate and bowl, and then hurried upstairs to begin getting ready for the most important evening of her life.