Seducing Mr Storm

SEDUCING MR STORM

An erotic novella by Poppy Summers

Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2012

ISBN 9781909335264

Copyright © Poppy Summers 2012

The right of Poppy Summers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

www.xcitebooks.com

Chapter One

Susanna Seymour stared out at the magpies and sparrows feeding on the crumbs of bread scattered over the lawn and wished she was outside with the birds. It was a glorious spring morning, blue sky chasing away the ragged clouds of last night’s storm, green as far as the eye could see from the edges of the Seymour estate and into the wilds of the Yorkshire moors. Susanna often dreamt of clambering around the rocks and hiding in the long grass, buffeted by the wind and the rain, pursued by nature’s elements. Ever since she left her teens, her parents had deemed her too old to play on the moors, too old since she reached the age of 27 to ever be married, firmly on the shelf and cast in the spinster role while they instead looked for a husband for 21-year-old Lucy.

It wasn’t that there hadn’t been offers for Susanna’s hand before, but she had turned them all down flatly. It served her right for reading too many novels and thinking her own romantic hero might be out there somewhere. It had got her nowhere other than confined to her parents’ house for the rest of her life.

Lucy’s prospective suitor, their new neighbour at Rainton Grange, would call today to pay his respects. Having already asked around, Elizabeth Seymour knew he had an income of £20,000 a year and was well thought of in his usual circles in London. The Grange was somewhere to holiday for the hard-working bachelor, and Mrs Seymour was keen to hook him for Lucy without preamble. All she had talked about in the six days since he had written to accept their lunch invitation was the rumour that the exotically named Elijah Storm was as arresting as his moniker.

Susanna couldn’t care less. Mr Storm could go right to hell for all she gave a damn. She was sick of meeting Lucy’s suitors and sick of having people look at her in pity for missing her chance. In all reality, she wasn’t sure she cared about having a man. What did it matter when men such as those in the novels didn’t exist anyway?

A commotion in the hall signalled the arrival of their guest, Lucy’s little dog, Toby, yapping excitedly. Her mother gathered up her skirts and fled to a chair, arranging herself with deliberate boredom as though she had not just spent the last two hours gazing from the window in anticipation.

Susanna lingered apathetically behind, prepared to be little more than disdainful towards whichever fop stepped through the door. The door opened, Richard bowed and announced loudly, ‘Mr Elijah Storm,’ and Susanna’s knees almost buckled as an angel fallen from heaven entered their parlour.

He was perhaps in his late 30s and tall, almost a head taller than her father at about six feet, and so well made! He wore a black suit with white linen, the lace at his throat and cuffs understated and neat. His body almost strained the velvet of his frock coat and breeches, his shoulders broad, his thighs strong and …

Susanna’s gaze halted halfway down his body, drawn magically in to the apex of his thighs. Good God, what was that down his breeches? Her cheeks turned scarlet as she saw the bulge at his crotch, the material hugging cock and balls greedily. She swallowed, her eyes flying to his stunning face and finding ice-blue eyes fixed on hers, dancing with amusement at her awe.

Susanna swallowed, pressed a hand behind her against the glass to hold herself upright. His perfect face was almost pretty, even though there was nothing effeminate about him. His bone structure, the curve of his sensual, somewhat sardonic lips, and the sooty lashes over his crystal eyes. His skin was lightly tanned, as though he spent plenty of time outdoors in rough, masculine pursuits despite his class. Scandalously, he wore neither wig nor ribbon, his hair black as a raven’s wing and cut close to his neck. Susanna saw her mother perusing him with shock and awe as she held out her hand to be kissed.

Elijah Storm turned his attention to his hosts. He bent low over Elizabeth Seymour’s hand, his lips just about grazing it, before shaking Edward Seymour’s hand firmly. The way her mother simpered, it was obvious which of her daughters was intended for their neighbour, as she introduced a giggling, blushing Lucy and Elijah once more air-kissed Susanna’s sister’s hand.

Elizabeth threw Susanna a cool, impatient look, gesturing angrily behind their guest’s back, and she stepped forward on unsteady legs. Elijah turned her way, amusement still lighting those startling eyes as though he’d read every one of her impure thoughts about his fine physique and known exactly on which area of his anatomy her gaze lingered.

She tripped over the edge of the rug as she walked forward and his hand instantly shot out and steadied her, catching her forearm with long, delicate fingers, the heat of which seemed to scorch her. She blushed as hard as her sister, disentangled herself demurely, and bent her head, presenting her hand and avoiding his gaze. His lips came down to make deliberate contact with her knuckles, and she stifled a gasp, a little throb of something between her legs startling her. She stepped back, keeping her head bent as though in subservience, not daring to make eye contact.

They went through to the dining room for lunch, and Susanna found herself seated opposite Mr Storm. She stared down at her plate while she tried to order her scattered thoughts. Certainly she had noticed men’s bodies before, but none had ever been quite so direct and obvious as Elijah Storm. He seemed to wear his very sexuality on the outside for anyone to see. Even her father was clearly intimidated by the man’s virile masculinity, his forceful presence in the room and unique looks.

Susanna had only seen one man naked before, and that was one of their servants, Cuthbert, who she’d discovered bathing in the river to the east of the lodge. Wandering in the woods on a summer day, she had heard splashing and caught flashes of sun-kissed skin through gaps in tree branches. Startled, embarrassed, she had noticed a pile of clothing on the ground and stopped, looking at the underwear on top. She’d cast around before she had delicately fingered the rough, woollen material, imagining Cuthbert, a tall, strapping lad of 19, wearing it. Then, not quite ashamed yet at her forthrightness, she had deliberately ducked behind a tree and spied on him.

He was tanned all over apart from his milk-white backside. Her gaze lingered on the lean cheeks of his bottom, caught a glimpse of the sac swinging between his legs before he pushed off, and started to swim. As he spread his legs, she saw cock and balls dangling in the water, and she clutched at the tree trunk, gaze rooted in fascination.

Cuthbert swam for some minutes, then he stood upright and waded briskly out of the river. Susanna’s jaw dropped open. The equipment between his legs was heavy, his cock turgid, half-hard and thick, surrounded by a dense, dark bush. His balls were big, furry, swinging enthusiastically as he climbed from the water.

Susanna swallowed, crept away through the trees as quietly as she could. She made it back to the house and up to her room with her heart pounding. Once locked in her bedchamber, she paced. She felt too hot. Her dress constricted her bosom, her stockings squeezed her thighs.

She stripped quickly. Looking down, she saw her nipples were rigid against her chemise. She pulled the straps down, rubbed a fingertip lightly over one peak and gasped at the answering sensation that shot down her stomach to her groin. God in heaven, what was happening to her? She throbbed between her legs, an ache of need she could not identify. Peeling down her linen drawers, she perched on the edge of the bed and spread her thighs, looking in the glass. She was swollen, glistening between her distended lips. She touched the bud at the apex of her sex, felt how hard it was, and then rubbed it up and down, feeling wetness seeping from her core.

She knew men touched themselves this way, had even heard salacious talk of special clubs where men went to masturbate and compare their organs, but this … Surely this would send her straight to hell? At that moment, she hoped Lucifer himself welcomed her. Preferably naked and hard, with a cock the very equal of Cuthbert’s. With enthusiasm, she rubbed herself harder while burying one finger into the wet chamber of her sex, slickly fucking the tight hole. God, it was good; it was like nothing else ever. She frigged away at herself until she felt it coming. A climax that shook her entire body, made her cry out in shocked ecstasy before she fell back onto the bed, barely conscious.

That was the first time she had come to sexual awareness, courtesy of Cuthbert, so now she knew all too well why her drawers were wet as she sat looking at Elijah Storm across the dining table. Oh God, let this dinner be over soon so she could hurry away and pleasure herself over her new neighbour.

She reddened at her thoughts, kept her head dipped as she sensed the man’s gaze on hers. Her mother chattered brightly, drawing Lucy into the conversation, where Susanna’s sister showed how empty-headed and truly idiotic she was. But Susanna guessed it was better that than socially redundant and on the shelf like herself. She knew which one appealed more to men. Obviously they didn’t like their wives to think for themselves. Susanna liked bird-watching, walking, and reading. She doubted this was compatible with the ideas modern men had about women.

Elijah Storm, though, to her surprise, was somewhat dry and dour. While charming, he had a line in barely decent remarks about this or that Lord who had lost his fortune to gambling or opium, scandalous tales of wives embroiled in affairs with earls or even their groomsmen.

She found herself listening in fascination, watching Elijah lift his wine glass to his sensual mouth, his Adams’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. She wasn’t sure if her neighbour was making the right impression on her mother. Was he altogether
too
modern for Elizabeth? She hid a smirk behind a napkin and thought she saw Elijah’s gaze flicker over hers, a smile curling around his lips.

Elizabeth steered the conversation towards the up and coming ball at Bennet Hall, the social event of late spring every year. Susanna had been attending since she was 16. Every year she was courted by a string of foppish dandies with lace handkerchiefs who stood on her toes at the dance and asked her to ride with them in their carriage next day. She had always refused. None of them had ever captured her imagination, not even under the influence of wine and song, much to her mother’s chagrin.

‘When is it?’ Elijah asked politely. ‘At present, I am unsure when I will return to London.’

Her mother looked panicked. ‘Next Friday,’ she said. ‘Surely you will make special dispensation to attend?’

Elijah looked amused. ‘I have yet to be invited.’

‘My dear Mr Storm,’ Elizabeth said. ‘If a man of your standing in the community –’ for this, Susanna read “a purse of your size” ‘– has yet to be invited, then I would take carte blanche upon myself to attend regardless and hold my head up against the snub!’ She flushed at her outburst and signalled Cuthbert for some water.

A sly smile curved Elijah’s lips. ‘Why, Mrs Seymour, you’re a lady after my own heart. I’ve ridden into more social occasions uninvited than I’ve had hot dinners.’

Susanna rolled her eyes as her mother almost melted into a puddle at the great man’s flattery. She couldn’t help wondering if Mr Storm had a certain reputation that caused people to shun him socially. No doubt he was a ladies’ man; with that physique he must be bedding any number of lovers. Poor Lucy. What a shock she would get when they were married.

Elizabeth rubbed her hands. ‘That’s settled then. Next week at Bennet Hall. And I hope you will give my daughter the privilege of first dance.’

Elijah’s gaze flickered instantly to Susanna and her cheeks flamed, while Elizabeth looked appalled.

‘
Lucy
, my dear Mr Storm. It is Lucy to whom I wish to present you at the ball.’

Elijah dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. ‘Of course,’ he said demurely while looking at Susanna from under his heavy lashes.

Susanna escaped upstairs finally, with a last kiss to her hand from their neighbour as he went to take a turn around the grounds with her father. Oh God help her, she had never been so stricken with lust over a man in all of her 27 years. She slammed her bedroom door and turned the key, and then she hurried to lift her complicated skirts, piling them around her as she sat on the end of the bed with legs splayed.

She moaned at the first touch of her swollen flesh beneath her underwear. This was what Elijah Storm had done to her with his teasing little looks and smiles and that body made for sin. He had made her wet and hard and aching. She closed her eyes and imagined it was his large hand between her legs, bringing her to the sweetest of climaxes, and she came, those ice-blue eyes behind hers as she shuddered and writhed on the bed.