Sybille's Lord (11 page)

Chapter
Seventeen

Could
there be anything better than watching your lover go through the petit mort for
the first time? Thom rejoiced in every tremble, sigh, scream and incoherent
mutter Sybille made as he held her tight. She shook as tears coursed down her
cheeks.

He
held her securely with one arm until she stopped shaking, his fingers still
deep inside her channel. Soon, he promised himself. Very soon he’d replace his
fingers with his cock.

Sybille
took a deep breath as she relaxed, and slowly, so as not to startle or hurt her
he withdrew his fingers. She whimpered. “Nooo.”

“Shh,
it’s all right. Just draw breath, relax for a moment.”

“I
don’t
want
to.”

He
chuckled at the petulant note in her still passion-filled, husky voice.

“I
want you.
Now.
” She poked him in the
chest. “Please, my lord. Surely you won’t make me wait? Not now.”

“Only
until you’re back with me enough to perceive every little thing that occurs.”
He lifted the finger, which still rested on his chest and sucked the end.

“My
turn.” Sybille rolled onto her side, tugged his hand out and copied his action.
She nibbled the end of his finger, moaned around the digit, and ran her tongue
around it.

Did
she
know
what that did to him?
Probably not. Even though she might imagine she was book—or gossip—wise, that
was no comparison to the real thing.

“Enough.”
He pushed her onto her back again. “Let me love you.”

“Oh
yes, I thought you’d never ask.” Sybille stretched her arms out and wriggled
her shoulders. “What shall I do?”

 
He smiled. “Nothing, except enjoy.”

“Oh
I will.” She purred the words.

Thom
nudged her legs apart and knelt in between them. It had to be perfect. He was
conscious that his mouth was dry and his heartbeat erratic. Had anything ever
mattered so much? It seemed as if the whole purpose of his life ahead hung on
the next few minutes. He bent his head and laved each rosy nipple in turn. She
writhed under his touch and he blew on the hot skin, before he pressed a row of
nibbling kisses down her body until he reached her navel, and swirled his
tongue into the tiny indentation.

“Tho…m!”
His name came out as a muted shriek. He chuckled and Sybille squirmed.

“T…tickles.”

He
lifted his head an inch. “This won’t.” He moved his mouth lower, until he came
to her hard nub and teased it with his tongue.

Her
moans and squeaks increased as she thrashed from side to side on the bed. Was
it fair to tease her so much? He didn’t want her to climax until he was buried
deep inside her, and she wasn’t experienced to understand how to hold back. He
drew back.

The
tug on his hair stung.

“Do
not stop,” Sybille said fiercely. “I want you now.”

“My
intention.”

Her
hold lessened and he took the opportunity to move. “Drape your legs over my
shoulders. Yes like that.” As Sybille lifted her legs to hook her ankles on his
shoulder blades, he shuffled nearer on his knees, and settled her legs to the
best position.

She
looked from his face to his staff, which nudged the entrance to her channel and
back again to his face. “Are you sure you’ll fit?”

“Very
sure, love. Wait and see.” He edged into her and she tensed. “No don’t freeze,
for if you do it will hurt. Think of how good this will be. How as I fill you
and make you mine, I’m promising myself to you, and only you. This will be us, forever.
Two hearts beating as one. Two bodies together. You and me as one unit.”

Thom
reached and stroked her cheek. He would never tire of touching her, wanting
her, needing her. “I love you, you know. I hadn’t intended to say so, not now.
I don’t want you to think I’m saying it because of what we’re about to do. I’m
not. But…” He smiled. “I couldn’t not. Sybille, I do love you, I do want to
marry you.” Her smile and the expression of delight on her face reassured him.
He watched as she visibly relaxed. And I’m going to make you mine.” He pushed
his staff a further inch into her.

This
time she didn’t stiffen. She clenched and relaxed her muscles in a totally
different way to the way she had a few moments before. This time it was an
enticement. A hint, a demand.

“More.”

“Yours.”
He surged forward and filled her. She screamed as he thrust past her
maidenhood, and Thom paused to let her adjust to the sensation of a man within
her. Sweat beaded her brow, and he reckoned his was no better. His arms shook
as he rested on them to keep his weight off her. Several seconds passed and
then she sighed.

“Surely
that’s not all?”

“No.”

“Thank
goodness. Please show me more.” She lifted her rear up to press her body closer
to him.

It
was all he could have hoped for.

****

The
corded veins in his arms stood out as he held himself above her. In her mind,
Sybille examined every inch of her body. The sensations that bombarded her made
her ache to discover everything he had to show her.
 
The fleeting pain she had experienced was
followed by a sense of expectation, as she memorized every expression on his
face, every nuance and each tiny movement he made.

“Good?”
he asked softly.

She
nodded. “More than good.” She clenched her inner muscles again and was rewarded
by his breath hissing out of him.

“Sybille,
take care, I’m on a knife edge here.”

“I
thought you were in me?”

“I
am, and ready to spill.”

“Then
you better do something about it.” She licked her lips in the way she knew he
admired. If he intended to drive her crazy, it was surely her role to
reciprocate?

He
responded with a chuckle and began to move inside her.

“Sweet
Sybille.” The words were ground out of him. “I can’t last long.” The steady
rhythm he had built increased and she matched him thrust for thrust. “I need to
withdraw… now….”

Without
hesitation, Sybille held him deep inside her. She‘d committed herself this far,
she had no intention of reneging, or of not experiencing every last moment of
what would happen. He was
not
going
to spill outside her. If he wanted her, he would give her everything. She’d
accept nothing less.

“Sybille,
I cannot hold back.” His voice was harsh and gravelly, almost tortured.

“Good.
Then do not. I am giving you everything of me, I want the same from you.”

“So.
Be. It.” He thrust hard once, twice, and then his heat filled her.

Yet
again her word tilted on its axis and she flew.

Someone
screamed, a high keening noise that was full of exaltation and sated happiness.
Dimly in the back of her mind, Sybille realized it was her voice. She was
showing Thom how he affected her.

His
guttural shout echoed around the room, as he thrust one last time and fell,
chest heaving, onto her body.

Sybille
put her arms around him and stroked his hair. How long they stayed like that, still
joined, she had no idea. She thought his staff softened in her, but she wasn’t
sure. Was it the sort of thing you could ask?
My dear, do you go limp in me once we have scaled the peaks?
She
would have sniggered except she didn’t want to disturb Thom.

Eventually,
just as she began to get cramp—in her big toe of all places—Thom stirred.

“I‘m
heavy, I‘m sorry, my dear.” He lifted his body, and his pego slid out of her
with a gentle pop.

Definitely softer. One thing less
to enquire about.
Thom
rolled to one side, swung his legs over the edge of the daybed and stood up
.
He
stretched his arms high above his head then pressed his hands to the small of
his back.

“We
need a bigger bed. I worried we might fall off and end up in a bruised heap on
the floor.”

She
giggled. “That would never do.”

 
Thom
looked down at her with a tender expression in his
eyes.

“You’re
mine,” he said. “Planting my seed notwithstanding, I’m yours.”

“Pla…
ah yes. It’s true, there’s no way you can wriggle out of it now, is there?”
Sybille twirled an imaginary moustache. “I have you in my clutches now, you cannot
get away. Even if you want to.”

Thom
walked to the ewer and dampened a linen square. He came back to Sybille and
washed her gently. His soft touch was loving, caring and, she decided, a
reaffirmation of all they had shared.

She
sighed in pleasure. Even though she was exhausted, spent and with no energy,
his touch aroused her. “I don’t want to,” she said drowsily. “Get away I mean.
I never did, not really. But I had to know…” Her voice trailed off and she
closed her eyes. She though she heard Thom speak to her, but really it was too
much effort to concentrate on his words, let alone formulate her thoughts to
answer him.

Later.

Chapter Eighteen

Thom
looked down at Sybille who sighed and curled onto her side. She was deeply
asleep, and no doubt would be for as long as he let her. With a chuckle, he
pulled the covers over her—there was enough time to give her the rest she no
doubt needed, for he acknowledged he had pushed her hard and fast—and performed
his own ablutions. By the time he’d dressed, shook out her gown and chemise to
get rid of the worst of the wrinkles and tidied the gazebo as best he could,
his tummy gave notice they hadn’t eaten yet.

 
No doubt Sybille would be in the same state.
Thom looked out of the window to check how far the sun had moved. Within a few
minutes it would be on her face and no doubt wake her anyway, so he could have
the food prepared, and not risk the wrath of a woman awoken from her sleep by a
mere man for no apparent reason. His sister had warned him years before that on
no account must a woman’s slumbers be disturbed.

He
knew now, of course there was exceptions to the rules, but that was with ladies
who were savvy with the way the ton’s clandestine assignations worked. He wasn’t
at all sure Sybille did.

Within
a few minutes, he was transfixed as she moved each limb in turn and stretched
like a big cat. Then she opened her eyes and blinked owlishly at him.

“Hello,
what time is it?” Her voice was sleep fueled.

“Food
time. Here let me prop you up.” Thom tucked several cushions behind her and
admired the picture she made.

“You’re
salivating as you look at me,” Sybille said. “As if I’m the food.”

“You
were the appetizer,” Thom said and kissed her neck. “Now we have ohh, champagne
and chicken and game pie and…” On cue her tummy rumbled.

“We
have?” Sybille raised her eyebrows. “Then please lead me to it.”

“No
need. It’s here, ready.” He lifted a laden wooden tray onto her lap. “Help yourself.
Don’t overeat though, or you will have no appetite for dinner.”

She
paused with her hand halfway to her mouth. The chicken leg it held wavered. “Pardon?
Dinner? Oh sweet lord.” She waved the tiny joint in the direction of the
window. “What time is it?” The tray across her knees wobbled and Thom put one
hand out to steady it.

“Around
four.”

“
Four?
” She screeched the word. “Good
heavens we need to move. My parents will be expecting me back soon.” Sybille
lifted her knees enough to make the contents of the tray shift and slide over
the polished surface. “Here take that away and let me get up. Oh help, what do
I tell my parents? Thom, we’ll be late back to town.”

“There’s
no need to rush. “Your parents think we are going on from here to visit my
godmother, the Countess of Geddling.”

“Is
she expecting us?”

He
bowed his head. “Of course.”

“Well
then?” Sybille nudged the tray once more. This time he lifted it and watched in
admiration as she slid, all long-limbed elegance across the bed, to stand,
unselfconsciously, hand on hips, and glare at him.

“Where
does she live? How long have we got? Argh, my dress will not be suitable for an
evening visit. How?”

He
shut her up by dropping the tray onto the bed, with scant regard for the
contents and putting his hand across her mouth. “Do not nip my palm or I’ll put
you over my knee.” Thom warned her. “She lives in Geddling Cross. Two hours’
drive from here. Your dress will be perfect.”

Sybille
looked at him as if he’d taken leave of all his senses. Small wonder really.

“Are
you mad?”

“Not
at all, my dear. It’s true she’s expecting us. However, not until tomorrow.”

Sybille
let her hands drop to her sides. “Tomorrow?” Her fingers twitched. He watched
them warily. It was a well-known fact you could judge the mood of a Birch by
the way they used their hands.

“Tomorrow,”
he confirmed. Her fingers twitched, just once.
So far so good.

“And
tonight?”

“That’s
up to you. If you are agreeable, as you know, I have a well-equipped house not
half a mile away, ready and waiting. Plus a valise your maman organized. She, I
imagine, thinks we will return betrothed. It’s well known the Countess doesn’t
travel, and I dote on her, and would want to bring you to be introduced.”

 
“And if I don’t acquiesce?”

He
smiled. “The White Hart at the Cross has very comfortable rooms. Mrs. Tate
would accompany you to act as lady’s maid.”

“And
you?”

“Would
stay here, and drive you back to town in the morning. Via my godmother.”

“So,
let me see.” She snagged the chicken leg again and nibbled the meat. “I have
two choices. To spend the night with your housekeeper in an inn, or spend the
night with you in a house?”

“That’s
the fit of it.” He looked at the jumbled contents of the tray, found a remarkably
un-squashed piece of ham pie and took a hefty mouthful. It might only be a few
hours to dinner, but on the other hand, it might be a lot longer. Especially if
he had to search out Mrs. Tate.

Sybille
swallowed the remains of the poultry, put the leg bones on the side of the tray
and drank some wine from her glass. “I have thought of a third option, my lord.”
She lowered her eyes and peered at him from under her lashes.

“Which
is?”

Her
eyes twinkled. He mistrusted the cheeky grin she flashed at him. “You go to the
inn.”

“With
Mrs. Tate? What a scandalous suggestion. Tate will be aghast.” Thom chuckled.
And Sybille stuck her tongue out.

“Hoyden.”

“I
know.” She sighed very theatrically. “What can I do to learn to be a lady?”

Thom
turned to the chair where he’d put her clothes and lifted up her chemise. “If
you marry me you won’t need to. I love you as you are.” Would she realize he
was genuine in his assertion?

“That’s
very powerful blackmail,” Sybille said with a smile. “Almost you tempt me.”

“Only
almost?” He watched her suppress a giggle. “I am desolate.” Thom took a step toward
her.

Sybille
giggled and took a step back. He advanced, she retreated. One step at a time.
Until Sybille hit the wall and had nowhere else to go.

“Now
what?” he asked, amused at their play.

“Now
I dress.” She twitched her chemise from his hands and slipped it over her head.
“There, I was always told one must be appropriately dressed for whatever arose.”
She spoiled the mimicry of one of the starchiest matrons of the ton, by very
obviously raking his body with her glance, which lingered on his burgeoning
staff.

“And
a chemise is that?” He looked at his pego. “My body tends to think you are
overdressed for this occasion.”

She
put her hand over her mouth. “Your body needs to understand there is a time and
a place for everything. This is no longer that time or that place.” She took a
long, lingering look around the gazebo. “Sadly it will have to wait. If you are
to act as my lady’s maid please help me into my gown, and do up the buttons. Then
I will be appropriately dressed to converse with you.”

“And?”

She
sighed very theatrically. “You know the answer, Thom. Take me home.”

“Home?”
He needed her to qualify what she meant.

“Your
home.”

“Our
home.”

“If
we vanquish Bankfoot. For if we don’t my family will be ruined, and I refuse to
allow yours to become the same by association.”

He
reached for her dress, and in silence helped her into it and then did the tiny
buttons up. Only after she had tidied her hair and was once more sitting in the
chair as she watched him pull on his shirt, tuck it into his pantaloons and
pull on his boots, did he speak.

“Then
we best get a move on and foil his plans. Because I cannot, will not, let you
go.”