The Secret Desires of a Governess (12 page)

While his son was gone, the old witch who had lost her daughter hobbled her way up to the grand doors of the king’s entry. Cold and sick, she sought refuge from a winter storm that turned the lands outside dangerous to those who dared to venture into the cold.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Lord Brendall’s finger trailed a hot path along the exposed line of her neck.

Why hadn’t she denied him this plea sure? Why didn’t she protest? The answer was simple, really: She wanted this.

Abby closed her eyes, savoring the soft touch and the warmth of his body surrounding her, trying to forget the fact that what she was doing might be the wrong thing to do.

His tickling touch was a delicate branding to her senses.

“What is it you wish of me?” she asked, breathless from his light caress.

She wasn’t sure what had decided her on entering Lord Brendall’s study and subsequently staying in his company.

She couldn’t claim curiosity at this stage . . . She didn’t want to be curious, she wanted to know.

Instead of answering her, he leaned in and ran the tip of his nose along the shell of her ear, rasping out in a low tone, “I can’t help myself when I’m around you.”

That made two of them.

She should run off like any demure and sane lady would. Instead she curled her fingers around his biceps.

To stop him from taking further advantage or to keep him from moving away from her, she couldn’t say.

His hand moved around to her back and caressed her rump in slow circles, tilting her pelvis closer to his.

She wanted this. Wanted him to touch her. Ached to feel his body cover hers in such a primal position that it had all her senses reeling. To feel something other than the cold that had seeped into her bones since setting foot inside this morbid, dreary castle would be more than a blessing, especially given that Lord Brendall would be warming her.

She began to wonder her wisdom in putting herself in this situation. This position. He’d probably think her no better than a tavern wench.

She hadn’t realized how lusty a nature she had. Had she been stifling it all these years? Well, she’d certainly never acted upon her desires— not that she’d ever wanted anyone until she’d met the galling yet intriguing Lord Brendall.

Not that she’d ever wanted to act upon her desires— aside from a few kisses that curiosity had prompted her into stealing years ago.

The back of his finger caressed her cheek. “How far will you let this go?” he asked. “Or I, for that matter?”

Was he as unsure as she? The thought endeared him to her more.

Her eyes slid closed. Her back bowed as she sought to get closer to him, her shoulders striking the door. He followed her. Her hands spanned over his chest. An errant lock of hair fell over her brow, tickling at her nose and lips with every inhalation. She tried to blow it away, but it fluttered back down to tease her cheek.

His hands stopped moving. She didn’t like that in the least. It meant her mind had free rein to think. Thinking wasn’t good. Thinking made her realize how misguided her actions were. For what reason was she so willing to ruin herself? The answer was obvious: She’d completely lost her wits.

He might think they could be lovers in the evening while she taught his son during the day. But reality wasn’t so kind as that. She had to put an end to this.

She had to stop him. Tell him no. She just didn’t want to do that to night. She wanted to feel a

man’s body against hers just once. And not any man. This man.

What was it about him that made her toss years of good behavior out the window?

When his hand curved over the roundness of her breast, stopping him was the farthest thing from her mind. His other hand was lifting the mass of her skirts, so high she felt the brush of cool air on her stockinged legs. His hands skimming daringly up her thigh and around to her rear.

Oh, God, what would it feel like if he touched her bare skin, stroked it as he did her clothed form? She had an inexplicable desire to touch his bare skin. To feel the heat of him along the length of her body as they writhed in mutual ecstasy.

“We shouldn’t.” The words came out on a moan and not as a sound suggestion.

“We are doing this.”

“Lord Brendall . . .”

“Elliott. My name is Elliott.”

“My lord, there are too many dangers in doing this.”

Her mind might suggest that, but her heart suggested otherwise.

“Will you deny yourself this?” His fingers found the slit in her drawers and slid along the damp flesh between her thighs. “Your dew proves what you want. You are wet for me. Because of me.”

His lips brushed against hers.

She should be embarrassed by such blunt words. Embarrassed that he touched her so intimately and that she didn’t even have the decency to blush like the maiden she was. She should be pushing him away to preserve her innocence. Not encouraging whatever this was they were about to indulge in.

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“Who’s to say what is right, Miss Hallaway?” There was a pause, and then another gentle brush of his lips against hers. “Tell me to stop, then.”

She couldn’t do that. Refused to deny herself this.

Whatever this was.

When his finger slid beyond the slit of her drawers and inside her core, her resolve to cease what they were doing completely vanished. They wouldn’t have to complete the act, would they? She’d once seen naughty picture cards of eighteenth century etchings. They’d depicted men licking at the core of a woman, women sucking the rod of a man.

They could find mutual bliss in such an act, couldn’t they? Though she’d been thoroughly scandalized years ago when she’d found the bawdy drawings among her father’s things, time and curiosity had made the scenes less shocking and more interesting.

For him to pull his hand away from her when she felt like she was coming undone was foolish. She might as well take what he gave her so freely. Enjoy the moment.

Sliding her hand lower, she stroked the length of his erection straining so hard against the front of his trousers.

He stilled in his ministrations, a groan coming from deep in his lungs. Then his fingers were moving again, slicking over her, finding that little pearl she’d discovered only last year. She knew what kind of excitement that would bring her. She wasn’t ashamed to have learned such a thing about her body, either. How could she be when it brought so much pleasure?

She couldn’t stop the thrust of her pelvis, the grind of her clitoris over his deft fingers. He inserted his middle finger into her sheath, his thumb still rubbing against her nub.

That was something she’d never contemplated doing—sticking her fingers inside herself. She’d only ever rubbed that part of herself. The feel of him inside her sent a tingling thrill to her belly. She wanted more. So much more.

She’d not voice that request to Lord Brendall. Could not find the words to voice her desires.

Elliott. His name was Elliott. At least in her mind she’d call him by his Christian name.

He thrust his groin against her hand harder as he pulled his finger from her sheath and slid back

inside so slowly she wanted to scream her need for more. His fingers never stopped working their magic against her nub.

When a gush of liquid released from her center, Elliott gave a harsh curse and kissed her again, nipping at her lips, thrusting his tongue to the same tempo his fingers plunged within her— for there were two fingers within her sheath now.

Her strokes were firmer against his hardened member.

She wanted to put that piece of flesh in her mouth. Suck at him till he found the same kind of release she’d find any moment.

The titillation of his fingers never stopped. Neither did the thrust of his rod in her palm.

“You’re so damn tight, the very thought of fucking you nearly has me ready to let off with just the stroke of your palm.”

She mewled at his harshly spoken words, reaching for the final outcome of what his hands would soon accomplish. She made no response, not with words at any rate.

She was past the simple capabilities of speech. Past thought altogether. She could only feel. She was so close to that final explosion of bliss that she stilled, solely focused on his hand.

There. Right there. His fingers circled over the flesh between her thighs. Rotating tightly around that hidden part of her with practiced ease. Elliott must have felt the tension strumming through her body, for his strokes grew firmer and longer as he swept through the folds of her sex to spread the fluids from her core. His fingers pressed inside her as he rotated his thumb in a steady rhythm.

Her breath caught, her muscles clenched as she hit her peak. He pulled away from her, a deep growl of animalistic approval in his chest just before his mouth found hers again in a deep tongue- dueling kiss.

How she managed to think at all was a bit of a miracle.

Still unable to voice her thoughts, say what she so badly wanted to do, she pushed him away. He stepped back from their ferocious kiss, disappointment clear in his hard gaze.

She saw his thoughts reflected in the stormy, arousal-ridden blue, like angry waves crashing on the shore, sucking away the earth into its watery grave. Did he really think she’d reject him after finding such plea sure in his arms?

Not a chance of that happening. She wanted this more than anything. So much so, she admitted, she needed more.

Had someone chosen that moment to intrude— thank goodness no one had— she doubted she could have stopped herself from what she was about to do.

Hiking up her skirts, which had fallen back around her ankles, she placed one hand on his lean hip and dropped to her knees in front of him. She didn’t give herself time to think about what she was doing. Because truth to tell, she didn’t know the first thing about doing such a thing, she only knew it was possible.

Her fingers were sure and steady as she released the fastenings on his trousers. Her breath held as she ruched the material down from his hips only to reveal the linen impediment of his underclothes.

The sound that came from her throat was one of distress and eagerness all mingled together. When Elliott gave a slight chuckle, she stalled, her hands on the upper edge of his drawers. He’d never laughed before, not in her presence anyway. She did that.

Was it possible her fumbling had made the ice- cold man smile? She glanced up at him. No smile tilted his lips. They were pressed in a firm line. He stared down at her, eyes half lidded. She was locked in that sharp gaze of his. Unable to continue.

All the saliva dried from her throat, and her heart beat such an erratic tattoo against her chest, she could actually hear it. She parted her lips and waited for him to say something. Anything.

When he pushed his drawers down, releasing the length of his rod, she swallowed again and couldn’t quite tamp down the high- pitched sound of astonishment she released.

He grasped the base of his cock with one hand and threaded his fingers in her hair with the other.

His instrument was a great deal bigger than any of the ones she’d made careful study of in the etchings found in the erotic collection still hidden in a pouch at the back of her journal.

Elliott’s large hands couldn’t even cover his length. Her hand certainly wouldn’t wrap around the full girth.

Her instincts had always done her well; she’d rely heavily upon them to do what she’d craved doing the moment he’d pushed her up against the wall for his wicked ministrations. She leaned in and kissed the rounded head that was a darker pink, while the shaft was more flesh- colored with a thick vein running down the underside.

She licked at the bead of liquid that moistened the crown. The flesh was smoother and softer than she could ever have imagined. Men’s bodies were so much harder than a woman’s that it was pleasantly surprising to find this vulnerability, this unexpected difference. She couldn’t help but imagine what that steely smooth piece of flesh would feel like sliding into her body.

Her mouth opened, her tongue slid around the head as she capped her mouth around the whole end of him. She wasn’t sure what she should do. The fl at of her tongue caressed the bottom edge, feeling the smooth texture, the softness as she sucked him gently into her mouth.

His hand was firmly tangled in her hair, like he was afraid she’d stop or pull away.

He slowly pushed into her mouth and then pulled out, sliding his rigid length along her tongue, showing her what he liked and wanted. His hand fisted at the base of his cock, stroking it with each forward push down her throat.

She wanted to be the one holding the base. Make him wild with the same ecstasy he’d shown her moments ago.

She placed her hand over his. He shook her off and led her hand to cup the tight sac beneath his rod.

“Roll them,” he gritted out before taking hold of the base of his cock again. Was that to keep from pushing too far into her mouth?

Looking up at him, she was surprised to find him staring down at her. His expression was dark, clouded with lust. She kept her eyes on his. Not wanting to break the intimate contact they shared. It seemed more intimate to stare back at each other while involved in such an act than it did to actually be sucking his thick, heavy rod into her mouth.

“I am going to taste you.” There was a firm edge of promise in his voice that made her shiver and groan around him.

She could guess what he meant. Very well. Her imagination was running wild with the possibilities. She sucked at him harder with a half groan, half moan still in her throat.

When she continued to make that sound in her throat, he hissed in a breath and clenched his jaw.

She never broke eye contact with him from that point forward.

Hunger. That’s what the look was in his eyes. A hunger for more. For her. The thought sent a jolt of pleasure through her veins, and more fluid rushed to her center.

Her mouth moved faster, tongue slicking the way and aiding her.

With a growl, he pulled away from her. Too soon. She wanted more. She wasn’t done exploring him.