Chapter 14
Maryann lay on a blanket in the secluded grove, surrounded by the hum of summer—the gentle rustle of leaves above, the distant trill of birdsong, and the lazy perfume of wildflowers wafting on the warm air.
Shafts of sunlight slipped through the canopy, dappled gold and green upon her skirt.
The morning had been full: lessons with Sarah, laughter by the lake as the little girl proudly swam her first few strokes, then a simple luncheon before Sarah’s nap.
Now, with a rare hour of peace, Maryann had wandered east of the lake, carrying a basket filled with strawberries, bread, and cheese, and a bottle of chilled lemonade. She had left a note for him.
Meet me in the grove east of the lake.
Though her hand had trembled slightly as she wrote it, the memory of last night still shimmered through her like a secret flame: the way he had carried her to her door, kissed her until she’d been trembling and breathless, and then so achingly gentle pressed his lips to her forehead before walking away.
She’d lain awake afterward, wide-eyed in the dark, her heart an unruly drum.
This morning, she had seen him only from a distance, walking with Mr. Walker toward the conservatory, his expression focused, his smile easy.
She’d told herself not to feel a pang of foolish disappointment.
He was the master of the manor. She was his housekeeper.
It could never be more than what it already was— a stolen night of intimacy and longing.
“You look so beautiful,” came a deep voice. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Maryann’s eyes fluttered open. Sebastian stood a few paces away, sunlight catching on his hair and the faint sheen at his throat.
He had abandoned his coat somewhere, his sleeves rolled to the forearms, exposing strong, tanned skin.
There was something raw and arresting in his gaze—like a man starved.
Maryann’s lips curved softly. “I think summer might be my favorite season,” she murmured, turning her head to look up at him fully.
He smiled faintly, though the look in his eyes was anything but mild. “Are we having a picnic?”
Her own lips curved in response, her gaze bold as it drifted over the linen of his shirt.
“We are,” she murmured. “But I find myself distracted by wicked thoughts.”
His eyes gleamed. “Tell me about them.”
“Last night, I learned your body by touch alone… in the dark. Now, I wish to learn it by sight. I want to see the strength I felt beneath my hands.”
The air thickened between them, warm and heavy with desire. He moved closer, his shadow falling over her as he crouched beside the blanket. She could smell the faint, clean scent of soap and starch and something purely him.
She told herself to look away. She didn’t.
The way he looked at her—slowly, as though memorizing her—made her pulse stumble. She felt his gaze trace the curve of her cheek, the loose tendrils that had escaped her chignon and brushed her skin, the rise and fall of her chest where her bodice had loosened slightly in the heat.
And in that suspended, golden moment, Maryann thought that if she lifted her hand—just a little—he would come to her, and the rest of the world would vanish.
Sebastian lowered his weight onto the blanket, wrapped his hand around her waist and drew her close.
He kissed her softly, just a whisper of his lips against hers, then rose to his feet and shrugged off his waistcoat and jacket, leaving only his shirt and trousers.
The sight of him made her breath falter.
His body was lean and sculpted, his shoulders broad, his chest a smooth plane of strength and sun-burnished skin.
The play of muscle beneath it was all grace and quiet power, elegance made flesh.
“I never imagined,” she murmured, almost to herself, “that the male form could be so beautiful.” Her voice trembled with awe rather than boldness. “I wish I could paint you, so I’d never forget.”
The raw reverence in her voice struck Sebastian more deeply than any flirtation ever could. He reached for her, not with hunger, but with a profound tenderness, his calloused fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw.
“It is most odd, while I worked today, I could not escape the feeling that I deeply missed your company,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. He removed his boots and trousers, and Maryann gasped at the full sight of his nakedness, her cheeks blushing.
“You are so beautiful, Sebastian.”
He brought his other hand to the laces of her dress, his movements slow and deliberate.
Sebastian undressed her there, amidst the summer flowers and the hum of bees, with the patience of a man unwrapping a sacred relic.
Each inch of skin revealed was met with his touch—a knuckle brushing her collarbone, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the slope of her shoulder as her dress pooled at her waist. When she was bare before him, the sun warming her skin, he leaned back on his elbows, allowing her gaze to drink him in, his own arousal evident and straining against his abdomen.
“See what you do to me, Maryann,” he said, his voice a rough caress. “This is all for you.”
She knelt before him. Her exploration began not with her eyes, but with her hands.
She mapped the hard planes of his chest, her fingertips learning the texture of his skin, the dusting of hair, the powerful beat of his heart beneath her palm.
She leaned in, and her mouth followed the path her hands had blazed.
She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, then traced the rigid line of his collarbone with her tongue.
Sebastian groaned, his head falling back, his fingers tangling in her unbound hair. “Your mouth is a wicked thing,” he breathed.
She continued her descent, her kisses growing bolder, more languid.
She lavished attention on his nipples until they were tight buds under her tongue.
Her hands slid down the corded muscles of his abdomen, and when her fingers finally, tentatively, closed around the hard, silken length of him, his whole body jerked.
“Maryann,” he gasped, a warning and a plea.
He could take no more. In a fluid, powerful motion, he rolled them over, covering her body with his, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was all-consuming.
This was not the tender exploration of before; this was a storm of need.
His tongue plunged into her mouth, mimicking the ancient rhythm their bodies craved, and she met him thrust for thrust, her nails scoring lightly down his back.
He kissed her until they were both breathless, until her hips were arching off the blanket.
He moved down her body, his mouth a brand of fire on her breasts, her stomach, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
He parted her with his thumbs and buried his face between her legs, his tongue finding her pussy with unerring accuracy.
Maryann cried out, her fingers clutching at the grass as he laved and suckled, building a coil of tension so tight she thought she would break. Just as she was about to shatter, he pulled away, leaving her trembling on the precipice. He wanted her to climax on his cock.
“I need to be inside you,” he rasped. “But I want to see you. I want to watch you take your pleasure from me.” He guided her, his hands on her hips, his voice a husky command. “Ride me, Maryann.”
With trembling limbs, she moved to straddle him, her knees sinking into the soft grass on either side of his hips.
He held himself steady for her, his gaze locked with hers.
Slowly, exquisitely slowly, she lowered herself onto his cock, moaning as her body stretched to accommodate his girth, another low, broken moan escaping her lips as he filled her completely.
Sebastian groaned. She was so damn wet yet so tight. He felt as if he could spill his seed already. For a moment, she sat there, impaled, her inner muscles fluttering around him as she adjusted to the invasion. Then, she began to move.
It started as a slow, undulating roll of her hips, a gentle rocking that made him groan her name to the sky.
Her hands rested on his chest for balance, her head thrown back, her hair a cascade down her back.
As her confidence grew, so did her rhythm.
She rose and fell upon him, each descent a little harder, a little faster, taking him deeper with every stroke.
Sebastian’s hands gripped her hips, not to control, but to anchor them both. His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of her belly, feeling the muscles clench with her effort. “That’s it, love,” he encouraged, his voice strained. “Just like that. You feel… God, you feel like heaven.”
The world narrowed to this sun-dappled grove, to the sound of their ragged breathing and the slick, rhythmic sound of their union.
The scent of crushed clover and their own arousal filled the air.
Maryann’s movements became more frantic, her quest for release written in the tense lines of her body.
She found a new angle, and a sharp cry was torn from her throat.
“Sebastian! I— oh, yes!”
He felt her inner walls begin to convulse around him, the first violent tremors of her climax.
It was his undoing. With a guttural roar, he thrust up into her one last, deep time, his own release surging into her as her name became a prayer on his lips.
Her body seized, a long, shuddering cry echoing through the trees as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.
Spent, she collapsed forward onto his chest, their sweat-slicked skin sliding together.
Sebastian wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as their heartbeats slowly settled into a synchronized rhythm.
He pressed a kiss to her damp temple, wondering why it felt as if he would never be able to let go of this woman.