Chapter 4 #2
“I want you so badly, Harry. I’m fit to burst.”
She gave him a smile that probably looked more like a leer and slid down his body, landing on her knees in front of him.
“Oh, my God,” Thomas said as Harry began to unbutton his fall. A hand reached down to fondle her breast through her dress, and she felt her nipple stiffen under his caress.
Yes.
“We could have done this two weeks ago when I started to feel lustful again,” she said, making a hash of undoing the buttons. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Finally, the fall fell, and her husband’s cock sprang out.
“You’re never stupid, Harry, I’m the—” Thomas gargled on his words as she took the tip of his phallus into her mouth right away, too full of need and craving to delay any longer.
She looked up as she moved her tongue over him, tasted his musk, took more of him into her mouth, tenderly squeezed his ballocks. His eyes were dark, gazing down at her and what she was doing to him.
“You make me wild,” he breathed. “And I don’t want to hurt you.”
She took her mouth off of him and stroked the skin stretched tightly over his hard phallus. Velvet skin that was now dark-red and blood-hot and slick from her tongue.
“I want you to fuck my mouth, Tommy. Here. Now. Right now.”
He swallowed. “But gently.”
She cackled. “My mouth didn’t give birth. You can be rough. I want you to be rough.”
“I—”
“Be rough now. I want to make you come quickly. Then you can be gentle afterwards.”
She engulfed him with her mouth again and pushed his cock as far back in her throat as she could and then withdrew and began to stroke with her lips and tongue and hand just as she knew he liked. With wantonness and abandon and a dash of brutality.
His hands went to her head and toyed with her hair.
She increased her efforts. His fingers wove into her tendrils and tightened.
Good. She glanced up and saw his lips were slack and parted, his brow was thunderous, his eyes were savage.
Even better. She took her hand away from his shaft and set up a rhythm of moving her head back and forth in a mimicry of copulation.
He was close. He had to be. Even though his mouth was far above her ears, she could hear his harsh breathing.
His hands were clenching erratically on her scalp, loosening hairpins, ruining Smythe’s careful arrangement from the morning.
In the final few seconds, he grabbed her head and fed himself into her throat, taking control of her.
She would have crowed in triumph if she hadn’t been so busy swallowing his seed.
He slumped against the door, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and stared down at her as if simultaneously drugged and bewitched.
She smacked her lips. She laughed. “I love your cock.” She reached her arms up. “Now me.”
He moved slowly at first, as if his release had drained him. But he undressed her and she undressed him and they got into the bed.
“Touch my breasts, Tommy. Please.”
Her milk had disappeared weeks ago, but now her husband suckled on her as if she still had that to offer and he was dying of thirst. Her pelvis arched upwards, again and again.
“Touch my button,” she said.
He tried to stimulate her. He did try. But his touch was too light, he was too hesitant, and she was too crazed by desire.
“I’ll do it,” she said. She wanted to shove his hand away, but she remembered in time not to. “If that’s all right with you.”
He brushed her maidenhair with a frustrating delicacy. “Is that what you want?”
His eyes were worried. Worry had no place in the aerie. She rubbed her face over his jaw, scratched herself on his whiskers.
“Make love to me above the waist, Tommy. I want to spend, yes, but I want to do it with you, here, in this bed, us together. That’s what I want.”
She brought her finger to his mouth, and he sucked it in and laved it with his hot, wet tongue.
It was a new kind of pleasure to touch herself between her legs—carefully, carefully—while her husband worshipped her breasts and her neck with his lips and his hands. It felt both innocent and naughty, familiar and strange, all at once.
Oh, she had an ache, such an ache, and she was so desperate now. His hands were warm and sure on her flesh. He was sucking and kissing her teats, her skin, everywhere.
She swept her finger over her hard button. Faster, faster.
Thomas bit a nipple.
Harry howled.
Waves of pure pleasure rolled over her again and again and again, and when her cunt clenched, there was no pain, only bliss.
She opened her eyes to Thomas’ grin.
“Thank you,” he said.
She pulled him down to the pillow next to her head. “Mmmph. You know me better than that.”
He lay on his side and drew circles on her skin with his fingertips, and Harry discovered she didn’t mind this.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She meant she had a selfish nature and had only been thinking of her own pleasure, and not her husband’s, when she had gone to question Alasdair.
But mothers weren’t selfish. She didn’t know if she could change herself, but maybe she could let Thomas think she had.
“Never mind.”
And suddenly she did feel generous. Naked and sated, in a warm room that smelled of arousal, next to her handsome husband who was equally naked with his muscled thighs and hairy chest, she had everything she wanted. More than that.
She could afford some generosity.
“Did our daughter do anything remarkable this afternoon while I was gone?”
Thomas ran his hand down Harry’s spine, fondled her dimples above her buttocks. “She proved she is very good at belching.”
Harry moved closer to him. “Belching? No. Hypatia is a lady, and ladies eructate. They do not belch.”
Thomas ducked his head and kissed a breast.
“Well, she’s very good at whatever you just said and then casting up a flood of half-curdled milk all over her father’s tailcoat and cravat.”
Oh, that’s why Thomas had been in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. Hypatia had been responsible for that. What a good, helpful baby she was. Harry would have to thank her.
Thomas moved his hand from Harry’s back to her belly and tickled her umbilicus, and she giggled with glee.
And not from the tickle.
But because she’d had it wrong way round.
Her daughter was an ally, not a rival. They made a family together, a family for Thomas.
He had been all alone until Harry had come to Sommerleigh, and now Harry had made sure he would never be alone again.
There would be Hypatia, and, in the future, more children.
Harry would give Thomas broad-shouldered boys and strong-legged girls he would teach to ride.
Daughters and sons and companions and playmates.
And it didn’t matter Harry couldn’t be the mother Catherine had been.
Or the one that Mary would be. Or Arabella.
Because Harry had chosen Thomas. He would explain her to the children and the children to her.
He’d fill in the gaps. He’d build the bridges.
He’d make it all right, just as he had with everything else in their lives together.
She grabbed his head, startling him, and looked directly into his eyes.
“You’re a good father, Thomas Drake.”
He had never taken compliments well. An eyelid twitched. His lips flattened. Things flitted across his face.
Things Harry had learned were emotions. Weeping was imminent.
She released his head. She sighed.
“And a good husband.”
She quirked one eyebrow and gave him a devilish grin as she reached for his cock.
“And a truly exceptional lover.”
The tears never came, but both Harry and Thomas did.