Chapter Twenty-Three
Augustus,
I refuse to stop writing to you. Of course, I do not write toyou, as you actually exist, the man you’ve actually turned out to be. I know that. But I refuse to stop writing to the idea of you, the man to whom I became so attached. I will not give you the satisfaction of killing him, of taking him from me, when I still need him. Perhaps, he was not real, but that does not mean that you, or him, my Augustus, can’t be of use to me still.
The passage to France was horrific. Not only was the sea choppy, but everyone on board came down with the ague. Even Eloisa’s children, Natasha and Nathanial, who are six and eight, were ill. I felt so badly for them and tried to nurse them, but then I came down with it myself.
At one point, I was so ill, it occurred to me that I could die. Is it wrong that I thought of you? I thought of what you might say to me. How you might hold me and encourage me to get better. I know thatyou wouldn’t really do that—it just that, once, I merely thought you would. But still, the notion comforted me, and I did get better. So maybe there was something in it.
Olivia
*
Olivia had notthought that Augustus Carrington could surprise her any more than he had already done.
She was shocked to find that she was, once again, very wrong about him.
Not only was he not the servant-bedder of repute, nor the hardened scoundrel known as the Ten Guinea Earl or one of the Rank Rakes, but he was not even a rake at all.
He hadn’t had another woman for thirteen years.
For all that time, he had waited for her.
No, that wasn’t right. Because he had had no idea if she would ever return. He could not have expected that he would ever see her again. The mere memory of her had kept him from moving forward. Such was the depth of his loyalty and regard for her.
His confession moved her beyond her powers of verbal expression. It destroyed the last of her reservations about him. She understood now. His insistence on courting her, his frantic response to her return, and his sensitivity to her touch—all the pieces fell into place. He was not the man anyone thought him to be. He was something much greater, much rarer.
And so she had worked to give him the best orgasm that she could. It wouldn’t have mattered to her if they had come together and he had spent in an instant, but she understood that he did not want it that way. So, instead, she gave him all she could with her mouth and swallowed his sweet release, cherishing the intimacy of his total surrender.
Once he was completely spent, she pulled level with him. His eyes were still closed, but she saw, to her surprise, the track of a tear on his cheek. She moved to kiss it, tasting the salt and letting it mingle in her mouth with that of his release.
In response, he drew his arms around her and pulled her towards him. He buried his face into her neck and the simple intimacy of that gesture felt so good that she wanted to weep herself.
She did not notice herself drifting off to sleep. But when she awoke, hours later, the candles burned lower and he was hard again against her backside.
When she stirred, she felt him do the same.
She turned to face him.
“Good evening,” she said, smiling at him. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful, waking from sleep that it rent her heart. No man had any right to look as tempting as he did half-asleep.
“Good evening,” he replied, returning her smile.
“I hope you understand,” she said, snaking her hand once more down to his groin and being rewarded by his sharp intake of breath, “that I am not done with you tonight. It is not often that I have such a handsome man in my bed.”
Augustus laughed. “I am at your service, madam. I could not refuse such a beautiful bedfellow for anything.”
His expression grew serious, then, however. And she saw that, despite the smile on his face and the erection in her hand, that he was not in the mood for jests.
“I cannot let you go again, Olivia. Not after being here with you, like this.”
“I cannot promise to marry you.” A thread of panic going through her at the prospect of having to choose between losing him and embracing a life she was not at all sure that she wanted.
“I know. I understand. And I am merely telling you that, just the same, I cannot let you go again.”
He put his hand to her cheek and pulled her into a kiss, teasing her lips open, gently. He deepened the kiss and she felt the effects deep inside of herself. She pulsed for him—once, twice.
He pulled back.
“I need you. Now.”
In response, he kissed her again and she began to tease him once more with her fingers, marveling at the hard length of him, the thickness that she missed and wanted inside of her.
He groaned and broke their kiss.
“Enough,” he said, pulling her hand away from him. “I want to taste you.”
Then, he was over her, palming her breasts, returning her own taunts with his fingers. He placed his mouth to her nipples and sucked each one, taking his time. He lavished attention on each until he had drawn them into hard peaks and she could feel her slickness wet her thighs.
He put his fingers to her entrance and swore at the evidence of her arousal.
“Please, Augustus,” she said, hurrying him on, unable to wait. He slid one finger inside of her and she cried out. But she didn’t want to spend without him inside of her. “I want you inside of me.”
Their eyes met. That otherworldly blue flashed hard with unmistakable yearning.
“I will need to get on top of you. I need to have control. I am still not sure—I want you very, very much.”
She nodded. “Anything.”
“I will not spend inside of you. I will not have the risk to you—not without us married.”
“I know you wouldn’t. I trust you.”
“I am not sure that you should,” he said, his breath a rasp. “But I will do everything I can.”
“I understand. Now, please.”
He nodded.
Olivia widened her legs for him and he drew himself level with her. She placed her hand on his cock and guided him to her entrance. For a moment, his cock lingered there, and he groaned.
“You’re so wet, Olivia.”
“For you, I am.”
She opened her legs wider and he entered, only slightly. His gasp satisfied some deep part of her—just as his cock began to hint at what it would do to her core.
“I need all of you.”
He slid into her to the hilt.
She cried out from the pleasure. She hadn’t been with him in thirteen years and yet it was just as she remembered. So good, it brought tears to her eyes. Even when he was stationary, unmoving, he filled her up, like he was made to do so.
“Did I hurt you?” he said, alarm and arousal melding in his voice.
“No. Just the opposite. You feel—your cock is perfect.”
“Don’t speak that way. You’ll make me spend from that alone.”
She laughed and the vibrations made the muscles in her pelvis slide against his length. He hissed at the sensation.
“I need to move,” he groaned, “I am not sure how long I will last.”
“Please, I need you to.”
And then he was moving and it was heaven. He was as well-suited to her as she remembered. The delicious slide of him sent her muscles tensing, responding to him.
Above her, he gritted his teeth, his expression somewhere between pleasure and agony.
He stopped.
“What is the matter?” she asked, panting from the effort of speaking and having him create such intoxicating pressure inside of her.
“I am going to spend. It is too good.”
“I want you to spend.” And it was true—they had all night to see to her pleasure. What mattered was not her orgasm, when or how it occurred, but being close to him. “I just want to be with you—like this. It does not matter to me. You feel so good.”
Even now, she could feel her core pulsing against him, tantalized by his cock. She flexed her pelvic muscles to chase more of that sensation and he cried out.
“Don’t.”
“It is alright,” she murmured, pulling him down towards her, so her breasts made contact with his chest. “Relax.”
He murmured something incoherent in response and she brought her hand to the back of his head. She opened her legs wider and then kissed him, rocking back and forth against him.
He moaned against her mouth, not breaking the kiss, but he resumed their tupping as he did so. He brought himself slowly, rhythmically, in and out of her, and the pleasure in her heightened. He felt so good, hard and heavy between her legs, the perfect weight.
As he drove, she moved one hand to his buttocks, helping him to do so. When he increased his pace and went deeper, she had to speak—to tell him what he did to her.
But he spoke first.
“You are heaven. Your pussy is perfect. So wet and so tight.”
Her innermost muscles clenched at the raw words and he let out a ragged cry.
Then, once more, he stopped.
He looked into her face.
“You know how much I love you, don’t you, Olivia? There can be no one else for me, ever, but you. You know, that don’t you?”
It was so strange. She had not understood that he felt so intensely for her before tonight, despite his proposal. She hadn’t understood him, then, not fully. But she saw the truth now. How they had misunderstood each other. How they had lost their way with each other but how his commitment to her, his sureness in his love for her, had brought them back together.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I love you, too.”
He dipped down and took her mouth into a deep kiss.
And then he was driving into her, his pace a frenzy, the pleasure in her building and building.
“I am going to come,” she said, and then she was, her muscles clenching and releasing. He jerked back with a cry and then she felt his hot seed against her stomach. As she came, she missed the hard length of him, but she gloried in the feeling of his semen against her and the sight of him milking himself, his eyes narrowed to slits of pleasure.
It was so gratifying to know that she had given that to him.
*
After their coupling,they slept once more, his arms around her.
Their daze this time lasted longer—when she awoke, the candle had burned out and weak, early morning light filled the window. It occurred to her that he probably should not be found in her room.
“Augustus,” she whispered to him, “It is nearly morning.”
His eyes opened. He smiled at her.
“If you are found here, the news will be all over the servant’s quarters by breakfast.”
He looked towards the window.
“We have at least an hour until any servant stirs. I will not leave you a moment sooner.”
She laughed and inched closer to him. The warmth of their intimacy was not one she wanted to abandon, either. If she could, she would choose to stay in this room with him forever.
“I wish we could be like this all the time.”
“Me too.”
She appreciated that he did not say the obvious—that he did not point back to his proposal and how a yes from her would grant this wish.
“When we are like this,” she said, tentatively, “It seems so simple. But I know it is not.”
He said nothing and she sensed that he was waiting for her to say more. With him pressed against her, his warmth so fortifying, it seemed possible to share her anxieties.
“If I married you, I would not just be your wife. I would have to be a countess. Your rank—it is who you are and thus who I would be.”
“It is true,” he said, behind her, his voice soft and at her ear, “I cannot change that. I would give up the title for you if I could. If it made you more comfortable, I would trade places with a vicar or a ploughman in an instant. But it is not in my power.”
“I have no desire to be a countess. I was not born to it—and even if I exceled at it, I would never be accepted by your world. They would never understand why you married me, and our lives would be—extremely uncomfortable.”
“I understand your hesitation. But my family, my friends, they would understand. We would not have to engage with the rest of society.”
“Your family is society. You are related to most of the great families.”
“I know. I do not pretend that I can undo it. But all the same, I cannot lose you again, Olivia. I do not know how we will come to a solution, but I know that I cannot lose you. I will not stand for it. Not when you love me—and I would die for you.”
She sighed against him at these pretty words, so soothing, so wonderful to hear after years of thinking that the one man that she had ever truly loved had cast her off without a second thought. She felt his hard length against her backside once more and the sensation filled her with wicked thoughts.
“And I want you again,” she said, not desiring to linger on the serious conversation they were having. Right now, she didn’t have a solution to their problem—and she didn’t want to waste time thinking about an issue that seemed so intractable, so irresolvable, when they had right now.
“You know how I feel,” he said, that roguish tone that was so natural to him creeping into his voice. “You just have to tell me how you want me.”
“I want you behind me. Like we are now.”
She needed to say no more. Before she knew it, he had drawn her up on all fours and he was behind her.
“Are you ready for me?”
“Yes,” she breathed. She felt his fingers begin to stroke her from behind.
“Hmm, I think we can do better than this.”
He continued touching her and, as he did so, she felt herself open for him.
“Do you know how beautiful you are, Olivia?” he said, “Especially here.” She felt his finger trail from her ass down to her core. “You have the most beautiful pussy in the world. So pretty and sweet.”
He pressed two fingers inside of her, the unusual sensation of the motion from behind her enhancing the pleasure.
“And your arse,” he said, “So round and large for me. Exactly as I want it. Perfect.”
He brought his hand to the curve of her ass and caressed her. She knew that many would see her as too big there, too plump, but he had never seemed to mind. His admiration aroused her—all the more because she agreed with him. She didn’t think she would be more beautiful if she were smaller—and especially not there.
His fingers found her core again and he let out a little sigh when he did so. It seemed that, this time, he was satisfied with what he found. Still, he took his time playing with her, sliding his fingers back from her core to her clit, reveling in her wetness.
“I need you. Now.”
“Whatever you wish, my love.”
The endearment sent her core—and her heart—pulsing.
Then, she felt him at her entrance, thick and hard. She opened her legs further and he entered her, filling her up. Keeping his hand on her ass, he brought her forward and back on his cock, the sensation exquisite. With each movement, she cried out, unable to contain herself. She felt impaled in the best way, the angle filling her up to her limit.
He pumped into her lazily, tantalizing her, and then, bringing his hand to her clit, he gave her extra sensation. Soon, she was on the edge.
“I’m going to come,” she told him, feeling herself clench around him. He did not hurry his pace, however.
“Come for me. Come all over my cock.”
And she did, crying out, clenching and unclenching, getting to savor the hard feel of him this time.
As she did so, he kept pumping into her slowly. Once she came back to earth, he did not stop. She loved this slow, easy pace, and she knew it must cost him some effort—his ragged breathing gave him away. And yet he did not hasten himself.
Soon, she felt the stirrings of another orgasm rising in her. It seemed incredible, but it was true. It was the position and the way that he did not hurry himself. This time, somehow, she did not even need his hand stimulating her; his cock was enough, so soon after her last orgasm.
“I will spend again,” she gasped.
He grunted his approval and she realized that he was unable to speak. Thinking of how his dirty words had enhanced her own pleasure, she decided to return the favor.
“You’re going to make me come with your thick cock. Is that what you want?”
“God, yes,” he said, the words coming out nearly indecipherable.
She rocked against him, hurrying their pace, hastening herself towards her own crisis. She could tell that he did not mind because he did not resist—he joined her.
“You’re making me spend,” she said, as she rocked against him and felt herself cresting once more, “Oh god, Augustus, your cock is so perfect.”
She came, her muscles contracting even harder this time over his length. The resistance that he offered felt exquisite.
He cried out and jerked away from her. She felt his hot seed once more, this time on her back and ass—the warm, sensual feeling of it satisfying some primal part of her.
Olivia collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. She only realized now that her legs trembled from the strength of her two orgasms.
She felt a warm cloth on her skin and she turned to see him cleaning her up.
“Always the gentleman,” she laughed.
“Not a nobleman for nothing,” he replied, that dimple winking in his cheek, his expression self-satisfied, rakish. She could understand why everyone had believed that he was a debaucher. When he smiled like that, it seemed so plausible.
He moved to take her once more in his arms, but she shook her head.
“You need to go. The servants will be up soon. It will be more difficult if we are discovered.”
He nodded and stooped to collect his clothes. She watched as he dressed.
Once he was fully clothed, he approached her where she lay, naked still, on the bed.
“Tell me you won’t leave me,” he said, when he bent to kiss her, his clothes back on. “That is all I ask. For nothing more.”
“I won’t leave you,” she said, her voice fluttering over the promise, the words feeling as weighty as if she were agreeing to a marriage. “Augustus, perhaps…”
She trailed off, unsure of whether she should suggest the idea that had occurred to her.
“Tell me.” He was still bent over the bed, his eyes blazing.
“I won’t leave you,” she said, “And what if, instead of marriage, I was your mistress. I was already, after all, once before.”
It was, she thought, all that she had ever really wanted from him. All that she had hoped for with him, back then. She merely wanted to be with him.
“Olivia, I want you to be my wife.”
“I know, and I am not saying no to that—not yet, anyway. But as a compromise, for now, I could be yours. In this way.”
He kissed her.
“If that is what you can give,” Augustus said, putting his fingers to her chin and kissing her once more, quickly, “Then it is what I will take.”