A second later, he was buried deep inside her and she was moving her hips in a delectable rhythm while she pulled his cravat loose. She took pleasure in playing the teasing sorceress for a time, undressing him slowly as she rode him, flaunting her voluptuous body, not letting him touch her, moving up and down on him with tantalizing deliberation.
He obliged her although he was taut with the effort, fiercely aroused and not sure how long he could play the subservient role. She made the mistake of saying, “I never let men touch me,” as she slid his trousers and undershorts down his thighs. That plural noun seriously provoked him, his jealousy very near the surface and instead of obliging her this time, he took her lavish breasts in his hands and gently compressed the pliant flesh.
“You aren’t allowed,” she said, her voice coolly imperious.
“Now if only you could stop me,” he murmured, raising the pale mounds of her breasts upward as he kicked off the last of his clothes.
“I insist.”
He kept lifting.
“Simon! Stop!”
He didn’t and she was forced up on her knees until she was resting on the very tip of his erection. “You’re going to let this man touch you, aren’t you darling?” His voice was whisper soft.
Her breasts were jutting out like great ostentatious globes, her spine arched against the pressure of his fingers. “Yes, yes.”
“And if you’re very good,” he whispered, lifting his hands a fraction higher so she whimpered at almost losing contact with his penis, “I’ll let you come again.”
“I’ll be good.” She was utterly still, the tip of his erection barely grazing her vulva. She bit her lip. “Really, I will.”
A wave of jealousy so intense he felt its heat, washed over him. How many other men had brought her to this state? “Fucking slut,” he growled, his fingers closing cruelly on her flesh.
Her cry was one of desperation, not pain and she tried to move downward on his erection.
He should have pushed her away.
If they weren’t so well matched in lust, he would have.
“Please,” she whispered, her gaze half-lidded, smoldering.
And he rolled her under him with quicksilver agility, plunged to the very depth of her body and rode her with a ferocity and brute force that he couldn’t have controlled for God himself.
She met him, thrust for thrust, her wildness matching his and he offered up a small prayer to all the spirits that had brought him to Netherton Castle and reunited him with this flame-hot, glorious woman.
No one played at amour as well as Caro.
Or was so greedy.
Or ravenous.
She could set the pace as well as he and keep up with his most outrageous sport.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, how much he wanted what she gave him.
How alike they were.
Chapter 16
As the sun rose, he held her close, not wanting to leave, frustrated at the thought of having to pretend they were nominal strangers when they met downstairs.
It was exasperating they couldn’t be together- doubly so to a man who had commanded the world to his whims for most of his life. There wasn’t a reason in creation why Caro had to be a governess. Good God, he could pay for a hundred governesses-a thousand. Not that he was interested in her for her governess abilities, he reflected, heated memory spiking through his mind. Nor was he interested in playing a milksop role before Ian and Jane for the indefinite future. He couldn’t stay at Netherton Castle forever. He didn’t want to. He wanted Caro beside him like this when he woke in the morning. He particularly wanted her warming his bed at night. The obvious solution leaped to mind. “Come live with me,” he said.
She came out of her doze with a start and stared
He nodded. “Precisely.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because we get along famously, that’s why.”
“If I were to live with you,” she said a trifle too softly, “what would that make me?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Caro.”
Her gaze turned cool. “I’ve not yet sunk to the level of whore.”
“I meant nothing of the kind. I’ll buy you a house of your own. You can be independent. Isn’t that what you want? And we wouldn’t have to sneak around like fugitives.”
She sat up and moved away. “My independence would be your reward for sexual favors? Don’t look at me like that. Of course it would. I don’t have the funds to support a house even if I let you buy one for me.”
“You’re making this much too complicated,” he grumbled.
“You needn’t buy me anything, Simon. I don’t want you to buy me anything. I can make my own living.”
“With the stated price for your favors, no doubt you can.” The resentment in his tone matched hers.
“That list and those conditions were meant to discourage you.”
His gaze turned cynical. “You obviously don’t understand men.”
“Or men of your ilk, who insist on having their way.”
“I don’t see you obliging me, so obviously I don’t always get what I want.”
“A shame. Or perhaps a lesson in humility.”
“So you’re saying no to me?”
“Is that a shock? Having a woman refuse you? I suppose women are standing in line to be your mistress,” she said with icy sarcasm.
“Damn you, Caro. It’s not about being my mistress.” In fact, he’d always scrupulously avoided making such an offer to a woman.
“Good. Then I’ll say no thank you to your kind offer and you’ll politely go back to London.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“That’s not my concern.” She began to rise from their makeshift bed. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed for my workday.”
“Not just yet,” he murmured, grasping her wrist.
“Release me.” Her voice was chill.
“You want me to leave?”
She struggled against his grip. “I distinctly want you to leave.”
“And you’re not interested in my offer?”
“If I ever decide to become a whore, I’ll let you know. I don’t at the moment.”
“But you might?” he lazily drawled.
She was rigid, her gaze filled with rage. “Perhaps when hell freezes over, but I wouldn’t guarantee it even then.”
“In that case, why don’t we call this a farewell fuck?” He jerked her back.
“If you dare, I’ll scream.”
“Scream away.”
He meant it; he didn’t care. “Since when do you force women?” she spat
“I never do.”
“Arrogant bastard.”
He shook his head. “I just know how to pick the right women-you know, the ones who like to fuck. Now, spread your legs, darling. Both of us know your hot little cunt is always ready for more.”
She scrambled to get away, but he grabbed her as she rose to her knees and hauled her back, his grip on her waist brutal. “Now what do we have here?” he murmured, his gaze on her lush, pink bottom. Balanced on her hands and knees, she was conveniently open to him and he drew her closer despite her struggles to break free. “Down, sweetheart,” he whispered, sliding his palm down her spine. “I’m not quite finished with you. Five hundred pounds should certainly buy a last fuck in the morning.” With one hand splayed across the base of her spine and the other gripping her waist, he ignored her resistance and hauled her back until she was poised in all her bounteous beauty, wet and ready for his prick.
His erection was stiff against his stomach. Moving his hand from her waist, he guided his penis to her exposed vulva and plunged in.
If he heard her gasp, he gave no indication; he was already drawing back for the next powerful down stroke. Holding her hips in a harsh grip, he drove in over and over again, convulsed with rage, his breathing soon becoming rough and shallow as though he’d run ten miles. But it was untrammeled fury that brought him panting, that made him want to humble her and he took out his frustration in a brutal pounding assault, as though sheer force would mitigate his anger.