“Mr. Goodfellow,” she called, “I thought I heard the car. Who-” She stood stock still when she saw Marco, then cast the flowers to the ground. She came at him on a run and he caught her in his arms, smothering her with kisses.
“Why didn’t you let me know?” She laughed, yet tears moistened her cheeks.
He breathed in her essence, her own special perfume. “I didn’t know what to say. Are you pleased to see me?”
“Pleased?” She held him away from her. “I’ve missed you so much. I was planning to come back to Italy. Come.” She kissed him hard and deep, then tucked his hand under her elbow and picked up his bag. “Come and meet Daddy. I’ve told him a lot about you.”
They had put his bag in a room at the end of a long corridor and he’d been resigned to spending a lonely night until Emma had whispered a promise in his ear before dinner. True to her word, she’d appeared like a ghost in a robe of white muslin when the house was dark and silent.
She found him waiting for her, hoping for her. She slid into the bed beside him and they held each other without speaking, savoring the feel of their limbs, inhaling the long lost scent of their skin. The room was in total darkness and they could feel, touch and breathe in the heady scent of their bodies, but see nothing.
“Daddy liked you.” Emma snuggled against him in the darkness.
“How could you tell?” Lord Bicester had subjected him to a barrage of questions about his family, his property, his political views. He’d escaped to his room after dinner feeling battered and convinced that he would be on the next train back to London after breakfast.
“Lots of ways.” She stroked his chest. “He asked you lots of questions-”
“That was good?”
“Oh, yes. If he hadn’t liked you he would have eaten without saying a word. Then he offered you a glass of his best port.”
“I see I have a lot to learn about English fathers.” As he spoke, he lightly traced the tip of his finger down the side of her neck, over the pulsing artery and down to her collarbone, finding the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat. He felt the movement of her jaw under his fingers as she swallowed.
“Concentrate on the daughters first,” she said.
Like a blind man, he let his fingers wander over her curves and hollows, sensing her by touch alone. Slowly he slid the muslin from her shoulders, imagining every inch of soft, pearly flesh. It nearly killed him to wait, but wait he did, listening to her breathing, until her breasts were free of any covering. He cupped a lovely globe in each hand and brought the pebbly nipple to his mouth as if tasting a glass of fine wine. Her nipples were hard and erect, and he took each one between his lips in turn, circling it with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” she said. “Every night since I’ve been home, I’ve imagined you in my bed.”
“Don’t talk,” he said. “Just let me touch you, let my hands learn you.”
She lay still as he pulled her nightdress over her hips. In the velvety blackness he touched gently between her legs, feeling her creamy wetness. He brought his fingertips close to his face and inhaled deeply. “The scent of Emma.”
Her fingers rested lightly on his hip and he felt them begin to explore his thigh, his belly, until they seized upon his cock.
“You’ve had me on a horse, on the ground, on your lap, in a shepherd’s hut, and in your bed,” she said. “Which did you like best?”
“Wicked woman. You’re trying to trick me. Whatever I say, you’ll wonder why the other wasn’t my favorite.”
Her fingers traced the line of his cheek, touching his lips and the sensitive nerves jumped.
“Then don’t tell me. Just fuck me however you want.”
His eyes were adapting to the darkness and he began to make out the pale gleam of her body and the glitter of her eyes.
He kissed her mouth and put his hands on her hips. Gently but forcefully he turned her until she lay prone. He ran his hands down her back and over the curve of her ass. Her hips twitched in response. His fingers dipped between her thighs from behind and he cupped her cunt in his hand, lifting so that she rose to her knees, her face pressed against the pillow.
He played with her in this position, one hand stroking her, his fingers dipping into her, first one, then two. As he thrust inside her she moaned and tensed, pushing against his hand. He let his other hand snake around to cup a dangling breast.
His cock quivered against the cheeks of her ass, begging for a way in to relieve the ache in his balls. He withdrew his hand from between her legs and spread her thighs. His teeth nipped at the smooth, round cheek as he held apart the folds of her cunt with both hands. He positioned his cock and slid deep inside her warm softness. Her muscles spasmed around him, squeezing him until he cried out. She gasped and tensed against him, driving him deeper.
Firmly embedded inside her, he felt for her clit with one hand and caressed her breast with the other. He thrust inside her rhythmically as she moaned and tensed, writhing as he tormented her clit and her nipple. She could move only back and forth, massaging his bursting cock with every tremor and tiny motion. He held her prisoner, utterly at his mercy. He nuzzled the nape of her neck.
“Now?” he said. “Are you ready to come when I tell you?”
“Yes.”
“Then now.” He clasped her to him and thrust deep inside until he felt the far wall of her vagina. She cried out and he felt the waves through her whole body, squeezing his cock, making every inch of her tremble.
She lay in his arms in the soft darkness, knowing she wanted to spend the rest of her life in his embrace.
He spoke very softly. “It isn’t over, is it? It’s the same here as in Italy?”‘
A part of her stood to one side, watching herself take the irrevocable step. “It isn’t over.”
He kissed her again with passion and an underlying tenderness. Passion is fleeting and possible to resist. Tenderness promised permanence and left her defenseless. Needs she had suppressed for too long rose up and swept over her like a tidal wave, destroying her carefully constructed defenses like a child’s castle in the sand, and revealing the truth of her feelings for him.
“I love you, Emma, my bella donna. I think I loved you from the moment I saw you in Enrico’s stable.”
She felt tears shimmer on the ends of her lashes and he brushed them away as he showered kisses on her face.
She said the words she had never spoken to anyone else. “I love you, too. I think I loved you from the instant you found me.”
In the hills of Italy he had been able to arouse her with a single kiss, and the time apart had changed nothing. She resisted the touch of his lips for all of ten seconds before pressing her body against his and returning his kiss with all the heat and passion that had been missing from her life for the past years. It was more than a kiss, it was a consuming ecstasy, brushed with soft magic
It was a very long time before they broke apart.
About the author
Margrett Dawson has been a nomad most of her life, and has lived in six different countries. She is settled for a while with her own romance hero on Vancouver Island on Canada 's Pacific Coast, where she loves to craft sexy stories about people who fall in love. She will move on again (this time to Africa for a few months) but will continue to spin tales, especially about people who find romance when they least expect it.
Margrett welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
