The Midsummer Auction Part 12

"And what experience have you had that has prepared you to serve me?"

He looked nonplussed for a moment, and a spark of triumph flared in her eyes at having caught him between a rock and a hard place.

"No experience could have prepared me to serve one so beautiful, mistress."

She bit back a smile. This slave was good. Using him was going to be a pleasure. "Very good, d.i.c.k. Your answer pleases me. But I must know this. Exactly what kind of service is it that you think you were summoned to my apartments to provide?" She drew up one knee and began swaying it gently from side to side. His eyes fastened on her pink flesh, opening and closing in a game of hide and seek, and he swallowed convulsively.

"To pleasure you, mistress."

"You? Pleasure me?" Her voice dripped amused condescension. "How, pray? Kindly explain yourself."

"However you want, mistress," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Use me to give yourself pleasure, however you want."

Her knee stopped swaying, and her green eyes opened wide, focusing on him thoughtfully. "That idea interests me," she said after a pause. "On one condition."

"Anything, mistress."

"My, my," she said, "you are eager to please, aren't you, d.i.c.k."

"Yes." He would agree to anything that would end the torture.

"Yes, who?" she inquired, eyebrows raised superciliously.

"Yes, mistress," he said humbly.

"Good. Now, I'll tell you what my condition is, d.i.c.k. It is that while I am pleasuring myself with you, you may not touch me unless I specifically indicate otherwise and under no circ.u.mstances are you to touch yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress," he said again, wondering how in G.o.d's name he was going to survive this night. He was a hair's breadth away from throwing himself on her, from burying his face between her glorious golden thighs and ODing on her scent and taste.

"Very well, I am ready to begin." She sat up, swung her legs to one side, and got out of bed.

"Lie down in the center of the bed, facedown," she commanded.

He obeyed and a moment later felt her weight on the bed, down at his feet. Her legs slipped gradually up on either side of him until his feet were resting against her s.e.x. Her pubic hair tickled his toes and they curled from the superhuman effort he was making to keep still, to control the urge to stroke her nub with them. She picked up one foot, and he waited in an agony of suspense for her next move. When it came-the touch of her hot little tongue licking the tender ticklish instep-his foot jerked, almost slipping out of her hand. She tightened her grip on it and gave his instep another lick while she jammed her s.e.x against his other foot, pressing forward against the sole of his foot with little rocking movements so that her bud rubbed against the pad of his big toe. He felt her wetness on his toe and experienced actual pain as his unyielding rod became trapped against his own belly.

She dropped the foot she was holding, picked up the other one and closed her mouth around the wet toe, her tongue curling around to suck her juices off it. He gasped and bit frantically into a pillow to stifle his moans.

She released the foot and slid her hands up his calves, caressing the nicely developed muscles. She bent over him so that both his feet pressed into her now-drenched s.e.x while her stiffened nipples brushed his calves lightly. She stretched over him, caressing the backs of his thighs and pulling the curly hair. The sensation of his feet against her s.e.x made her feel weak with wanting more of him inside her. She got to her knees and caressed his b.u.t.tocks, then spread them apart and sent her tongue on a slow journey up the middle, wiggling it teasingly over the little pucker.

"Nicola!" he groaned, his voice thick and strangled.

She lifted her face. "The next time you presume to address me by my name you will regret it, d.i.c.k," she threatened softly.

"Pardon, mistress," he gasped and buried his face again in the bedclothes.

She walked her fingers up his spine and smoothed the indentations under his shoulder blades with the pads of her thumbs. Then slowly, she lowered herself over him, stretching out her slick, oiled body along the length of his, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing into his back. Tendrils of her hair floated softly around his head and face, and the scent of it, mingled with the lavender from her body, filtered seductively through his nostrils. Wriggling suggestively she pressed her s.e.x against his b.u.t.tocks, and he clenched his teeth against the temptation to flip her on her back and bury his throbbing member in her up to the hilt. It would have been so easy.

She caressed his shoulders, bestowing little kisses on his skin from his arm to his neck. Then she buried her face in the side of his neck and pulled the skin into her mouth, deliberately giving him a hickey. She removed her mouth, observed the reddened skin, and washed it tenderly with her tongue. She kissed the back of his neck and then blew softly, displacing the downy hair there. She curled her fingers around his ears and nibbled one lobe then flicked her tongue inside it. He reared up with an agonized sound, almost throwing her off his back.

"Careful," she warned. She pushed herself into a kneeling position and then got to her feet, her legs straddling him. "Turn over," she ordered.

He did so, lying on his back gazing up at the soft pink flesh so temptingly out of reach, and his l.u.s.t made his teeth hurt. He pushed himself up with his elbows into a sitting position, gripped the backs of her thighs, and thrust his face into her s.e.x.

Her pulse rocketed off the chart and boomeranged right back to his seeking mouth. Her enjoyment of his laving tongue was so intense she was helpless to pull away and for several seconds she could only grasp his hair, clinging to him like a quivering honeybee trapped in the nectar he was creating between her legs. Her belly quivered, telegraphing luscious, imminent disaster. Gathering the tattered remnants of her willpower with superhuman strength, she tightened her grip on his hair and pulled his wet face away. Depriving herself so cruelly of that honeyed pleasure almost made her cry out.

He struggled to his knees and pulled her down to him, crushing her oily b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest. "You want it, too," he whispered urgently against her mouth, want roughening his voice. "Forget the game. I want to suck you, make you come with my tongue. Let me do it, make you come like that," he begged.

His raw, pa.s.sionate plea resounded in the core of her, melting down her resistance. But she couldn't forget the game. It had to go on. She couldn't let it segue into any semblance of a normal relationship until she no longer needed to earn his money.

"I ordered you not to touch me," she panted, struggling to break free of his embrace until her oiled body finally slipped out of his hands, trembling in protest at being denied the very thing it so desperately craved. As she got to her feet he wound his arms about her, his hands on her b.u.t.tocks, his tongue pushing wetly into her belly b.u.t.ton.

"Take your hands off me," she commanded shakily. "I'm your mistress and I'm not done pleasuring myself with you yet."

Dear G.o.d! The pain! He had to get inside her soon. His c.o.c.k was so rigid it felt ready to snap off. "All right. Whatever you want," he gasped, releasing her. "Just tell me what you want. We'll do it your way. Just let us do it."

He pressed his lips to her knee and she raised her foot, placed it on his chest, and pushed him back to a horizontal position.

"That's better. And please remember not to touch me or yourself," she said, looking down at him, breathing hard. Her eyes fastened on his stiff, engorged p.e.n.i.s and hunger ballooned in her throat. Slowly, without taking her fascinated gaze off it, she sank to her knees, took it in her hands, and began to slide the slick skin up and down and up and down over the bone until it wept with delight. The expression on her face was so carnal. He closed his eyes, clutching bedding in fists that longed to seize her in a death grip, hold on to her, and never let go. He arched and bucked as her tongue swept over the delicate almost-magenta tip of him, licking away the tears of relief that had leaked out and rummaging inside the little slit as far as it could go to find more.

"Nicola, you're going to kill me!" he moaned.

"I'm oily, d.i.c.k," she said dreamily. "Inside too. Would you like to feel me?"

He moaned again, deep in his throat, his eyes closed, pa.s.sion weighing down his lids.

"Open your eyes and look at me, d.i.c.k." Her voice still had that dreamy quality. "I want you to watch me when I do this." His eyes opened, taking in the unforgettable image of her-gleaming body, face inscribed with sensual concentration-as she lifted herself up and then with one hand, placed the delicate head at the entrance to her s.e.x. She held it still, rubbing herself gently back and forth on it, her nostrils flaring as her v.u.l.v.a throbbed with frustration. Slowly, slowly, she sank down, and he raised his head, looking down at their interlocking, as inch by mouth-watering inch, he disappeared into her, sliding snugly into her sheath, custom-made for him. As the root of him connected with her mound, they cried out together with the mutual intense satisfaction of filling and being filled so utterly and completely.

He reached for her instinctively, grasping her arms. Gently, she pushed them away and began to rock on him, grinding her bottom and her s.e.x against his groin, her head thrown back, harsh sounds issuing from her throat in tandem with the rhythm of her swaying.

Desperation to be with her, to connect with her all the way overcame him. He sat up, one hand grasping her b.u.t.tocks urging her s.e.x more tightly into his groin and the other in the center of her back. Her nipples were right there for the taking, and he sucked them, claiming one with his mouth in a frenzy and then the other like a starving man faced with impossible choices at a buffet. She groaned with pleasure, rearing back to give him free rein to the feast, the line of her throat taut with pa.s.sion as she tightened her legs against his body, squeezing him inside her. As she had said, she felt oily inside, smooth as satin, and he glided against her pa.s.sage walls in slippery, spine-tingling collisions of sweetness.

Her rocking was becoming more urgent now, her harsh breathing changing to audible synchronized cries. She brought her legs back and leaned into him, urging him down until she was stretched out fully against him. She maneuvered her lower body between his legs and began working it up and down on his, stimulating herself by rubbing her nub against the hard root of his p.e.n.i.s, her movements becoming increasingly frantic as her mind shifted to automatic pilot in a mindless rush toward fulfillment.

Sensing how close she was, he tightened his grip on her now wayward body, helping it to move over his, faster and faster, suddenly wanting nothing more than to give her the most explosive climax she would ever have. Her body was his now, his to manipulate, her thinking mind completely absent. Her body telegraphed her approaching o.r.g.a.s.m, and he quickened her slides, handling her like a rag doll, rolling his hips as her nub rubbed against his p.e.n.i.s, tight and quick. She uttered a cry and arched, and her limbs began their reflexive jerking. Keening animal-like noises burst from her throat as she held him in a vise grip, her forearm locked hard against his windpipe as she shuddered in the throes of a wrenching climax.

She collapsed weakly against him, her skin slick with perspiration from their s.e.xual marathon. He stroked her back, her wet hair, kissed the top of her soaked head, feeling a mix of indescribable tenderness and unadulterated joy to be with her, the only one he had ever really wanted, like this. His entire lower region was sore with wanting and was on fire from the steady flame torching his unrelieved c.o.c.k, but he was content to wait his turn, wait until she was ready.

"Did I strangle you?" she whispered, her lips moving against his throat.

"It was touch and go," he whispered back. He felt her shake and knew his reply had made her laugh.

She could feel him under her, hard, pulsing a little. Compa.s.sion for what he must be enduring flowed through her, reviving her. She sucked his throat and slipped sideways, encouraging him to lie over her. He was ready, had been ready for hours. She was so lubricated he entered her as easily as coming home. He lay still for a moment, relishing the feel of her surrounding him like a silky, heated glove. Then he began to move in and out of her, withdrawing almost completely and sliding back in to the hilt, smooth and slow, his eyes on her face, his mind totally focused on the source of the delight that encapsulated him with jellied sweetness.

She pulled his head down, and their tongues welded together eagerly, wet and hot like an extension of their interconnectedness, down there, where the heat had fused them into one. They drank each other with abandon, explored mouths wantonly, breathed in each other's hot, gusting breaths, dissolved into each other. The momentum of his movements began to increase gradually until, with a moan of surrender, his thrusting became hard and urgent and quick. She wanted it to be special for him too. Lifting her hips, she ground back, pulling him in deeper and deeper, milking him out until, with a loud cry, he collapsed on top of her and she felt the strong pulsation of his c.o.c.k as it spurted his emissions forcefully inside her.

He had just enough energy left to wrap the sheet around them before sleep overcame him too.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Sat.u.r.day morning dawned bright and clear, the pale January sun stealing in the window to paint their eyelids. He opened his eyes, experiencing an instant rush of contentment at the feel of her body, warm and somnolent, curled up against him. Impulsively, he buried his nose in her hair, an amorous tingle crawling s.e.xily up his spine as he breathed in the seductive musky staleness of lavender mingled with their conjoined sweaty s.e.x.

Last night had been the most incredible night of his life, easily. She was the most utterly female woman he had ever known by far. Comfortable with her s.e.xuality, strong enough to take what she wanted from him, heartrendingly beautiful when her face was contorted with pa.s.sion. He knew instinctively that she had him for life, that he would never stop wanting her, and he was seized with an overwhelming urge to put his stamp on her anew, brand her as his. He pushed the sheet away and moved down lower. Her early morning musk a.s.sailed his nostrils enticingly. He nudged his face between her thighs, his tongue claiming her there with fierce possessiveness.

Delicious sensations flooded her and seeped swiftly into her consciousness. She came awake instantly, writhing in delirium, her hands reaching, entwining in his hair. She quaked and shuddered and seemed to split wide open as his merciless laving induced a skin-tingling o.r.g.a.s.m that sank its teeth into her and shook her savagely. As her cries of agonized fulfillment began to die, he moved up and entered her forcefully. Her m.u.f.fled cry mingled with his own harsh grunt as he covered her mouth with his and began to thrust. She recovered instantly, adapting to his rhythm and raising her hips to meet him, locking to his body and then tearing away, only to reconnect with him in a searing fusion. He buried his wet face in the hollow of her shoulder, breathing her in, feeling her hot breath blast into the side of his neck as he torched her insides with his pa.s.sion, welding them together in a mutual scorching climax.

At last, when he could move again, he half-lifted himself off her and looked into her face. His eyes spoke volumes, asked questions. She yearned to give him the answers she knew he wanted, and died a little because she couldn't take a chance on spending the rest of her life wondering if deep in one tiny corner of his heart, doubt would always live.

She stroked his cheek. "That was a lovely wake-up call," she said, her eyes smiling.

"I had to do something. I thought you were going to sleep all day. I've been up for hours," he teased. He slid to her side, propped himself on one elbow, and looked at her.

"Liar," she said, smiling.

He tweaked her nose. "How do you want to spend the rest of the weekend?" he asked her.

"Anything I want?"

"Anything."

"I think I'd like to be a tourist."

He groaned. "What sights in particular do you want to see?"

"Just Westminster Abbey. Do you mind? The only time I ever visited it was with my Fourth Form cla.s.s, and I always thought I'd like to go back on my own sometime. But I never did."

"I don't mind. Tell me about school. Did you have to wear a uniform?" The idea of her in a uniform and knee-high socks was t.i.tillating.

"Yes, unfortunately. It was an all-girls' school, very exclusive. My sister Em and I both went there. My dad's idea." She grimaced. "Em was one year ahead of me, and after she left I hated it. Too lonely. I was running back home to Jamaica at the drop of the proverbial hat, for every break that was more than three days long."

He digested this piece of information in silence.

"But I want to do something else after the abbey," she said, getting back to the subject.

He quirked an eyebrow, wondering what tourist queue he'd have to line up in now.

"I want to wake up at the manor tomorrow morning, in Hampshire."

"You do?" He sounded surprised.

"Yes. Are you okay with that? We don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, no. I want to," he a.s.sented quickly. "I'd like that a lot, actually. The only reason I'm spending four straight days in London is because of that meeting I had yesterday and on Monday I'll be tied up with business most of the day as well, which means incidentally that we'll have to drive back in tomorrow night. I'm just surprised because I didn't think...well, I just didn't feel you enjoyed being way out there all that much." He rubbed the flat of his hand over her nipple, feeling it spring to rubbery life under his palm.

She jerked and pulled the sheet over her, holding it protectively against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and trying to ignore the flickering flame that he had brought to life so easily again in her belly.

"That's the whole point," she said, a little catch in her voice. "I was nervous nearly all the time. But this time I won't be. So let's get a move on, I'm starving," she announced, throwing back the sheet and laughingly evading his attempt to grab her.

They stopped off for brunch at a small restaurant and then headed for the abbey. Mercifully, thanks to the season, the lines were a tad shorter than normal so the wait to get in was relatively short. To his surprise, it fascinated him as much as it had the first time his father had taken him there so many years ago. But being with Nicola added another entertaining dimension, because she absolutely refused to tread carelessly across the gravestones of men whose legacies had survived millennia. He smiled in amus.e.m.e.nt as she detoured around them to get from point A to point B.

"You can laugh all you want. I just don't feel right walking on great men like Purcell and Handel," she protested.

He found that so endearing it made him want to kiss her, right there in front of all the other tourists. They spent a couple of hours in the abbey and then drove out to Hampshire, arriving at the manor just before five.

"We'll have to fend for ourselves," he told her. "I told Hodgett I wouldn't be back until Monday night."

They foraged in the pantry, made up a dinner of tinned ham, mushrooms, cheese and crackers, and tinned peaches and washed it down with copious amounts of red wine. By the time they were finished it was almost eight and pitch black outside as only the countryside can be. They washed up the few dishes they had used, dried them and put them away. He stretched, suddenly wonderfully sleepy.

"How does an early bed sound," he asked.

She thought it sounded just right. They strolled arm in arm to his suite, shed their clothes, pulled back the covers and got in. Within minutes they were dead to the world.

Sometime during the night, her eyes flew open. She looked around the room, just barely making out the various shapes of pieces of furniture she remembered only dimly from that first unforgettable night in his bedroom. It seemed so long ago, so much had happened since then. She put her hand down, felt the moisture, and knew immediately what had awakened her. She wanted him, needed him inside her.

She listened to his steady breathing for several seconds. He was sleeping soundly. Oh well, she still wanted him. She turned in his arms and clambered on top of him, holding his shoulders, cuddling her face into his neck, and rubbing her s.e.x against his sleeping p.e.n.i.s. It became tumescent, and he was wide awake and tightening his arm around her.

"Take it in your hand and put it inside you," he instructed her, his lips against her hair.

She pushed the covers back a little and sat up halfway. She took the tumescent ma.s.s of him in her hand, fitting it against her center as it rapidly began to evolve. He grew thick and hard, and she guided him easily into her, slipping back down as he pressed her b.u.t.tocks, pressing her into his groin, helping her to take all of him in.

"Move on me, love," he whispered. "Pleasure yourself."

She stretched out fully over him and began to ride the hard length of him. The feel of it ma.s.saging her insides, of her nipples grazing his chest, and the sensation of her bud colliding against the thick root of him was a trinity of stimulation so intense it gripped her by the throat and brought her to a resounding climax in record time. As her tremors and whimpers of satisfaction diminished, he rolled over on top of her and drove his erect c.o.c.k into her, f.u.c.king her and groaning against her mouth as his climax gripped and shredded him in minutes. Sleep reclaimed them almost instantly.

Sunday arrived. They woke around nine thirty and yawned their way hungrily down to the kitchen. She made them pancakes while he prepared sausages. They polished it off down to the last morsel and finished up with coffee. They ate in the kitchen to minimize the cleanup, and then he gave her an official tour of the house, taking her into all the rooms, including the turret, which gave them a bird's-eye view of the surrounding parkland.

"We'll leave the east wing for another time," he said.

The third floor was a warren of tiny rooms mostly used for storage and maids' sleeping quarters when the manor was in its heyday, he explained.

"So you grew up being waited on hand and foot, maids running around to do your bidding?" she asked him mischievously.

"Not really," he replied briefly. "The heyday sort of ended way before my time."

"Do you have any tiresome old girlfriends stashed away up here?"

"They're in the cellar, which is where you'll end up if you keep bugging me," he said, favoring her with a mock ferocious glare.

"I don't think I like it much up here," she said.

"You know what? I don't either. Let's go."