THE CEILING STILL BLURRED before her eyes. Mildred marveled that her body had survived the second orgasm. Alastair had applied his mouth there and allowed her to spend, despite her willingness not to. Had it all been a test? Had she failed it? But it did not matter. This was their last night together. Ever. She closed her eyes and drank in the splendor still waving through her body.
“Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”
Gently, he eased the false cock from her. She was relieved to have it gone. The infernal thing had stretched her most uncomfortably, though, when Alastair had fondled her, its presence had aided in her arousal.
“At Château Follet, there are dildos twice this size,” he said.
“Dear God. Such largeness must split a woman in twain.”
“The cunnie can accommodate much more than you would expect. Whole fists—”
“Whole fists!”
Her mind whirled. There was so much of Château Follet left to explore. But she was not to go there. She had promised him she would not.
Setting aside the dildo, he caressed the muscles in her legs. They had never worked this hard. Now that desire had receded, the less pleasurable consequences of her torment returned to various parts of her body. After untying the ropes from her ankles, he cleansed her body, removing the dried wax and wiping his seed from her. As she sat atop the table upon her tender derrière, he passed the wet linen over her breasts. She relished the way he gazed at her bosom, at his touch upon her body. At times, she forgot that she had a body of middling beauty.
He went to pour her a glass of ratafia, and she realized she was quite thirsty. After she finished the beverage, he assisted her down, but her legs, fatigued from their earlier exertions, gave way beneath her weight. He caught her. Feeling her breasts brush against him, his arms about her sent a wave of warmth surging through her. He seemed to sense it, for his cock perked. She looked up at him. She did not want the night to end.
His lips crushed down upon hers, and it was as if she had not spent twice already. Her arousal never tired in his presence. Despite her shaky legs, she tried to press herself to him as she wrapped her hands about his neck to help hold herself up. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to a mattress in the corner. Compared to the table, the mattress stuffed with straw was as soft as down.
Laying himself over her, he resumed kissing her, taking her mouth with bruising fervor. She gripped his hair in one hand and his shoulder in the other. Her hips met his body, seeking his erection. She was overcome with impatience and wanted his body to meld into hers. He ground himself against her as his mouth ravaged hers.
“I should search for French letters,” he uttered against her lips.
Not bearing to be parted from him, she wrapped a leg over his and tightened her embrace. “Take me, my lord. Take me.”
It was an invitation he could not refuse. He positioned his cock at her opening and plunged in. Though she had been stretched by the dildo, his cock felt no less grand. The angle and shape of his shaft provoked much more pleasure. She pushed herself down on him, wanting every inch.
“My God, Millie,” he breathed, groping one of her breasts.
Gradually, they came to a rhythm with their bodies. Holding the bottom of a thigh, he lifted the leg to gain deeper penetration. Lust overcame the soreness of her legs, the tenderness of her backside, and she shoved herself up at him. He met her fervor and rolled his hips into her, sending waves of delight fanning from between her legs. She grunted and babbled half words, trying to resist the tide of pleasure threatening to drown her.
“Spend. As you please, my lord,” she managed, digging her fingers into his muscular arms.
“Ladies first,” he replied.
At this, her body shattered. He cupped his hand over her mouth to dampen her cries. Her body bucked of its own accord. He quickened his pace, hammering himself into her till his own release became eminent. He pulled from her as his seed shot into the mattress below. To her consternation and slight trepidation, she would rather he had spent inside her. Several shivers went through his frame.
“Oh my! I’m terribly sorry,” she gasped when she saw that her fingers—and nails—had dug into him harder than she had realized
He glanced at the scratches upon his upper arm. “It is nothing. I once had a woman draw blood with her teeth.”
She wished he would remain where he was, the weight of his body resting partially upon her, but he pushed himself up and held out his hand to her. Their evening had come to an end.
“Thank you, Alastair. Thank you for the past three nights.”
“I pray they met your expectations?”
“Mmmmm. Exceeded expectations.”
“Good.”
He turned her around to inspect her rump. “You will have bruises. Madame Follet had a poultice that would quicken the healing. Perhaps Katherine—”
“Oh, no! She must not know.”
“She knew what transpired betwixt us before.”
“Yes, but, in her house—I could not. She would think me a glutton, and, as I have already erred—pray, I will be fine. May I assist you in tidying the room?”
“The bedclothes upon the mattress will need to be washed.”
She nodded. “I shall see to it somehow.”
In silence, they placed all the implements and candles back in order. Dressed, they surveyed the room, the scene of three nights she would never forget.
“Alastair, I cannot thank you enough.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
She hoped he spoke sincerely and not merely from courtesy. She reminded herself that he was not a man compelled by obligations of the latter.
“Good night, Millie.”
“Good night.”
As she strolled down the corridor toward the stairs, a mix of feelings beset her. She felt both a euphoria and guilt, shame at what she had done, what she had asked of her cousin, but gratitude that he had acquiesced in taking her to such sublime carnal heights that all future attempts must surely disappoint.
Thus, she wondered at the wisdom of her actions. However, if she had to do it all again, she would not have asked differently. She had expected nothing but punishment tonight and was thus amazed when Alastair had brought her to spend thrice.
And, additionally, he had agreed to reserve his support of the Farnsworth bill. It was entirely possible his delay of support would be of minimal duration, even a day at most, for she had required no particular timing to her request. But while Alastair often held the expectations of polite society with contempt, she had never known him to go back on his word. He did not trifle with tricks, artifice, or even insincerity.
He was a different man than she had known before. There was no one like him to her, and she felt privileged to know a side of him few others saw.