Page 89 of Touched By a Traitor
Charlotte drank in the sight of his unraveling control, a heady cocktail of power and affection bubbling through her veins. With Wilson, the desperation and hunger had felt like dominance. With Andrew… this felt like his surrender.
Andrew entered her gently, releasing a silent scream when he buried his cock inside her completely, his eyes becoming half hooded as his head tilted back.
He leaned forward, one hand lifting her hips up to deepen the penetration. He thrust in and out of her, kissing her mouth, her neck, and looking into her eyes, reminding her who was filling her, claiming her, loving her.
Then, as he began to lose control, he hugged her in a cocoon-like embrace, plunging into her. With a sharp inhale, all his muscles tightened, his powerful form giving in helplessly to the paralyzing sensation. He screamed into her nape, lurching forward and trembling from the sheer force of the climax. Hethrust his hips in powerful motion, driving his cock into her over and over until he drained the last drop of his pleasure into her quim. With a groan, Andrew rested his head on her shoulder while his arms held her tight.
They lingered in their embrace, each lost in contemplation of the consequences of their passionate union. Rising upon his elbows, Andrew tenderly cleaned away the evidence of their ardor with his housecoat.
Gazing deeply into her eyes, he inquired softly, “Are you all right, my love?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Was I wrong to insist on this position?” He studied her intently, his brow furrowed with concern.
“I am glad you did,” she replied with a weak smile.
He drew her tightly into his embrace once more before rising slowly. He helped her to sit up, his touch lingering on her delicate frame.
“When…” he began, his voice heavy with sorrow. “When do you intend to take your leave?”
“A fortnight hence, as soon as my duties here are fulfilled,” she replied, her gaze downcast. “I shall continue my charitable work in America, guiding and assisting those women who seek a new life in that land.”
Andrew perched on the table beside her, his shoulders sagging with the weight of her impending departure. “When are your courses due to arrive?” he asked.
“It should be upon me presently,” she said shyly.
He nodded, his disappointment evident at the realization that she had little time to reconsider her voyage.
“You will tell me if you find yourself with child?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
“Yes, of course.”
He nodded. “You ought to retire and get some rest. We have a long and trying day ahead of us, visiting Chatham tomorrow.”
Charlotte studied his features one last time, noting the vulnerability and weariness etched on his countenance. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek and reluctantly turned to make her way back to her chamber, her heart heavy with the knowledge that their paths would soon diverge, perhaps forever.
Punishment
30 April 1837
“Ibeseech you,my lord,” the courtesan implored, her voice dripping with honey as she leaned in close, her ample bosom brushing against Andrew’s arm. “Would you be so kind as to indulge me with another glass of brandy? A lady must keep up her strength, after all.” Her eyes fluttered seductively, and her ruby lips pouted in a calculated display of feminine wiles.
Andrew cast a sidelong glance at Wilson whose fingers were grazing his companion’s arm while engaging in a whispered conversation. “I have no doubt that Madam Tansley dines on the finest delicacies London has to offer,” Andrew replied smoothly. “Surely, she has no need for my assistance in lining her pockets.”
Wilson, his face flushed with drink and merriment, let out a hearty chuckle that echoed through the dimly lit room. “Come now, Carlisle! Don’t be such a miser,” he chided, wagging a finger in Andrew’s direction. “A man of your considerable means has more than enough to spare for these lovely creatures. The more they imbibe, the merrier our evening shall be!” He punctuated his words with a suggestive wink, his eyes gleaming with lust.
With a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Andrew affected an air of reluctance. “Every penny I possess is hard-earned, Wilson,” he said, his voice low and measured. “Unlike you, who tries to cut corners at every opportunity.”
“Do you know why I am the way I am, Carlisle?” Wilson asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
Andrew remained silent, sensing that the question was rhetorical.
“I was like you once,” Wilson continued, his gaze distant, as if seeing into some long-buried past. “Young, idealistic, determined to change the world through sheer force of will.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “But the world has a way of grinding down those rough edges, of teaching hard lessons to those foolish enough to challenge the hierarchy.”
He drained his glass in one swift motion, wincing as the alcohol burned a fiery path down his throat. “I learned those lessons, learned them well. And now I pass them on to bright young sparks like you, so that you don’t make the same mistakes I did. The only way to thrive is to create your own game, let them play until there’s only one left, then steal it from the winner.”
“And what if I don’t care to be that underhanded?” Andrew bit out, pushing down the disgust beneath his skin.
