Page 17 of The Damsel
Robert met each of her downward motions with upward thrusts of his own. She’d expected to tie him down and fuck him … not for him to fuck her back with this sort of abandon and lack of restraint. He was a madman, panting and grunting, forehead broken out into a sweat as he drove up into her, stroking the sweet spot buried just within her cunt.
To her surprise, she was happy to let him, to meet him stroke for stroke and match his rhythm, to be as unbridled and unrestrained as he was. She clawed at him, dragging her nails down his chest and making him roar, swiveling her hips and taking him in deeper, so deep she felt stretched to her limit, full and bursting with him.
She had to grasp the headboard for leverage, which put her breasts within reach of his mouth. He took advantage without hesitation, lifting his head with a rough groan to take a nipple between his lips. The heat of his mouth and rasp of his tongue threw her over the edge, and she trembled atop him, her vision going dark at the edges as she fought for more time. She wasn’t ready for this to end, for the heady rush of power, pleasure, and glory to be over. Yet, there was no stopping it, the scrape of Robert’s teeth against the tender tip of her breast hurtling her into a dark miasma of pure, tortuous delight.
Relentless paroxysms shook her from the inside, and she closed her eyes to surrender to the waves of ecstasy steadily dragging her under. Her cunt squeezed around him, her belly clenching and her thighs twinging with the force of a climax the likes of which she’d never known.
“Oh God,” Robert murmured against her breast. “I can’t … I’m going to …”
She went limp on top of him, weak from the torrent of her own release, yet faintly registered his words, his jerky movements beneath her … the desperation hinting at his own finish.
Cassandra managed to lift herself off him just in time, taking him in hand as his seed began to erupt from him in hot spurts. Throwing his head back, he jerked and groaned, his mettle splattering the back of her hand and his belly as she stroked him through till the end, working his shaft until she’d wrung him of every last drop.
He went limp, arms sagging in his bonds. Cassandra sat between his spread legs, leaning back onto her elbows as she closed her eyes and worked to catch her breath. Her limbs felt heavy, and keeping her eyes open proved a trial as a languid sort of calm washed over her.
She would soon have to rise and release Robert. But, he didn’t seem in a hurry to break the thrall that had fallen over them both— their breaths ringing out in unison with the crackle of the fire, their legs touching as they lay supine on either side of the narrow bed.
And so, Cassandra tilted her head back and smiled, reveling in the warmth of sweet, ecstatic triumph.
Chapter 3
SUFFOLK, 1820 FOUR MONTHS LATER …
Robert pulled the reins of his mount as he neared Briarwell Manor, his ancestral home. His time in London now several months behind him, he’d returned to the comfort of his familiar life in the country. A life in which he tended to the estate duties his father had fallen too ill to manage. A life in which he doted upon his mother, remaining steadfast as she counted the days until yet another man she loved took his last breath.
A life in which he did his best to pretend he had not been changed in the most elemental way by the night he’d spent in the upper room of a public house with Lady Cassandra Lane.
As he approached the stable at a brisk cant, he tried and failed to keep his mind from wandering back.
After the most satisfying sexual encounter of his life, Cassandra had untied his hands from the headboard to reveal the abrasions left from the rough twine. His wrists had stung, but he could hardly be angry at her when it had been his own squirming and thrashing that had caused the rope burn. She’d tossed him his cravat, which he’d used to clean up the spunk staining his belly. Then, he’d lain back and watched her, unashamed to admit that he was now more enthralled with her than ever. The things she’d done to him … he’d never been with a woman so bold and raw, so aware of her own wants and needs.
As she’d gone to stand naked before the hearth, he'd followed her with his gaze and wondered how anyone could ever think her plain. He had been guilty of seeing her as a drab wallflower in the past, but that was because, like everyone else, he had only taken the most cursory of glances. Now that he was able to see her in her most natural state—with the masses of that red-gold hair hanging down her back in frazzled curls—Robertsawher. The long limbs sinewy from physical activity, perhaps riding. The flare of her hips, the jut of her sumptuous breasts, the curve of her back leading to a slender waist. The outline of her profile as she stared off across the room as if deep in thought.
Once the silence seemed to stretch on for an unbearable length of time, Robert had shifted on the bed and waited for her to speak, to say or do something, anything. This had been such untouched territory for him. With a whore, a man knew how to conduct himself. When he finished, he paid her and departed without a glance back, returning to his own life while she went off to prepare for her next tumble. With a woman he’d cared about or had any sort of affection toward, he might have lingered, pulling her into his arms and basking in the lingering effects of what they’d just done.
But, he’d never been with a woman like her before—one who tied his hands and requested he not touch her, who withdrew into herself when all was said and done.
Once it became clear that she did not intend to speak, he sat up and cleared his throat, unable to bear the silence any longer.
“I hope …”
He trailed off when she turned her head to look at him, the lighting of the room making her eyes appear more gray than blue. Disarmed for a moment, he paused, cleared his throat once more and tried again.
“I hope you got whatever it was you needed from me.”
He held her stare, challenging her to deny his assertion. He wanted to believe she’d simply used him to sate an acute physical need, but something told him there was more to it. This had been about something more than simple fornication, and there was a reason she’d chosen him above the other men downstairs.
Inclining her head, she returned his gaze in a way that made him feel utterly exposed, even more so than having his nude body on display.
“Yes,” she replied, staring back into the fire. “I did. And quite a bit more than I expected. So … thank you.”
Her, thankhim? He’d hardly done anything … at least, not compared to his typical fervor when taking a woman to bed.
Still, he could only reply, “It was my pleasure … quite literally.”
She laughed, but the sound wasn’t hearty or light. It was more a snort than anything, short and breathed out as she began picking up various articles of her clothing. As she bent to pull on her stockings, he wondered if he ought to offer her assistance. Did her edict against touching still apply now that they were finished?
He decided to err on the side of caution and dress himself, allowing her to do the same on her own.
