Susan Johnson - Again and Again

“Are we sulking?” He shot her a glance before dropping into a chair. And then apparently indifferent to her humor, sulky or not, he raised the bottle to his mouth and drained half of it.

Caroline proceeded to deal with her frustration in the time-honored female answer to impediments and rage-dessert… in this case, a charlotte russe with pistachios, one of her favorites; a meringue with berry sauce; and two chocolate confections that would go a long way toward improving her mood. Picking up her own bottle of champagne from the bowl on the table, she took her restoratives to a chair as far away from Simon as the room allowed.

At her deft uncorking of the champagne bottle, her husband’s brows drew together in a scowl. “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, a surly note to his voice. In his experience, only females in the demimonde who waited on their client’s every wish developed such skills.

“I believe you taught me.” Her smile was treacle sweet. Having been on the fringes of the demimonde during her exile in Europe, she knew what was causing Simon’s scowl. “It’s been very useful on numerous occasions.”

Tuck you,“ he said, not at all agreeably.

And her sweet tone turned even more cloying. “There’s no need to immediately bestir yourself, darling. We have a lifetime ahead of us to indulge in that activity. Although, with luck, you’ll soon find interests elsewhere.”

“You, however, won’t.” Each word was implacable.

“We’ll see.”

He looked at her from under the dark fringe of his lashes. “No, we won’t.”

“Do you think you can watch me every minute?” she purred, enjoying her piquant moment of retaliation.

“Someone on my staff of hundreds certainly can.”

She didn’t reply for the time it took her to put a forkful of chocolate mousse into her mouth and wash it down with a lengthy draft of champagne. “We’ll see about that, won’t we,” she eventually said, her gaze angelic. “In the past you often spent a great deal of time in the brothels. That will allow me a certain-shall we say-freedom of movement? And your servants have always liked me, you know.”

He growled deep in his throat, the sound too shockingly literal for his peace of mind. “God, Caro, you’re going to drive me crazy,” he muttered. “Although, I should be used to it by now.”

Taking note of his less arbitrary tone, she paused with a forkful of meringue poised inches from her mouth. “Perhaps we could come to some amicable agreement. It’s a common enough arrangement in the ton, is it not? Most fashionable couples lead separate lives and still manage to keep up appearances in the most civilized way.”

“If by separate lives, you refer to sexual freedom, absolutely not.”

“Are you speaking of your sexual freedom as well?” she remarked through the meringue melting in her mouth.

“You lost the wager, darling. Not I.” His voice was unutterably bland.

She sighed in a blatantly theatrical way that put his teeth on edge. “Unfortunately, I’ve never taken orders well,” she murmured, scooping up another portion of meringue before meeting his gaze. “You’re aware of that minor flaw in my character I presume.”

“And nobody touches what’s mine,” he drawled, each word underlaid with a steel inflexibility. “If you weren’t previously aware of that unflinching principle in my character, consider yourself warned.”

She lifted her forkful of meringue in salute. “It should be interesting then…”

He raised the bottle in his hand in a negligent gesture. “Take off that robe and we’ll see…”

“You don’t really think I’m likely to do that, do you?”

“Actually, I know you will.”

“And why is that?” she asked licking the meringue off the fork in a particularly provocative way.

“Any number of reasons-most of them having to do with your unquenchable sexual appetite.” He set his bottle down. “I could show you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“It’s no bother. In fact,” he said, rising from his chair, “I look forward to your education.”

“I’m not frightened, Simon. If that’s what you’re trying to do.” But she set down her plate and fork.

“Nor would I want you to be frightened, darling.” But his dark gaze belied the softness of his voice and he was steadily advancing. “On the other hand,” he murmured, “you may need some schooling on your wifely duties.”

“Do husbands have duties as well?” She refused to show fear, although she understood she was quite alone and well guarded.

“I’m not sure. We can discuss it later if you like.”

“Why not now?” She had to look up because he was standing directly before her.

“Mainly because I don’t wish to.”

“Do you expect me to tremble before you?”

“Certainly not. Although you do tremble in passion on occasion, do you not?”

She wouldn’t answer. He was annoyingly right, as he was annoyingly imperious.

“Are we sulking?”

“Don’t press me, Simon. I’m not in good humor with you.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Even if it were true about Will and it’s not, for you of all people to take issue…”

“I’d prefer not giving my title to a by-blow.”

“And I prefer you believe me.”

“Time will tell.”

“Lord, I dislike you righteous.”

“I’ll try to fuck you in a different frame of mind. Take off that robe.”

She gazed at him, hot-tempered and sullen. “You’re the last person I want to have sex with.”

“I’m the only person you’re going to have sex with. Take off that robe or I will. I’m not in the mood to play.”

She didn’t move.

Leaning forward, he nimbly opened the robe tie and slipped it from around her waist with a light jerk of his wrist.

As she moved to rise, he pushed her back, looping the silk tie around her wrist in the same smooth motion.

“Simon!” In vain, she pulled on the tie.

He had already secured her wrist to the chair arm. “Just a minute, darling,” he murmured, as though she’d been speaking about something innocuous and sweeping the tie once around her waist, he held her against the chair back with his forearm while he tied her other wrist to the chair arm.

Only mere seconds had elapsed.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Speechless with rage, she glowered at him.

“You look very pretty.”

“Trussed up like a Christmas goose?”

“No, like a succulent, lush, alluring wife who I expect will soon be in a much improved mood.”

“Not likely,” she snapped, although against her will, her gaze was drawn to his erection-very near and very large and lamentably a magnet to her treacherous cravings.

“Do you like it?” he murmured, taking note of her gaze.

“Not at the moment,” she muttered, wrenching away her gaze, her perfidious sensibilities responding to his swelling erection with a surge of desire.

“Maybe we could induce you to think of us with more fondness,” he said gently, leaning near to slide his robe down her shoulders. The fabric caught at her bound wrists and shifting his attention, he opened the front of the robe, pulling it away from her body so she sat nude before him-framed in navy silk.

“Your nipples are hard.”

“It’s cold.”

“You don’t look cold.”

She was flushed pink, her breasts noticeably rising and falling, her breathing agitated.

“I could warm them.”

“No!”

“Don’t say no to me, darling.” He touched one nipple with a light flicking touch. “Lesson one in wifely duties.” And taking a pink crest between his thumb and forefinger, he compressed the pliant tissue, delicately rolled it against the pads of his fingers, stretched it slightly, forcing her to sit up straighten “Can you feel that?”

She sucked in her breath. “No.” But there was no longer vehemence in her tone.

“Is that so,” he murmured. Dropping to his knees, he moved between her thighs, forcing them open. “See if you like this better.” Cupping one of her breasts in his hands, he lifted it as he bent his head, and taking her nipple between his lips, he drew it into his mouth. Gently kneading her breast, he sucked on her taut nipple with unerring pressure, tugging it slightly as he suckled so she felt the tingling rapture ripple down to her heated core, down her thighs, into the heavy, aching flesh of her vulva.

She felt it most intensely, where her engorged clitoris and unsated lust waited for surcease.

He didn’t have to ask again whether she liked what he was doing to her. He could tell. And when he moved to her other breast, she arched her back against the exquisite pleasure and pressed into his mouth.

“You want more?” he whispered, lifting his head.

“Please,” she breathed, beyond questions of sovereignty, aroused and ravenous, aching to feel him.

“Are you ready for me? A wife must be ready when her husband wants to have sex with her.”

“Yes, yes.”

He dropped his hands from her breast and sat back. “Will I slide in easily? I can’t have my wife unprepared to receive me.”

“Yes, yes… please, Simon-I’m more than ready.”

“I think that would be for me to decide. Open your legs wider.”

She instantly complied and he slid three fingers into her pulsing core with unimpeded ease. He gently stroked the sleek flesh while she panted and strained against his hand. “Very nice.” His voice was velvety. “Are you ready to perform your wifely duties?” He slid his fingers deeper.

“Yes, yes,” she gasped. “Whatever you want.”

He kissed her lightly. “I’ll untie you then.”

“Thank you-I mean it, Simon-thank you very much.”

He smiled faintly, withdrew his fingers and came to his feet. “Get into bed and wait for me,” he ordered as he began to untie her.

Her lashes came up, her eyes filled with entreaty. “Will you be long?”

“I don’t know. You must wait. Dutiful wives wait. I’ll come to you when and if I decide to fuck you.”

As he pulled the last knot open and she was suddenly free, she lunged forward and seized his testicles in a punishing grip. “I’m not in the mood to wait,” she said, fretful and peevish and strongly averse to further delay. “Perhaps,” she added, very, very softly, “this would be a good time to discuss husbandly duties.”

“If you squeeze much harder,” he murmured, standing utterly still, “you’re going to lose whatever chance you have for sex tonight.”

Her brows arched upward. “If you don’t oblige me, what do I have to lose?”

“Compromise?” he breathed, every muscle taut with restraint.

“I’m open to compromise,” she replied, dulcetly.

“Sex now?”

“Here?”

“It’s up to you.”

She grinned. “You can be so agreeable, darling. I think it’s your most charming trait. Would you like to sit or stand or lie?”

“How about all three?”

In answer, she released her hold and winked at him. “Perfect”

He could have retaliated had he wished, and for a brief moment, he considered the possibility.

But more pressing, overwrought urges impelled them both and issues of conjugal duties were abruptly dismissed in favor of orgasmic bliss. Very frenzied, heart-stirring, unbridled orgasmic bliss.

Caro even overlooked Simon’s cautious withdrawal at climax.

And Simon overlooked the fact that his wife appeared to be disturbingly insatiable.

The next few days were an unrelenting contest of wills, the battleground confined predominantly to the bedroom. Sometimes Caro won and other times Simon prevailed, both equally stubborn and uncompromising on issues of independence. But when it came to sex, they grudgingly came to the conclusion that they shared an astonishing compatibility.

Which considerably muddled the other areas of contention.

On the fifth day, late in the morning, while they were still abed, temporarily reconciled on their treaty ground of sexual gratification, Simon withdrew for his orgasm, glanced down and suddenly smiled.

He’d not realized how profound his misgivings until he was struck with the full force of his relief.

Lying beside her a moment later, his heart still beating furiously, exhilaration inundating his brain, he murmured, “It started.”

There was no need to question the unspecified phrase after the contentious nature of the last few days. Sitting up, Caroline looked down, saw the minute streak of blood on the sheet and turned to her husband. “You owe me an apology.” Rapping him on the chest, she put a hand to her ear. “I’m waiting…”

“Yes, dear.” Which was all he was capable of saying with the image of Caro kissing that man at Netherton Castle still inciting an ungovernable jealousy. In his experience, grown men and women didn’t exchange single kisses. In his experience, Caro certainly didn’t exchange single kisses-regardless of her protestations. And her insatiable sexual appetite of the last few days hardly induced him to change his mind. “Get dressed,” he ordered, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “We’re off to London. You need some clothes. I need to get back to my life. And I haven’t fucked you in a carriage for years.”