Susan Johnson - Again and Again

“There, now, dearie, you’re back where you belong,” Rose murmured, tucking in the coverlet around Caroline.

“And we’re here for any little thing you need,” Bessie affirmed, shaking out Caroline’s gown.

Rose smoothed the hair back from Caroline’s forehead, like she’d done countless times before. “Everything’s going to be right fine now.”

Rose had helped raise Caroline since birth, while Bessie had offered her a home away from home at Monkshood.

The old duke-perhaps motivated by dislike of his wife-had allowed Caroline the run of his house. Simon’s mother had always objected to the little girl next door, wanting a more illustrious marriage for her son. Although, in truth, it was more often the servants who were in charge of the young Hargreave heir and Caroline. The duke and duchess were rarely at Monkshood and more rarely together. And while Caroline’s father was devoted to her, as prisoner to his addictions, he wasn’t always able to discharge his fatherly duties.

Simon and Caroline had been hoydens of sorts, although there were tutors aplenty at Monkshood and Maple Hill who encouraged the youngsters to explore their intellectual interests. And outside the schoolroom, the thousands of acres on the two estates offered outdoor amusements in all seasons to the two wild children.

It was an unconventional life, but not an unhappy one.

They had each other.

Simon was reminded of those carefree years as he waited in his study for permission to visit his wife. Relaxing before the fire, he smiled over his brandy. Now that his mother had vacated the estate, it was good to be home. And between Bessie and Rose, Caro would be coddled and cosseted to the point of obsession.

No doubt, he had become relatively insignificant, he reflected, drolly. Having done his part, he was expendable-being shunted off to his study a case in point He glanced at the clock, drank another brandy and then feeling he’d been lenient enough, rose from his chair. Surely, they had Caro settled in bed by now.

But he was forced to wait outside in the hall for some minutes more before Bessie finally ushered him in.

“Now, I don’t want you upsettin‘ her,” she said, speaking to the duke as though he were eight. “It’s a right long drive from London and the sweet girl is almost done in.”

“It’s twenty miles, Bessie. Not halfway to Egypt.”

“Humph, as if you’d know anything about how it feels to be in the family way. Didn’t I just say as much, Rose?” she noted, huffily, glancing at her cohort who was fluffing the pillows behind Caro’s head.

“Men!” Rose snorted, the single word impugning the entire gender. “Drink and gamble too much, they do, and that’s not the worst o‘ it”

Caroline and Simon exchanged glances but held their tongues until the two ladies had fluffed the last pillow and poured the last glass of water and were finished arguing about Caroline’s preferences in food.

“And stay off the bed,” Bessie ordered at the last.

When the door finally shut on the housekeepers, Simon dared move from his position just inside the entrance to the room. “I can see that I’m going to have to reassert my authority here at Monkshood,” he said, amusement in his gaze. “I was very much afraid Rose was going to sound a peal over my head on my drinking and gambling habits.”

“Not to mention those unspeakable ones,” Caroline noted, lightly.

He grunted in reply, not likely to respond to that rejoinder. “And I hope you don’t mind, but I have no intention of staying off your bed.”

Caroline grinned. “Thank God. I didn’t relish having to become celibate.”

“Not likely that,” he murmured, beginning to strip off his coat as he moved toward the bed.

She nodded at the door. “You might want to lock it”

“I’m thinking it might be more prudent to attempt personal contact in small stages.” Tossing his coat on the chair, he began unbuttoning his vest. “I’m trying to avoid being sent to bed without my supper,” he added, with a roguish grin. Dropping his vest atop his coat, he kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed beside Caroline. Although, not too near.

She measured the space with her gaze and grinned. “You’re afraid of Bessie.”

He looked at her, a waggish light in his eyes. “Damn right.”

“Does that mean I have to wait until dark?” she asked in a pouty little whisper. Rising to her knees, she leaned across the small distance separating them, placed her hands on his shoulders and lowered her head until their eyes met. “I don’t know if I can wait until dark,” she breathed, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“We probably should, though.” His voice was taut with restraint.

“Don’t want to,” she purred, bending closer, her breasts swinging slightly beneath her nightgown, brushing against his chest.

Through force of habit, perhaps, his hands seemed to come up of their own accord, his fingers splayed over her soft, pliant flesh and he filled his palms with the weight of her breasts.

She softly moaned, the pressure of his fingers sending little sparking tingles down to the pulsing tissue deep inside her. “Please… I want to feel you,” she implored, breathy, eager. “It’s been so long…”

He shut his eyes against the spiking lust, resisted for a millisecond more while he debated whether three hours was indeed too long. Then he muttered, “I’ll be right back,” and left the bed.

There were cardinal moments and this was one where rank was useful, he decided, moving toward the door. Striding out into the hall, he swiftly traversed the plush Uzbek carpet to the head of the stairs and without hesitating, shouted, “I do not want to be disturbed!” His voice thundered down the stairwell, past numerous Hargreave forebears staring out from their portraits to the front hall servants at their posts.

The footmen looked up in surprise. The duke never raised his voice. But then again, he was half-dressed in the middle of the day. They glanced at each other and smiled. And when they looked up again, he was gone.

Returning to the bedroom, Simon locked the door and quickly stripped off the remainder of his clothes to an appreciative audience of one.

“Is that all mine?” Caroline purred as he walked toward the bed, her gaze on his magnificent up-thrust penis.

“It’s all yours,” he murmured with a smile.

“What if I want it inside me always…”

His heated gaze turned hotter. “I’ll see what I can do. You’re not too tired, now.”

“Au contraire. I’m very much awake.” And so saying, she lifted her nightgown over her head in one fell swoop and flung it away.

He laughed. “It looks as though your nursemaids might have misdiagnosed your condition. Instead of bed rest, you have other things in mind.”

“Sex with you is rather constantly on my mind. I feel as though I should apologize,” she added in a genuinely contrite tone.

He smiled. “That won’t be necessary. I doubt I’ll find it inconvenient.”

“Oh, good,” she exclaimed, like a child allowed a special treat. “Do you think you could stay inside me for a very long time? I seem to be insatiable.”

“I’ll do my best,” the man who held all the records for continuous sex in the brothels of London replied, mildly. Climbing into bed, he lay back against the pillows.

“I absolutely adore when you come in me.” Her voice held that same note of breathlessness. “I wonder if other women feel that way, like some primordial female fertility figure waiting to be implanted with male sperm. All expectant and fruitful and yielding. Is that strange?”

He smiled, his gaze flicking to his erection. “I don’t know, but it’s making me horny as hell.”

“Oh my God…” she breathed, watching his penis surge higher. “May I lick it just a little?”

“Be my guest.” It was his turn to offer up a supplication of his own-in his case a prayer of thanks-giving.

Kneeling over him, she held his stiff erection upright with one hand, guided it to her mouth and ran her tongue over the swollen, sensitive head as she massaged and gently pulled on the soft skin of his testicles with the other hand. She tested the weight of the balls in her palm, ran her tongue up one side and down the other of his stiff length, around and around the engorged head, wetting all his turgid flesh until his penis was glistening. “Look, darling. It shines ever so nicely. Oh, dear, I missed a spot.” And bending low once again, she set to rights the small unlicked area of skin. Looking up through her tumbled curls, she smiled. “How much do you think I can get in my mouth?”

Her question added new dimension to his arousal and she uttered a soft muffled cry. “How do you do it?” she whispered, rocking gently on her knees, liquid heat pulsing between her legs. “Get so big?”

“Looking at a delectable little wanton like you,” he murmured, gently stroking her hair.

Her smile was seductive. “Watch me then.”

He watched his erection slide in and out of her mouth, its length swelling even more with each caress of her lips and tongue, his pleasure so great he didn’t know if he was going to come in her mouth or wait to fill her with sperm or whether he was capable of controlling his orgasm at all. She was luscious, pink, and curvaceous-like the earth mother, the fertility deity she’d mentioned. Her breasts were noticeably larger, full and plump, hanging like ripe fruit. And the flare of her hips was more exaggerated than before, adjunct to her new sexually ravenous mood. She was more wanton and eager, more irrepressibly tantalizing and cupping her head in one palm, he pushed his erection deeper into her mouth. She didn’t mind. She sucked on him with all her power as though she were starved and famished for the feel and taste of a man.

But just before he was about to come, he jerked away, wanting to sink into her soft body more. Lifting her mouth to his, he kissed his tangy flavor from her lips. “I may just keep you locked away in here; screw Bessie’s orders,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I’d lie in bed waiting for you to make love to me. You’d let me come and come and come,” she said on a little caught breath, rubbing her breasts against his chest. “My body would always be wet for you and wet from your sperm. I would be your receptacle for sperm.”

It was too much even for a man of his restraint, or maybe he’d never had a wife before, a woman who was his. Maybe that sense of possession, of ownership heightened the avaricious nature of sex. “Open yourself,” he said, his voice rough with lust. “And we’ll see if your body is ready for me.”

She lay back against the pillows instantly; she spread her legs. Her pubic lips were swollen, distended, the moist fluid of desire gleaming on the soft flesh. “Is that wide enough?” she whispered, her expression diffident and so unlike Caro he glanced again at her face. “I’ll do anything to feel you inside,” she breathed, shuddering with need. “I can’t help it.”

Jesus… he’d never seen her so necessitous, so overcome and he wondered if her pregnancy was cause and agent for her new wellspring of burning desire.

“Please, Simon,” she sobbed, her vagina quivering, swimming in glossy lubricant, her thighs spread wide so the little runnels of pearly liquid oozing from her cleft were visible. “I know I’ve said please before, but, I really, really mean it this time…”

“Hush, darling,” he murmured, quickly moving over her, taking her in his arms, gliding into her body, widening her passage, filling her, impaling her as she arched up in desperation to meet him. “I’m here… I’m here,” he whispered as she clung to him, whimpering. “I’m right here inside you for as long as you need me…”

Her hips were writhing, pumping, drawing him deeper and deeper, her need for consummation a fiery, hot hysteria.

And he gave her what she wanted, what she yearned for and craved, staying deep inside her, satisfying her greedy desires with indefatigable patience and skill, indulging her unbridled lust over and over, filling her with come an astonishing number of times.

Enjoying in full measure his first day in the country.

“For almost a month, the duke and duchess resided in a state of pure undiluted sexual bliss. While they disagreed on much in life, sex was not an area of contention and the days at Monkshood were as close to paradise as carnal passion allowed. Until one morning, during breakfast, Simon handed Caroline a letter from the mail he’d been perusing. ”This looks like a command performance. One of Prinny’s last minute affairs. Do you care to go?“

George IV was having a dinner party.

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “Not in the least,” she murmured, barely glancing at the engraved note.

“Even if I see that Prinny keeps his hands to himself,” Simon noted, drolly, aware of the king’s interest in Caroline.