Bertrice Small - Forbidden Pleasure

"Grief-stricken, Caroline is horrified to learn the truth from her kindly old husband as to how her father has protected her before taking his own life. She vows then and there to get back at the revolutionaries in France for destroying her family. She seeks out others among her class who are like-minded, and begins her operations. She is known to her enemies as Lavender, for she always leaves a sprig of the flower behind when she has snatched someone from the clutches of Madame la Guillotine."

"Very nice," he said, "but where are we going to fit the sex in, m'dear?"

"The old duke dies when Caroline is twenty," Emily continued. "His heir is his nephew, and the nephew wants to make Caro his wife, a fact known to the old duke, who fully approved. He even suggested to Caroline that after a proper period of mourning she marry his heir. But of course, Caro fears a young and alert husband will discover what she has been doing, so she resists. But the new duke, Justin Trahern, seduces her. She tells him she will be his wife, but she will be answerable to no one but herself. He agrees because he is deeply in love with her.

"By accident-and don't ask me how because I haven't decided yet-he learns what she is doing. At first he is outraged that a woman would behave so. Then he becomes frightened for her. He tells her he knows, and in an effort to make him understand why she does what she does, Caro tells him the truth of what happened to her mother. Trahern realizes the only chance he has of stopping the woman he loves from putting herself in constant danger is to find the jailer and the men who raped her mother, and see them dead."

"I like it," Michael Devlin told her. "I like it very much. It's clever, and we should be able to make the love affair between Caro and Trahern sizzle. Women who have had tough times will identify nicely with the heroine. She's suffering survivor's guilt, of course, and that does make you do things you might not otherwise do."

The timer on the counter pinged, and Emily got up to check her cakes. They were perfect. Turning off the oven, she drew each pan from inside, carefully setting them on her counter to cool before turning them out onto her cake racks.

"Smells good. What kind of cake is it going to be?" he asked her.

"Just an old-fashioned kind my grans taught me. Raspberry jam between the layers, and powdered sugar on top," Emily explained.

"My gran in Ireland used to make that," he said. "It was always my favorite."

"I think everything is your favorite." She laughed. "There isn't anything I've cooked so far that you haven't scarfed up like a starving man, Devlin. I think you have a tapeworm," Emily teased him.

"Roast beef, chocolate trifle, cake with jam," he replied. "What isn't to like?"

She laughed again. "I like you, Devlin," she told him. "I was really upset when I learned Rachel had gone, but I'm not as upset now."

"I haven't edited your manuscript yet," he said with a small grin. Then he said, "I think turnabout is fair play, Emily Shanski. I'm going to make you lunch. I'll need bread, rat cheese, honey mustard, and olive oil or butter. And a cast-iron frying pan."

"Grilled cheese sandwiches!" she said. "Now, those are my favorites."

"Get going, woman, and fetch me my supplies." He chuckled, giving her bottom a small smack.

"Yes, sir!" Emily replied, and she bustled off to find what he needed. "And I want you to know I'm a connoisseur of grilled cheese. These had better be good."

"I'm good at everything I do, Emily, as you are about to discover," he said.

And she laughed. "I'll be the judge of that," she told him.

He grinned, suddenly realizing that he was happy. And Michael Devlin couldn't remember the last time he had been really happy.

Emily hurried downstairs. Devlin was waiting for her in Gran's old-fashioned parlor, which was across from the more modern living room. It was filled with the furniture that had been in the house when Gran was a girl. "How do I look?" she asked as she came into the parlor. She was wearing a violet-sprigged cream-colored dress with a fitted bodice, and a flirty, floaty skirt with a scalloped hemline. She twirled to give him the full effect. He had made love to her a second time this afternoon, and then they had napped together in his bed. It had been even better the second time, and Emily was feeling more relaxed than she had ever felt in her life. Making love was quite a revelation, yet she couldn't help but wonder if it would have been different with another man. Better, or worse?

The green eyes looked her over admiringly. Then he said, "Are you wearing panties and a bra, Emily?"

"Of course. We're going out," she replied.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I thought I made myself clear this morning. When you are with me you do not wear undergarments. Take them off."

"We're going to be in a public place, Devlin," she protested.

"What if I want to pull over on our way home to make love to you in the car?" he asked. "If you want to question me, Emily, then perhaps you should find another lover."

"Damn it, Devlin, I don't want another lover! Where would I find one in this town? And I most certainly don't want people gossiping about me and some local. You're the perfect lover. You live in the city. Besides, you understand my dilemma and the reason I've taken you for a lover. You're not going to go all postal on me when I say I've learned enough from you and tell you to go away," Emily said.

"Then trust me enough to do what I say," he told her. "If you want me for your teacher then you have to obey me. I will never harm you, angel face. In fact, I'm going to teach you something right now about passion. Take off the panties and bra, Emily."

Reaching up, she unhooked the bra through her dress, sliding one strap off under the fabric, then the other, and drawing it out through the short sleeve, laying it aside on a balloon-backed burgundy-colored velvet chair.

"You do that like you've done it before," he told her with a grin.

"Shut up," she said. "It's the quickest way to take a bra off when you get home, and every woman in the world knows that." She reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties off, flipping them onto the chair next to the bra. "Satisfied? God, I hope no one can see through this dress," Emily muttered nervously. "Can you?"

"No," he said, but he lied. The faint shadow of her slender legs was very visible.

"Can we go now?" she asked him.

"Nope," he replied. "Pull up your skirt and let me see your pussy."

"Devlin!" Her tone was shocked.

"Pull up your skirt," he ordered her in a hard tone.

"It's vulgar," Emily said, and then she squealed as, gripping her wrist, he pulled her facedown over the high rolled arm of the settee, yanked up her dress, and began to spank her, his other hand now on the small of her back to hold her down.

"You are a very, very, very bad girl, Emily Shanski," he said, each word punctuated by his hand on her bared bottom.

She was more surprised than harmed by his actions, and if the truth were known it was rather exciting too. She felt a distinct tingle in her clitoris.

"Now tell me you're sorry, and you won't be such a bad girl again," Devlin said.

"Won't!" Emily replied, getting into the spirit of the game, and wanting him to spank her some more. "And you can't make me either!"

He grinned, delighted that she had caught on so quickly. "Yes, I can!" he told her, and his hand began to fall on her flesh again until her buttocks grew pink, and she finally begged him to cease. "Stay exactly as you are," Devlin ordered her.

"Yes, sir," she mocked him. Then she heard the faint sound of his zipper, and the tearing of a condom envelope. "Ohh," Emily whispered. "You're going to fuck me."

"Do you want to be fucked?" he asked, and, grasping her hips in his hands to steady them, he slid into her vagina in a single smooth stroke. She was very wet, and the spanking had obviously made her very lustful, he noted as she wiggled her buttocks against his groin. "Do you? Say it, Emily. Say, 'I want to be fucked.' " He remained perfectly still within her.

She felt him palpably. He was very big, thick, and long. He throbbed hungrily against the walls of her body. "I want to be fucked, Devlin!" she told him without hesitation. Ob, yes! She did indeed want to be fucked bent over the arm of Great-great-great-grandmother Mary Anne's velvet settee. "Do it to me!" Emily hissed, and then gasped. His penis began to move, and it had touched something inside her that sent shock waves of sensation rolling through her body. "Oh, my God! What's happening?" Nothing had ever felt so good! "Don't stop! Don't you dare stop, Devlin! Ohh, God!"

He had found her G-spot, and he worked it hard. She was bucking and sobbing with the passion that was beginning to roll over her. His penis flashed back and forth, back and forth, driving her along. Her cries of delight increased his own lust until he thought he would burst, but he held back, giving her time. And then it happened.

Emily felt herself close to losing consciousness. Her body seemed to explode from the inside out. Waves of tremors racked her body, filling her with the most incredible feelings, and she knew: So this was orgasm! Wonderful! Wonderful! "Come, damn you, Devlin!" she cried out. "I want us together this first time!"

"Ready?"

"Go!" she almost shrieked.

He did, and for a brief time it seemed as if it would go on forever for both of them. But at last he collapsed atop her. They were both gasping for breath. Then slowly he pulled himself off of her. "You all right?" he asked, his tone faintly concerned.

"I will never be all right again," Emily said. "That was incredible!" She pushed herself up. "God, what must my ancestors have thought of us?" And she laughed softly, gazing at three portraits on the parlor wall.

"I suspect the arm of this sofa has been used in the past for such sport, angel face," he told her. "Those Victorians were very lusty people, despite their protestations otherwise. Well, if I wasn't hungry before I sure as hell am now," he said.

"Me too," she admitted. "Give me a few minutes for a quick cleanup, and you might want to get rid of that," Emily said, pointing to the full condom on his penis.

"Agreed," he said with a faint smile. "You do bring out the best in me, angel face."

"You're just a horny fellow, Devlin," she told him, and then hurried off.

Fifteen minutes later they were tucked into his Healy and pulling out of her driveway. The porch light had been left on for their return. Following her directions he piloted them onto a lovely two-lane country road that ran along an expanse of blue water that was Egret Pointe Bay. The yellow-green May foliage was lush along one side of the road. He noted osprey platforms with nests already inhabited with tenants. It was lovely country, and he wondered if he could find a summer rental in Egret Pointe. It seemed a quieter place than Montauk was going to prove come summer.

They spoke very little as he drove. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for an editor who had spent the entire day fucking his author. And how quickly Emily was learning. She had understood his subtle prompts in that semibondage scene that they had just played out in the elegant little parlor of her house. He was intrigued with and fascinated by her. The thought of spending summer weekends working with her caused his cock to twitch. He forced his thoughts to something less volatile.

"Better start slowing down," she suggested. "East Harbor Inn is on our right just around the next bend, Devlin. Parking lot is on the edge of the road."

The Healy banked around the curve and swung into the parking area. He got out and hurried around the low-slung sports car to open the door for her. East Harbor Inn was charming, very Colonial, with touches of Laura Ashley. The dining room had beamed ceilings, and lots of candles, from those in the pewter chandeliers hanging from the beams to those on the tables. To Emily's relief it was not crowded, and she didn't recognize anyone from Egret Pointe. So far, so good.

"Not busy tonight?" she said to the waiter who came to take their order.

"Heavy bookings late," he said. "First performance of the spring musical at the Egret Pointe Playhouse. We'll be crowded after ten thirty. May I suggest the lobster? They just came off the trawler at our dock in midafternoon."

They ordered. Devlin wanted raw oysters as a starter, and then the lobster and the baby field greens. Emily ordered a fruit compote with a miniscoop of homemade strawberry sherbert, a spinach-and-cheese ravioli, and salad. The waiter suggested a Lenz Blanc de Noir, and Devlin ordered a bottle. The service was leisurely, but they were never left waiting long between courses. When the dessert menu came they both ordered the homemade crème brûlée and coffee.