Sarah's Surrender (Novella) (6 page)

He watched as she gathered the pillows from the bed and moved to stand in front of the hearth. “Yes, put them down there. Build yourself a little nest. Now lie down on your back. Yes, very nice. I love how the pillows arch your back; make your breasts beg for my touch. Now raise your knees. Spread them just a little.”

Sarah hesitated; he could sense her desire not to move, not to place herself on such display. But then she complied. Her eyes lowered, and inch by inch she moved her feet away from each other until they were a good half-foot apart. He'd get them farther than that soon, but for now it was a victory.

A victory that had his cock almost rising to the waistband of his breeches. Reaching down he unfastened the flap, not lowering it, not yet, but giving himself more room.

Sarah's eyes locked on his movement. His princess wanted to see more. Yes, she did.

Her lips parted and small pearly teeth bit down on her full lower lip.

His cock jerked again.

Blast, she would be the death of him.

“Put your hands on your breasts.”

“What?” Her eyes jumped back to his face, startled.

“Put your hands on your breasts. Remember how I touched you last night, how softly, how sweetly? I want you to touch yourself in just such a fashion.”

“I…”

“Imagine that I am touching you. Close your eyes and dream. Remember five years ago, lying in the field. Remember the first time I lowered your bodice and looked at you. Remember the warm sun upon your skin. And then my lips. Never in all my years have I tasted anything sweeter than your nipples warmed by the sun.”

A quiet moan passed her lips at his words. Her eyes darkened and grew heavy. Slowly, so very slowly, her hands rose and brushed the sides of her breasts. Her gesture was tentative, but he could see as the sensation caught her. Her eyelids drifted closed and she let her hands rest upon her breasts, the fingers beginning to move in slow, easy circles.

Reaching into his breeches he stroked himself lightly. He would not finish here, that was not the purpose of this exercise, but a man needed some relief.

“Press tighter,” he whispered.

Her fingers pushed upon the cushions of white flesh, causing small indents and rippling skin.

He gripped himself tight and held.

She massaged herself, her hands roaming about her breasts, finding the spots that brought the most pleasure. He watched with interest as she ran her thumb again and again across that fine line where breasts met ribs and belly. She liked that spot. A soft sigh eased from her lips and her hips shifted. She liked it very much. It was something to remember.

He could almost taste the salt and musk of that spot, could imagine it was his tongue and not her thumb. It was his turn to shift with discomfort. “Move to your nipples. I want to see you touch them. I need to see you touch them.”

Her eyes opened and met his. He sensed a moment's hesitation and then both of her hands rose and brushed the tightly budded peaks.

She drew her breath in sharply.

His ministrations of last night must have left her quite sensitive.

He gave himself a long slow stroke and then another.

Her eyes moved, following his gesture, and then grew even darker.

Another stroke. She licked her lips.

Perhaps he should…No, he had other plans for tonight. He might have stamina, but he knew just how he wanted to spend it. “Grasp your nipples. Let me see you tug upon them. Imagine my lips, my tongue.”

Her eyes closed again. Opening her hands, she pinched her nipples slightly, once again biting down upon her lip. She pinched harder and pulled outward, her body shuddering at the movement.

“Do it again. And again.”

She complied, her teeth biting harder, her body quivering, the nipples rapidly turning from peach to rose to red.

God, he wanted his own hands upon her, his cock within her.

He wanted to fuck her until he could fuck no more.

“Let go of your breasts. Slide your hands down your belly. Very, very slowly. Let me imagine tasting each inch as you move.”

She didn't want to let go of her breasts. They were so full of need. Each pull, each tug, didn't bring relief, but it brought something, something hot that coiled in her belly taking her higher. There was pain mixed in with the pleasure, but the blending of sensations fired her in ways she'd never imagined, never dreamed.

But then she'd never dreamed of any of this. She wasn't sure what she'd imagined would happen when she approached Jonathan, but this certainly was not it.

“Slide your hands lower,” Jonathan commanded.

And she could not pretend it was anything but a command.

She'd spent her life trying to avoid being ordered about, but when Jonathan spoke she wanted to obey. At his words, something in her melted.

With some reluctance she released her nipples and slid her hands lower.

Her eyes were still closed. It was so much easier to do this with her eyes closed. Somehow it allowed her to disconnect herself from her actions. It was too strange to think about what she was doing. Maybe that was why she liked his commands, when he ordered she didn't have to think, just do.

She let her mind drift, intent on following Jonathan's direction.

Lower, lower, she slid her hands, drifting over ribs and the soft rounding of her belly.

“Move slower. Feel your skin; feel how delectable you are.”

Delectable. She was delectable.

She stroked herself, imaging Jonathan's hands, picturing the devouring fire of his eyes.

“Move your hands more to the sides; feel the indent of your waist, the swell of your hips. I adore your curves, adore how soft and rounded you are.”

She'd never liked her hips, they were too full, and the high waists of the day could leave her looking like a triangle, but now, as her fingers moved, she could feel how lush they were, how juicy. They were cushioning, comfortable. She could imagine how Jonathan would regard them; imagine what it would be like for him to sink into them. How well they contrasted to his hard legs, his lean frame.

“Open your legs more. Let me see you. Let me see all of you.”

At his words her legs jerked closer rather than spreading. Let him see her? Let him look at her there? Somehow she had not realized that he was doing that. It had not occurred to her that anyone would want to look at her most private parts, although she did admit to a great desire to see his. She'd caught glimpses of him years ago and she'd certainly run her hand over his manhood and felt its steel and length. The thought of seeing Jonathan completely without clothing brought another moan to her lips.

And her legs eased open again. Keeping her eyes carefully shut, she slid her feet farther along the soft wool of the rug.

It was his turn to moan, the vibrato of the sound almost causing a similar cry to once again form in her throat.

“Slide your hands along your outer thighs as close to your knees as you can reach.” There was a new urgency to his speech. “Now move to your inner thighs and ease back down. Find those spots where you are most sensitive. Pause there, move your fingers back and forth, circle, enjoy every bit of sensation, of pleasure. Do you feel yourself growing moist, feel the dampness spreading to your thighs, feel yourself getting ready for me, your body aching for me? Mine is aching for you. It is all I can do not to spring from my chair and fall upon you. I want to plunge into your body, hard and fast. I want to spend myself upon you, to pound into your softness.”

She would have moaned again if she could have found the breath. The images that filled her mind at his words were endless. She didn't know quite what would happen, but she could feel that pounding of flesh, feel herself filled as she had never been filled.

“You like it when I talk to you, when I tell you what I want. That is good, because I want what I want and nothing gives me more pleasure than knowing you want to give it to me, that you are excited by giving it to me,” he growled. “Now move your hands lower. Bring them to the crease where leg meets thigh. Is that not a delicious spot? The skin so soft, so tender, so sensitive. I could put my mouth upon you there and simply lick you for hours, lick you until you whimpered—and whimper you would. I would hold you still, refusing to let you move, refusing to touch you where you wished to be touched, but concentrating only on that one tender spot. I would listen to you beg and still I would hold back, waiting until you could take no more, waiting until you were mindless with need, and then I would move my fingers to your core, open you, spread you, so that I could taste you, put my mouth upon you and…”

“Ahhhh.” The cry left her now dry lips, her whole body clenching at his words. Her fingers stilled the nails biting into the tender flesh he had described. She was already mindless, filled with need she did not understand. She had expected pleasure, but simple pleasure, not this building and building and building. For a moment she'd felt release, felt some easing, his words almost bringing her someplace that she so desperately needed to be.

But she was not there. Her body still ached and cried.

She felt a light touch upon her knee. She opened her eyes, startled.

Jonathan stood there.

No footsteps had warned her of his movement.

As she watched he sank to his knees between her thighs. He did not touch her except for that one light palm upon her knee.

His gaze lingered on her face for a moment. She could feel him judge her emotions, her feelings, her desires.

Then he let his eyes brush down her body. Tight red nipples, pale flesh damp with sweat, dark curls and then…

“Open your legs further.” His hand pushed her gently open. “Use your fingers to part yourself, show yourself to me completely.”

She couldn't do that, she couldn't. And yet she did. Her fingers inched together and then pushed her folds open. She turned her head to the side, trying to deny her own actions.

“Look at me, Sarah. Do not be ashamed. There is nothing to be ashamed of in this. This is what you want, embrace it.”

That was easy for him to say. He was a man. Men were expected to like this, to want it.

Pulling in a deep breath, she forced her face to turn, forced herself to meet his eyes. “This is not an easy thing,” she said.

“I know. You are being very brave. Brave and beautiful.” His eyes repeated the message of his words.

And then they dropped lower, staring at that place she had so bravely revealed.

He bent forward and blew softly. Her entire body jerked in response.

“Can you touch yourself for me? Right there.” He blew again, aiming at the spot that centered all the feelings of her body.

Watching the enrapt look on his face, Sarah slowly moved her hand—and pulled it back almost instantly.

That was too much. Simply too much. She'd never felt anything like the bolt of lightning that shot through her at the merest brush. And yet her fingers moved back, moved without thought.

Her body twitched and jerked. It was more than she could take.

Was it pleasure? Was it pain? The feeling filled her every time she brushed over the little nub.

Whatever it was, it was indescribable and she wanted it again—and yet each touch only increased the need, coiled her tighter.

“That's your clitoris, your clit,” Jonathan said in a voice of remarkable calm. “There are a dozen other names for it, but I've always been one for proper usage.”

He did not look as calm as his voice. Sweat began to mark his brow, and a deep flush had risen on his face. When he raised his eyes back to hers, his pupils were so large as to almost fill the irises.

It was becoming hard to breathe again, and every time she brushed that spot—her clitoris—what breath she had gathered whooshed out.

His eyes dropped down again, his whole being focused between her legs. Each time she jerked, his body twitched. Then his hands were sliding down her legs, pausing at that tender spot at the apex of her thighs. And then his hands were over hers, covering them, replacing them.

He held her firmly, allowing no escape. At first he only brushed lightly, avoiding those places she most needed to be touched, but with each move he drew closer, until his thumb brushed over her clit. Her whole body rose, the sensations of the wide tips and calluses more than she could bear. He pressed again and again, giving and releasing pressure.

A low, guttural sound leaked from her lips.

She was there, so close to
there
.

Her head wrenched from side to side.

Now. She needed it now.

“Look at me, Sarah.” There was no mistaking the command.

With difficulty she forced her eyes to focus.

“I am going to take you now. It will probably hurt, but there is no moment better than this, when your body weeps for me. I will try to go slow, try to be gentle, but I do not know if I can contain myself. I am too far gone.”

As his words penetrated, her eyes widened and dropped to that place between them.

He was huge. It would never fit. It was impossible.

And then before she could tense up, she felt him against her, pressing, seeking.

His thumb, still on her clit, moved.

He pressed forward, and she felt her body give. Then he stopped.

His eyes locked with hers, holding her soul captive. And with a quick thrust he jerked forward.

Pain. This time there was no doubt. It hurt. It stung. It…

His thumb stroked and stroked again, setting a firm pattern. The tingles moved through her.

She was full, so full.

It was so strange.

And then, as the pain lessened, something else began, something small that grew and grew, melding with the lightning bolts of his thumb's every stroke.

God. She'd never felt like this. Never imagined this.

She was going to burst apart, to splinter.

It was too much. Much too much—and then she met his eyes. They caught her and held her in that moment.

The world slowed, stopped, froze.

Here. Now. There was nothing else.

Jonathan. It had always been Jonathan and now it seemed it always would be.

She could feel him move within her, feel his flesh glide against hers. She smelled the musk of their bodies together, knew the velvet of his skin, the strength of his body, but none of it was as powerful as the look in his eyes, the look that devoured her and made her stronger.

She had never been so weak. She had never been so powerful.

Flying. She was flying, soaring.

And then it was growing, growing, growing.

In, out, he moved, faster, harder.

It burst. Sunshine. Moonlight. Sun and Stars. Brightness and dark.

Endless. Endless.

Her body crumpled, collapsing back onto the rug. One last look, one last meeting of souls, and then her eyelids drifted closed, spent.

She felt him give a final thrust, heard his cry, felt his weight upon her, as she drifted on a sea of fading sensation.

He didn't know what to think. He didn't know if he could think.

His mind remained a blur of lust and satisfaction.

He knew this night was far different than Sarah had ever dreamed, but it was far different from his dreams also.

Who would ever have thought that sweet Sarah had a tigress within her? His back certainly had the scratches to prove it. He'd need to tie her to the bed to keep her still next time.

Smiling to himself, he rolled his weight off of her. He pulled in breath after breath, waiting for his heart to slow.

He closed his eyes, picturing her face as she'd come, the tight little gasps she'd made. He'd have to teach her to cry his name.

God, she was beautiful, perfect. Better than he could ever have imagined and, if he was honest, he'd imagined plenty over the years.

Lifting his arm to rest his head, he turned toward her. “Why did you decide to say yes now? Why after all these years?”

She sighed, but did not open her eyes. “You were not here. How could I give in if you were not here?”

“Surely there were other men?” He didn't like to ask, but he needed to know.

“No, not really. And besides, it has always only been you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Nobody else sees me the way that you do.”

A warm glow he had not felt in years grew in his chest. “I still do not understand. Why say yes so suddenly? Even if you had regretted your words of the past, surely you wanted more time to get to know me again before—”

She smiled sleepily. “But I don't have more time, once I tell Mr. Meyers that I will marry him I could never—”

“Once you what?” He could not hold back his surprise.

“I must tell Mr. Meyers I will marry him tomorrow, and no matter how little I like him, I could still never do this once I had actually promised myself to him, not that I expect he'll hold to the same standard.”

He sat up. “Let me understand this. You had sex with me knowing you will accept another's proposal?”

“Yes, it seemed such a brilliant plan. I don't need to fear ruination or pregnancy. It will not be a long engagement, so I have no risk. Any child will be accepted as his.”

He had not meant the question as a trap, but now ice grew in his belly. “You would give my child to another.”

“It would not be your child. It would be mine. You don't want anything from me but this. I don't see why you should complain; you have what you wanted,” she said grumpily and rolled away from him. “Now let me sleep. I find my mind is slipping away.”

His mind grew still. That she could so callously talk about letting another man raise his child, a man she even claimed not to like. Mr. Meyers, she'd said the name was. He could not place the man, which probably made him some type of rich Cit.

So was Sarah marrying for money after all as she'd threatened all those years ago? Why had she waited so long? Had he avoided her clutches only to leave another man to them?

The idea did not sit well with him, but he was unsure what else to think.