He turned over. “Climb atop me.”
Her hair was down, waving about her face, and in the dim glow of the fireplace, she looked like some fey creature come to lure him away from his mortal existence. She sat up and swung a long slender leg over his hips. Then she sat straight and tall and so prim on top of his throbbing prick.
“Take me inside, my lady wife,” he whispered. “Put me in your pretty cunny.”
He thought he saw her frown in the dark, as if disapproving of an inappropriate subject at tea. She might look prim and proper when at tea in the afternoon, but at night and with him she was a wanton creature.
“Ride me, my heart,” he urged. “Ride me until you weep on my prick. Ride me until I fill you with my seed.”
She gasped then and rose. He could feel her hands about him as she sank down, and it was all he could do not to cry out. Tight wet feminine heat. Holding him. Yielding to him. He arched up and at the same time grabbed her buttocks to pull her firmly against him.
She placed her hands on his chest and slid against him, her back straight, her long hair brushing his face. She rode him, biting her lip, grinding her pelvis against his. He waited, holding back, watching her expression. Her eyes were closed, her lovely face tipped back. He moved his hand to palm her breast, and she arched her back. He pinched that pretty little nipple, torturing that bit of flesh until she gasped. And then he flicked it lightly.
“Jasper,” she panted. “Jasper . . .”
“Yes, my love?”
“Touch me.”
“I am,” he said lightly, innocently, though his face shone with sweat.
She jolted against him, swiveling her hips to punish him, and for a moment he lost all coherent thought.
Then she said, “Not like that. You know.”
He shook his head gently and flicked her nipple again. “You’ll have to say it, my heart.”
She sobbed.
He should’ve taken pity, but alas he was a wicked carnal man, and he wanted to hear those sweet, prim lips utter the words. “Say it.”
“Oh, God, touch my pussy!”
And he felt the first spurt, just at the words. He gasped and thumbed her wildly rocking cunny, feeling his hard flesh working in and out of hers, and it was too much.
He arched up off the floor and caught her mouth to his to muffle his yell. And he came, exploding into her, showering her with his soul.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day, the king announced the second trial: to bring back a silver ring that was hidden atop a mountain, which was guarded by a troll. Once again, Jack waited until everyone left, and then he opened his little tin snuffbox. Out came the suit of night and wind and the sharpest sword in the world. Jack put on the suit and took up the sword and then whoosh! Whist! there he was, quick as you please, in front of the nasty troll and his blade. Well, this battle took a little longer than the first, but in the end, the result was the same. Jack had the silver ring. . . .
—from LAUGHING JACK
When Melisande awoke the next morning, Vale was already gone from the room. She brushed her hand over his pillow. It was still warm, and she could see the indent where his head had been. She was alone, just like all the other mornings of her short marriage, but this time it was different. She’d lain in his arms last night. She’d listened to his breathing, heard the slow thump of his heartbeat, been warmed by his hot, bare skin.
She lay a moment smiling before rising and calling for Suchlike. Half an hour later, she was downstairs, ready for breakfast, but her husband was not to be found.
“Lord Vale went riding, my lady,” a sheepish footman said. “He said he’d be back when ’twas time to leave.”
“Thank you,” Melisande said, and went into the little dining room to break her fast. It was no good chasing him. Besides, he’d have to come back eventually.
But Vale chose to ride his horse beside the carriage that day, and she swayed inside with just Suchlike for company.
They made Edinburgh by late afternoon and pulled up beside Vale’s aunt’s stylish town house just after five in the evening. Vale opened the door to the carriage, and Melisande only had time to place her hand in his before his aunt was welcoming them. Mrs. Whippering was a small, stout lady wearing a sunny yellow dress. She had rosy cheeks, a perpetual smile, and a rather loud voice, which she kept constantly in use.
“This is Melisande, my lady wife,” Vale said to his aunt when she paused for breath in her effusive welcome.
“So happy to meet you, my dear,” Mrs. Whippering yodeled. “Do call me Aunt Esther.”
So Melisande did.
Aunt Esther led them into her house, which had apparently been redecorated on the occasion of her marrying her third husband. “New man, new house,” she said merrily to Melisande.
Jasper just grinned.
It was a lovely house. High on one of Edinburgh’s many hills, it was of Whitestone and had clean, classical lines. Inside, Aunt Esther favored white marble and a checkered black and white floor.
“In here,” she called, bustling down the hall. “Mr. Whippering is so looking forward to meeting both of you.”
She led them to a red sitting room with paintings of enormous baskets of fruit bracketing a black enamel and gilt fireplace. A man so tall and thin he looked like a knobby walking stick sat on a settee. He had a muffin halfway to his mouth when they walked in.
Aunt Esther flew at him in a flurry of flapping yellow skirts. “Not the muffins, Mr. Whippering! You know they are not good for your digestion.”
The poor man gave up his muffin and stood to be introduced. He was even taller than Vale, his coat hanging on him in folds. But he had a very sweet smile as he peered at them over half-moon glasses.
“This is Mr. Horatio Whippering, my husband,” Aunt Esther announced proudly.
Mr. Whippering bowed to Vale and took Melisande’s hand, twinkling up at her roguishly.
The introductions made, Aunt Esther plopped herself down on the settee. “Sit down, sit down, and tell me all about your trip.”
“We were attacked by highwaymen,” Vale said obligingly.
Melisande arched an eyebrow at him and he winked.
“No!” Aunt Esther’s eyes rounded, and she turned to her spouse. “Did you hear that, Mr. Whippering? Highwaymen attacking my nephew and his wife. I never heard the like.” She shook her head and poured tea. “Well, I expect you frightened them off.”
“All by myself.” Vale smiled modestly.
“You’re lucky to have such a strong, brave husband,” Aunt Esther told Melisande.