“Ah, yes,” he said in approval, as her cries turned to pleas. “Yes, my sweet sorceress. Exactly like that.”
Exactly like that. Exactly like that… Even though she was acting like an undisciplined, lustful creature, he said exactly like that, and she felt safe and protected, and not afraid to reach for more. She bucked her hips, full of his power, dancing to his touch, and within moments, the anxious pressure inside her released like a rising wave finding its crest. A surge of sensation washed over her, spreading from the place they joined out over her entire body. She rode upon undulations of ecstasy, shocked once again by this new development. When this bliss was over, she’d be ashamed of herself, scandalized and disappointed that she’d let herself go so far, but for now, she basked in the pleasure that overtook her.
By the time the astonishing paroxysms passed, she felt wrung out, sated and limp like a rag doll. Mr. Drake thrust within her a few more times, then surged deep. With a whispered curse, he jerked away from her, leaving her body. Tonight had been shock upon shock, and here was another, as he knelt over her and pumped his thick rod until it spilled a pale fluid upon her bare stomach. He growled like an animal as the stuff spurted onto her. It felt hot and sticky against her skin.
She lay still, because her confusion was too deep by this point, and satisfaction had made her tired. He pumped his rod a few more times, looking down in the candlelight. “There’s blood,” he said, looking at his hands. “You’re on your courses?”
She thought of race courses, stupidly. What did he mean? “I don’t know,” she said in a soft voice.
“Less likelihood of a child, if you are. But I took care, as you see.” He wiped away the fluid on her stomach using the rough sheets, then lay beside her with a great sigh of satisfaction. “My dear, thank you for this lovely interlude. You excited me beyond bearing.” His smile widened to a grin. “That’s one way to chase away nightmares. A very pleasant way, I think.”
Her mind was spinning with the remnants of pleasure, and sudden exhaustion. “I think I must… I must…”
“Yes, use the necessary.” He gave her a boost out of bed, when it seemed her legs would fail her. She went behind the screen to use the chamber pot, and wished for water to clean herself. A moment later, Mr. Drake was there, offering the pitcher of water that had been warming by the dying fire. She took some time to wash, and a few extra moments to think. What have I done? What now?
When she finally summoned the courage to emerge, he was watching from the bed, the man who’d done those amazing, and probably awful things, which she’d very much enjoyed. She returned his smile in spite of her misgivings.
“May I stay here with you?” he asked, beckoning her back under the covers. “Only in case the nightmares come back. I promise I won’t trouble you again, unless you wish it.”
She didn’t understand what that meant, to trouble her again. She moved into his warm embrace and curled up against him, remembering everything he’d done to her, trying to understand what had gone on between them, while he fell almost instantly to sleep.
On the side table, the candle had burned almost to its end. She felt like that in a way, like all of her had been consumed, until she was nothing. But oh, like the candle, there had been so much flame, so much brightness along the way.
Chapter Three
Morning’s Light
Wescott woke from a disordered dream of fire and flames, and an exotic, black-haired sorceress. For a moment, he didn’t recall where he was. The room was dim, the small window above admitting only muted light. He finally remembered as he became aware of the soft, pale tresses trailing over his arm.
He was curled up with the blonde—not black-haired—actress. Their legs intertwined beneath the tangled sheets, reminding him of the previous night’s intimacies. He knew he must wake her soon so he could return to his residence, and she to hers. This time out of reality and responsibility must come to an end, but first…
Ah, first, he would enjoy a few final moments studying her pert, delicate nose and rosebud lips. Ah, those lips. They could sing, surely, but what else could they do? What lucky gentleman had regular use of them? Her coquettish manner of innocence and earthiness had driven him wild the night before, had sparked such intense lust he could hardly govern his actions. Now, he was loath to tear himself away from her.
Dear God, how he wished to take her now, in the quiet light of morning. How he wished to tease open those enthralling pink lips with his stiffening cock, or perhaps rile her up with a sound spanking on her perfectly formed arse cheeks. They’d look so beautiful and red, marked with his handprints. Did her gentleman patron spank this sweet girl? A damnable waste if he did not.