Addicted. Charlotte Featherstone
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watched her breasts dance and sway. She arched her back, feeling the pressure building inside her once again. He kept thrusting until she felt his shoulders stiffen beneath her fingers.
“Anais,” he groaned. “Angel.”
She held his gaze steady as he thrust into her slowly at first, then steadily deeper and faster. My beautiful, beautiful Lindsay, how I love you…
A draft crept in through the barn boards, caressing their naked bodies. Anais shivered, snuggling into Lindsay’s warmth. He reached up and pulled a woolen blanket down from an iron hook.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, covering them up with the tartan wool. “I know it’s not silk brocade, but I confess I’m not ready to let you up. I want to feel all this against me,” he murmured, running his hand over her body.
She pressed up against him instead of slapping his probing hand away. In truth, she couldn’t get enough of his compliments, or the way his hands seemed to continuously stroke her body in the most reverent of ways.
“How many more times do you expect to do this tonight?”
He chuckled and pressed his chin against the top of her head. “I don’t know. I can’t get enough of you. I have a lifetime to make up for, you know. So many years of watching you. You don’t know the tortures you’ve put me through. Tonight in the salon, when I first saw you standing by the hearth, I nearly carried you off then, I wanted you so badly.”
His fingers reached out, capturing a curl that lay over her shoulder. She watched as he studied the blond strands in the golden light. “I’m so bloody glad I finally got up the courage to take you to bed,” he murmured, before dropping her hair and smoothing his fingers down her shoulder.
“So am I.” It was about time he saw her as a woman.
He caught her hand and slowly entwined her fingers with his. “I don’t want this moment to end, but I suppose it’s getting late and I shall have to give you up. No doubt your mother and father are waiting to go back home. We’ve been riding,” he said with a grin, “for an inordinately long time.”
She nodded, knowing he was right, but wishing he wasn’t. She didn’t want this moment to end, either. She had waited too long for a sign from Lindsay that he desired her as a woman, not just a friend.
“Are you going to the Torrington masquerade on Tuesday?”
“Yes,” she groaned, hating the very thought of having to dress up.
“I thought you loved Valentine’s Day. What better way to celebrate it than with a masquerade?”
“I do love Valentine’s Day. I just don’t care for masquerades.”
“Why not?”
She sat up and the blanket slipped down, baring her large breasts. “You would not like them, either, if you had a mother who forced you to wear a shepherdess costume.”
His green eyes turned darker. Reaching out, he circled her pink areola with the tip of his finger. “I think you should go as an odalisque. I can’t imagine anything more arousing than seeing you dressed as though you had just stepped out of a harem. Would you do that for me, Anais?” he asked her, looking up at her through his impossibly long black lashes. “Would you dress as a houri? My houri?”
Anais decided she would move heaven and hell to make a costume that would please him. She would indulge him in his penchant for anything Eastern. She would play the part of the harem girl if that was what he desired.
He smiled and wrapped his fingers around her neck, bringing her closer to him. “Will you let me have my wicked way with you, my houri? Will you find a way to come to me that night and make love with me?”
What could she say? This was simply a dream come true. “Yes.”
Lindsay lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her in a soft, lulling, almost drugging kiss. His hand moved to her breast and he caught it in his palm before running his hand along the side of her body in a slow, sweeping manner—a loving manner.
“Can you feel how hard I am growing against your warm belly? Just the thought of you makes me this way, Anais. I want you again, to spend inside you once more so that you can feel me inside you for the rest of the night. I want you every night for the rest of my life.”
How many years had she waited for such a declaration? “Are you asking me to marry you?” she asked incredulously. She had almost given up any hope that Lindsay might return her affections. Yet here they were, naked in each other’s arms, talking of forever.
“We will marry. But as to the asking, I have plans. When I propose I want it to be special. Be assured you’re mine. You will be my wife. Trust me in this, Anais.”
A crash echoed outside the stable window. Anais smothered a squeal as she reached for the blanket, covering her nakedness.
“Just some barn cats that have gotten into the old tin milk cans, that is all,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, sweeting. Now then, put your pretty legs around me and ride me like you do your mare.” He brushed his hands down her backside and sought her sex between her folds. “I’ve watched you riding, wishing those lovely thighs were wrapped around me and not Lady.”
Anais rose to her knees and peered out the window, fearing she saw the shadow of someone running from the stable. “Perhaps we should be getting back.”
“How can I convince you to stay with me?” he asked, coming up behind her and holding her tight in his arms. “What could change your mind?” He pressed small kisses along her spine, sending gooseflesh down every nerve as he cupped her breasts from behind. “What if I were to beg you? Or coerce you with pretty words? What if I just took you?” he suggested darkly. “Now that is an interesting thought, me just taking you—”
“Where the hell are they?”
Anais straightened as if she had been lashed with a whip. It was the booming voice of the Marquis of Weatherby—Lindsay’s father. “I’ll whip that son of mine if he hasn’t kept that cock of his in his trousers.”
“Get dressed,” Lindsay commanded, helping her down from the bale and turning her so that he could tie her corset strings. “Hurry,” he whispered, helping her into her chemise. “Now then, hide in the hay.”
“Lindsay—”
“Do it,” he commanded, as he tossed her gown to her.
“Boy!” his father called from outside, his voice loud and sounding very drunk.
Anais shot Lindsay a nervous look before hurriedly stepping into the heavy taffeta gown.
The marquis was a drunken sot. As useless as the day was long, and nothing but a whoring drunkard, her father always said. The man was capable of anything while in his cups. She feared for Lindsay and what his father might do.
The stable door was flung open. Frigid February air gust in, followed by swirling wind and snow that caused the horses to whinny nervously. Anais peered through the slats of the barn board walls, seeing that the marquis loomed large in the doorway with his hands fisted at his sides. His head turned in her direction and she whimpered before dropping down beside two bales of hay.
“Where are ye?” the marquis growled, prowling into the stable before slamming the door firmly shut. He tripped over a footstool in his drunkenness and with a violent kick, he sent the stool flying down the length of the stable.
“Ah,” Weatherby snarled when he fixed his gaze on Lindsay. “There ye are. Fixin’ your shirt, I see. This isn’t the time to be diddling with the staff, my boy. If you wanted a go with one of the maids, you should have waited till our company departed.”
Lindsay shrugged into his shirt then reached for his boots, ignoring his father.
“You weren’t prickin’ that Darnby chit, were you?” Anais saw Lindsay’s