The Highwayman's Lady (7 page)

“Must you go? I mean, could you not remain? Just for a while?” I scramble from the bed and rush to stand between him and the door. “Please, I should enjoy your company.”

He shakes his head. “Miss Bennett, I do not believe that would be wise.”

“Why not? I like you and… I can be entertaining. It is true I have little experience of social interaction, especially with gentlemen, but…” I pause, rack my brains for something to suggest in the way of diverting entertainment. What do highwaymen like to do to pass the time when not haunting lonely roads at night and lying in wait for unwary travellers? “I can play chess passably well. And backgammon. Would you like a game, sir?” Not perhaps the most scintillating pastime, but the best I can come up with right here and now.

Gray folds his arms across the broad expanse of his chest. I cannot see his mouth as it is concealed behind his mask but once again, I get the impression he may be smiling.

“Given the circumstances in which we met I would assume you know this, but for the avoidance of doubt I believe I should point out to you that I am no gentleman, Miss Bennett. Further, though your offer is charming, I am not sure I have ever seen a chess set at The Blue Man, even less a backgammon board.”

“Despite your—profession—you have been perfectly gallant in your treatment of me, sir. I could not have hoped to encounter a finer gentleman than you in my hour of need. If not chess or backgammon, we could play cards then. I am sure there must be a deck here. Or I could read to you.”

He laughs out loud. “Miss Bennett, tempting though that might be, I am quite certain Thomas does not possess so much as one book. I do but, alas, I have brought no reading material with me. Unless you have some slender volume concealed within your own clothing, I fear we may need to abandon that plan also.”

“Please, just stay. For a while.” I sound needy and desperate and I hate to demand yet more of his good nature. Alistair Graham has already been kinder to me than I could have ever expected. I should just allow him to get about his business and be glad of his escort in the morning. Somehow I cannot bring myself to stand aside and allow him to pass, though I have no illusions that I might be able to prevent him from doing so if he were to be determined upon it.

Long seconds pass, marked by the ticking of the pendulum clock that must hang on the landing beyond my room. Neither of us speaks. At last Gray reaches for me and cups my chin in his hand.

“If I stay, it will not be to play cards or chess or to peruse uplifting works of literature. That said, I do entertain a more than passing interest in whatever might be concealed under your clothing.”

“Sir?” I take his meaning perfectly well, but need a few seconds more to process the idea.

“Imogen?”

“You wish to vary the terms of our arrangement?”

“Fuck the arrangement. I will see you safely onto that coach tomorrow whatever you decide to do now.”

“I see.” I should be unnerved by the crudity of his comment. I am not.

“Do you? Even so, let me make myself clear. If I remain, I will require you to remove your clothing, allow me to blindfold you once more and spread your thighs for my enjoyment. There will be pleasure for you too, of course; I am a stern lover but not a selfish one. You will do as I tell you, quickly, without argument. I expect obedience and submission. I will fuck you. I will likely spank you if you disobey or otherwise displease me. I might even require you to suck my cock. The list is not exhaustive but I hope you take my general meaning.” He pauses, as though to let his words sink in. Then, “Are you prepared to accommodate me in this manner, Miss Bennett?”

I gaze up at him, open-mouthed. I am beyond stunned, shocked at the explicit carnality of his demands, yet hopelessly aroused too. I had anticipated some flirtation, perhaps even a more intimate dalliance. He might have sought to steal a kiss or two and I would not have objected too strenuously to that. But this audacious, direct statement of his expectations has come as a bolt from the blue. Is what he demands reasonable? Is this how gentlemen normally conduct such business? This entire arrangement is quite outside my realm of experience, but surely the correct and appropriate answer must be clear to me. I am, after all, a well brought up young lady seeking to lay claim to noble connections. I know what is right and proper and such behaviour does not involve spread thighs, fucking, the sucking of cocks, and certainly not spanking.

I close my mouth, swallow, seek to form the words that really should make up my response. I tilt my chin up and answer him.

“Yes, Mr. Graham. I am quite prepared to accommodate you in the manner you have described.”

He inclines his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “In that case, Miss Bennett, please continue.”

“You want me to undress now?”

“I do.”

“And, you intend to watch me?”

He retreats from me to stretch himself out on my bed. “Was my description of my expectations at all unclear, Imogen?”

“No, sir, I do not believe it was,” I murmur, still unable to bring myself to reach for the fastenings on my gown. It is not so much that I do not wish to be naked before him—quite the reverse in fact, I find the notion strangely appealing. However, the situation has advanced with a turn of speed I find quite startling. I am simply in unfamiliar territory and playing for time. I drop my gaze, then lift my chin to meet his eyes once more. “Please excuse my hesitancy, sir. I am not intending to be difficult, but I have no experience of, of…” I pause, casting around in my head for the right words. I settle on the simple truth. “I find myself somewhat overwhelmed.”

He narrows his eyes at me, his head tilted to one side. “But not unwilling?”

“No, sir.” I meet and hold his gaze, hoping for—something I am unable to articulate.

“Would you like me to help you?”
Yes, that was it!

“Could you, sir?” I gaze at him and make a conscious effort not to wring my hands in my nervousness.

“I believe I might since you have been honest with me. I will always appreciate your honesty, Imogen.” He gets to his feet and comes to stand before me again. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

I do as he tells me, trembling a little as he places his hands on my shoulders. He squeezes gently and his breath whispers across my cheek as he leans in to speak to me.

“Despite my words just now, be assured I will do nothing to harm you. If I hurt or frighten you, you may tell me and I will cease or slow down. So, shall we continue?”

“Yes, sir,” I breathe.

“I am about to remove my mask and I shall use it to blindfold you. From the moment I do so, your body is mine to do with as I please. Do you trust me with your body, Imogen?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, without hesitation. “But I wish you would allow me to see you.”

“It is better this way.” He releases his light grip on my shoulders and moments later the cool fabric of his kerchief covers my eyes. He ties it at the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. I lean back against him and the tension that had built and formed a knot in my stomach starts to evaporate. Matters are no longer in my hands. I am free.

“I am going to remove your gown and your undergarments. You will stand still and only move if I ask you to in order to assist me.” It is a statement, a command, not a request—my first experience of the stern lover I was promised. I relax still further.

Deft fingers loosen the fastenings at my back and my gown drops away from my shoulders. The cool whisper of air against my skin is sensual, almost as arousing as his touch. Gray works quickly, murmuring instructions from time to time. I lean one way, then the other, lift my arms, step out of the pool of fabric when he tells me to. In moments just my shift remains, covering me loosely from shoulders to mid-thigh. Still standing behind me, Gray reaches around to untie the laces between my breasts and draws the soft linen garment down my arms. It catches on my hips, but my breasts are bared. I let out a soft sigh, somehow able to tolerate the intimacy of the moment as I am not called upon to witness it. The blindfold acts as a buffer between myself and the reality unfolding. I am here, but able to distance myself, at least for now.

“You are lovely, Imogen. You quite take my breath away.”

I do not answer, though his words send spirals of longing plunging deep into my core. I do not even start to understand the sensations he is evoking, but I know they are good. I desire more. I need—something, though again I am at a loss to name it.

Gray traces his hands along the length of my arms, releasing me from the sleeves of my shift and eventually linking his fingers in mine. He draws my hands into the small of my back and whispers to me to keep them there. I clasp my hands together and try to remember to breathe.

He places his palms on my shoulders and turns me to face him. I am aware of his scrutiny, attuned to the intensity of his gaze as much as if he were actually touching me, exploring my naked breasts, my belly, the secret place still lower down that remains concealed beneath the bunched fabric of my shift. I should be ashamed, mortified, at the very least embarrassed. I am none of those things. I find the experience exhilarating, empowering. I blossom under his admiring perusal.

I gasp when he does at last touch me. He cups my chin in his hand, brushes his lips over mine, then draws his hand slowly down my throat, between my breasts and across my stomach. He pauses to gather my shift and pushes it down my body to crumple on the floor.

“Open your legs, Imogen.”

It never occurs to me to demur or protest. I step from the pool of linen and widen my stance, then hold my breath as he continues on his way.

His hand is warm, his touch gentle yet sure. He slides his fingers through the curls at the apex of my thighs then on to stroke the sensitive folds of my sex. I lurch forward, the powerful clenching of my body taking me by surprise. I had no idea what to expect, still do not, but I find the discovery intriguing. And I am bewildered, confused by the riot of sensation coursing through me.

“Gray?” I whisper his name, unsure what I need to ask him, tell him.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, sir.”

“Wider.” He taps my inner thigh with his hand.

I part my legs further and gnaw on my lower lip. I have but the haziest notion of the mechanics of what is to come, though I do not fear it. Not exactly.

Gray slides his hand between my spread thighs again, caressing me in a manner I find both exhilarating and disconcerting. It is intense, yet infinitely gentle; the strength of my reaction at odds with the leisurely, undemanding nature of his exploration. He takes his time, drawing his palm and fingers back and forth as my body clenches in helpless response. There are sounds too—wet, sloppy sounds. I know my body is creating the moisture; this has happened on previous occasions, though not often. It mortifies me that he might notice.

“Ah, Imogen, so hot and wet. This is for me?”

“Sir?” I am not certain if or how to reply.

“It is for me. All mine. So, are you tight too?”

“I do not know, sir.” Dear sweet lord, I hope so for this is what he seems to desire.

He steps back from me, just a fraction, but enough to enable him to cup my chin again in his free hand. He tilts up my chin and brushes his lips over mine.

“Open your mouth, Imogen.” The command is delivered in a low, soft tone, but I have no illusions about his requirement that I obey. I
want
to obey.

I part my lips and he slides his tongue between, angling his head against mine to deepen the kiss. I am stunned, had not anticipated this. I had always assumed kissing to be a mere touch of the lips—chaste and essentially dry. This is not. This is hot and wet, intimate in a way that both offers and demands. The sensation of being breached in this way is incredibly compelling. I want to nibble his invading tongue, twist my own around it, suck on it.

Dare I? Would he mind?

Unable to resist I stroke my tongue against his, tentative at first, then gathering my courage to play as he plunges further into my mouth. His tongue dances around mine, licking, tasting and I respond with an enthusiasm I could not have dreamed I might. This is my first kiss and it is truly wondrous.

I am lost in the moment, focused entirely on the sensual dance between our tongues. Gray continues to stroke my wet core, but without warning he shifts the angle of his caress. He locates a spot where the sensations seem to be at their most intense and he circles there, increasing the pressure as I struggle to remain on my feet. My knees start to buckle and he drops his hand from my face to encircle my waist. He takes a half step forward. I am compelled to retreat. He moves again, easing me the few feet backwards until I connect with the bed. He leans forward and I have no option but to sit.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to issue his next commands. “Lie down on your back and spread your legs wide. Take hold of the headboard and do not let go or I will tie your wrists to it.”

“There is no need to bind me to the bed, Gray. I… I do not wish to leave.”

He chuckles. “I know that, little one.” He offers no further explanation, but as he has resumed kissing me, I am not minded to pursue the matter either. I do as I am told, bending my knees and spreading my thighs as wide as I am able. I curl my fingers around the slats of the bedstead and hang on.

He slips his hand between my legs again, going straight for that special place. He rubs, presses, squeezes. I break the kiss to let out a squeal.

It hurts, almost. Yet there is pleasure too, intense, hot and needy, curling through my body, which spasms and convulses in ways I can barely comprehend. Something is happening to me, something wild, wonderful, and quite terrifying. Gray increases the pressure, to the point of real pain.

“Do not take your release until I give permission.”

I am baffled. “Sir? I do not understand.”

“I will tell you when you may come.”

“Have I done something wrong? I am sorry, I do not understand what is happening. You are hurting me…” I could ask him to stop, he said that I may, if I was to become scared. I
am
scared but still I do not say the words. My fear of his stopping is far greater than my fear of what he is about to do, or of what more he may have in mind for me.