Lord Vile (Beastly Lords Book 3)(4)

By: Sydney Jane Baily

Was she truly wanting to stop?

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I want you. Beyond anyone else, I want you.”

Her voice a whisper, she asked, “Do you know me?”

“Of course,” he responded. She was his goddess, a gift to soothe him for all he’d lost. “Do you know me?”

“Lord Alder.”

He felt a frisson of surprise. Indeed, she must be a fairy sprite, an otherworldly creature, for how else could she have found him in the darkness?

“Then we are meant for each other,” he stated. “Let me love you.”

After another moment, her hands fell away, and he pushed her gown and petticoats and cotton shift up to her hips, baring her drawers to him. As expected, she wore two separate legs tied together at the waist, so he needn’t even remove them to have access to her coveted core.

Wondering if he could last even for a few moments, he came over her body, fit his stiff member to her warm channel and slid himself inside his magical nymph.

He groaned in delight at the same time as her hands came up to his chest.

Was she pushing him away?

Kissing her, he began to move his hips, and her hands relaxed, though still grasping his jacket. He wished to hear her moan with pleasure, but she was breathing shallowly. He wished he could see and touch her breasts, but he was pressing both hands into the divan for support and couldn’t spare one to ease down the neckline of her gown.

“Good?” he asked.

Silence. Looking down at her face, he was unable to see her at all as his shoulders blocked the light of the torches. He thought her head was tilted back in ecstasy and thus continued to pump inside her.

He’d been correct about his own stamina. He lasted barely a minute in the delicious tightness of his goddess. Then with a guttural cry of pleasure, and a whispered name—Jenny—he spent inside the mysterious sprite.

Leaving another kiss upon her mouth, he drew back, stood up, and began to fasten his trousers. To his consternation, she lay there, unmoving.

“Are you well?” he asked after a moment, remembering when he’d asked the same to another young miss earlier in the evening, a simpering simpleton who couldn’t even speak to him—the opposite to this passionate creature.

His words spurred the lady into movement. Hastily, she lowered her skirts and took his outstretched hand, letting him assist her from the divan.

Then a strange expression crossed her lovely features, visible again in the moonlight now they were standing. She looked down, and he did the same before realizing she was feeling his warm seed as it leaked from her.

“Luckily, you have so many layers, no one shall be the wiser,” Michael advised. “You can float back into the ballroom and continue to dance with what I’m confident are your many, many suitors.”

“But…” she trailed off.

Was this delightful morsel having a moment of regret? A bit too late! He drew out his flask and took a sip. As a gentleman, he offered it to her.

She looked from the silver flagon to his face.

For the first time, he felt a twinge of regret. On second glance, she seemed a bit young for this game, but she had to know the rules and the consequences of a tryst in a dark garden. Why else had she let him have his way with her? He certainly wasn’t her first.

“I’m sorry if your pleasure was not complete,” he said, thinking perhaps his swift climax had robbed her of her own ultimate satisfaction. There was nothing he could do about that now.

Still, she said nothing, and he was growing weary. His sated body yearned for his own bed and a long night’s sleep.

“I bid you farewell, dear goddess.”

He turned from her, took a few steps, then looked back.

Why was this willing temptress with her plump, kissable lips suddenly looking so damned shocked and teary-eyed?

As he met her gaze, she opened her mouth and found her voice at last.

“Can you possibly mean to simply walk away?”

Ah, he understood. She wanted the promise of something more. She was a society miss, after all, even if one who enjoyed sharing a naughty assignation away from prying eyes.

“I may attend a few more balls this Season. Look for my name on the guest list, and we can enjoy ourselves again. I’ll try to last longer next time, my sweet.”

Offering her a smile, he winked and took his leave.

Chapter Two

Three years later, 1852

Juniper Hall, Surrey

Ada left her son’s room, always thankful how quickly the little boy could fall asleep. Her dear Harry. And this was their last night in her parents’ country home. Undoubtedly, he would miss his doting grandparents until they met up again in London.

Making her way back to her own bedroom, she glanced over the trunks filled with her clothing and considered whether she’d forgotten anything. With her capable maid having worked diligently, it appeared her chamber was cleared of all her personal effects, except her nightdress and robe laid out for the night.

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