Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

“No, it’s mine.” Griffin smiled tenderly. “I think you just had your turn.”

His double entendre was lost in her sense of fair play. “Oh, no,” she protested. “That thing you did—the way you touched me with your fingers—was your turn. I believe it’s my turn to seduce you.”

Griff shook his head.

Alyssa frowned.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” he said. “You’ll get your turn. I promise you’ll have ample opportunity to seduce me once we reach the manor.”

“But that’s hours away “

Griffin chuckled. “Not anymore.” He turned his head, glancing toward the opposite seat. “Hear that chiming?”

She nodded. “What is it?”

“My pocket watch,” Griff answered, helping Alyssa sit up before he reached over and grabbed his breeches.

“I set it to chime before the last half hour of our journey so we would have time to—” He cleared his throat. “Prepare for our arrival.” He retrieved his timepiece and pressed a tiny lever that ended the chime.

Alyssa couldn’t believe it. It seemed as if the last two and a half hours of the journey had passed in the blink of an eye. Or in the space of a kiss. “We’re there?”

“Almost. We’ve probably already crossed onto Abernathy land, but the road is a winding one, and it will take a bit longer to reach the manor. We should arrive shortly.” He shrugged his shoulders. “So, you see, my lady, your seduction of me will have to wait a little longer.”

Alyssa heaved a theatrical sigh worthy of one of her mother’s. “I’ll do my best to endure the wait.”

Griffin grinned at her. “Buck up, my lady; at least you achieved a measure of satisfaction. Many women live their entire lives without reaching that sort of bliss.” He glanced down at his rigid member and managed a mocking smile. “And at least you’ll be presentable when we get to the manor. I doubt that I shall be so fortunate. My breeches are made tight to prevent chafing when riding and to endure the rigors of travel. They are not made to accommodate my present condition.”

“I wondered how you managed to confine all that.” She reached out and caressed the velvety-soft tip of his member with her finger. “Inside your breeches all the time, without anyone noticing.”

Griff closed his eyes, bit his bottom lip, and fought to control himself. “It isn’t like this all the time,” he reminded her. “And until I met you, I was able to confine it on a regular basis. Even after I met you—so long as I didn’t allow myself to think about…”

“Seduction,” Alyssa offered, trying to be helpful.

“Quite.” Griff bit out the word, then sighed as the image had the predictable effect and his anatomy grew more insistent and rigid. “Well,” he exhaled. “There’s certainly no confining it now.”

“What do we do?”

He leaned back against the wall of the coach. “We still have several options.”

“What are they?” she asked.

Griff knew the answer to his present condition. There were only three ways to solve it satisfactorily, and one of them was prohibited by the rules of the game, since he’d promised himself he wouldn’t take his bride’s virginity in the coach. He could take matters into hand, so to speak, but that was not something a gentleman normally allowed an innocent to witness, or he could persuade his bride to take matters into her talented little hand. Or into her mouth. Or between her thighs. Or between her breasts. But he didn’t think that was quite the thing a gentleman would suggest to his bride on their wedding night. So…

He pretended to ponder the solution. “We can wait,” he said. “We can get you dressed, then sit quietly and see if that helps solve my present condition. If that doesn’t work, we can get you dressed, then have Myrick drive past the manor for a mile or so before doubling back.”

Alyssa frowned. “Wouldn’t your driver and the staff wonder why we passed the manor?”

“Probably,” Griff said. “But Myrick is too polite to inquire. And there would be a great many more questions if we drove up to the manor and stayed in the coach until I can safely make an appearance.”

“There has to be a way.” Alyssa bit her bottom lip and then looked up at him and gave him a brilliant smile as she came up with the solution. “What happens if you spill your seed?” she asked, nodding toward his erection. “Will it go down?”

Griffin’s tongue was firmly in cheek when he spoke. “It will indeed.”

“To a size that can be confined inside your breeches?”

He nodded.

“Then that’s the answer,” she announced. “Can you take care of it yourself, or will you need me to help?”