In the Widow's Bed

“Hmm,” Jonathan grumbled. So, no rendezvous away from these parts. Disappointing.

Jonathan dragged out parchment and wrote out the brief replies. He sealed his letters with a heavy sigh and rang the bell for his butler. Once the notes were dispatched to his servant’s care, Jonathan returned to sit on the edge of the table near Phoebe.

“So,” she began. “You’re off to Dorset next month. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.” Phoebe offered him a hesitant smile, settled her empty teacup to the tray, and then pressed her palms to her thighs.

“Well, no, actually.” Jonathan settled his hands to his hips. “I sent my apologies to all of them.” He wasn’t going anywhere without Phoebe. At least, not yet.

Again she appeared startled, so he leaned forward to capture her lips. After a brief, intoxicating kiss Phoebe pulled away. “The door?”

Jonathan curled his hand around her skull and pulled her to him. “Locked,” he whispered against her lips and then kissed her again.

The intense heat of her mouth drove Jonathan wild. He pressed her deeper into the chair, falling to his knees until he burrowed his hips between her thighs. When the material prevented him from getting closer, he impatiently scooped up the dark blue muslin until he could touch her skin.

Jonathan ate at her mouth, rejoicing when her tongue tangled with his in a heated dance. Her fingers threaded through his hair and kept him close, deepening the kiss until their teeth grazed. He hooked his fingers under her thighs and tugged Phoebe’s bottom toward the edge of the chair. Impatiently, he bumped his already firm cock against the heart of her.

Phoebe whimpered and squirmed to put a distance between them. “No, Jonathan. Not here,” she moaned. “Your sister and all the staff are in the house, probably outside the door.”

“Then it will teach them to eavesdrop on us.” Jonathan dragged her against him, firmer than before. “This is my house and I want to make love to you here where I spend my days. I want to inhale the scent of our lovemaking while I read my newspaper. I want to remember the image of you spread over my desk as I fill you up.”

Jonathan picked Phoebe up off the seat and settled her bottom on the sturdy partner desk. With one swipe, he cleared the surface of blotter, teacups, and the unlit candelabra.

“Jonathan, we shouldn’t.”

Before Phoebe could say another denying word over his intentions, he kissed her, lavishing her mouth in a furious assault on her senses. His palm captured her knee and rubbed, inching her closer to the edge, and to his body. Her other foot curled around his thigh, unconsciously encouraging as he dragged her the remaining distance until her heat pressed against his length. Frantically, Jonathan snapped his jacket from his shoulders, ripped open his trousers, and shoved the long fold of linen from his shirt up under his waistcoat out of the way.

Phoebe fell to her elbows, gasping. “This is madness.”

But her eyes fell to his rigid length, prodding against her damp lips. Jonathan thickened further at the sight. “And you love it. Admit it?”

He took himself in hand and swiped the head of his cock through her dampness. Phoebe squirmed, legs parting to accommodate him. He propped himself over her body, holding himself away so only the tip of his cock touched her skin. After several passes over her rigid nub, Phoebe squirmed closer.

Jonathan didn’t give her what she wanted. Although it pained him, he shifted away an inch. Phoebe’s eyes flew to his. “Admit what you want, Phoebe, and then I will pleasure you till you scream.”

Her hands curled about his neck and tugged, hard, persistent. When he didn’t bend all the way to her waiting lips she growled. Actually growled. If he didn’t need to hear the words so badly, hear her say she desired him, he might have laughed.

As it was, he was in no hurry to end this interlude. He could restrain his passion until she gave him some encouragement of her own.

Phoebe licked her lips, glancing toward the door. “Come closer.”

He complied, but with a quick shift of her hips the movement settled his cockhead at her entrance. Phoebe’s legs tightened about his thighs. Jonathan resisted her entrapment and waited.

She licked her lips again. “All right. All right. I desire you,” she whispered, glancing at him shyly and then quickly lowering her lashes.

“To do what, exactly?” he whispered.

Phoebe dug her fingers deep into his shirt-covered arms. “I desire you to push that beautiful cock of yours inside of me.”

Jonathan invaded a little and then stopped.

Phoebe panted impatiently. “All the way.”

Jonathan pressed forward slowly until he reached her limit and stopped again.

Phoebe tossed her head then reached to capture his hair again to pull his lips close to hers. “If you don’t make love to me properly, Jonathan Oliver, I will spank your perfectly round arse until its red. Move,” she ordered.

Pleasantly surprised that his gambit had paid off, Jonathan did as he was told. He let his instincts take over as he made love to her, smooth strokes gliding into the intense heat of her passage. Beneath him, Phoebe breathed raggedly on every thrust. The sight of her wild abandon, her hair falling from her combs to lie over his mahogany desk, quickened the movement of his hips.

But he wasn’t anywhere near close enough. He caught up one of her legs, and stretched the shapely flesh over his arm, altering her position until her body opened wide. The greater depth, the slick flesh rubbing against his engorged cock, slowed his pace. He wanted to savor these moments of pleasure with Phoebe. He wanted to imprint her passion on his soul.