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He lifted from her and finished undressing, his thick hard member popping from his trousers. His hand came back to her button, tantalizing.
She uttered a frustrated sound and moved her body to encase with his.
“Sarah…” He breathed hard. “You haven’t said my name yet!” His arms came to the sides of her shoulders.
She stared at him. She did not want to say his name. It would make her feel too close to him. It would make her feel that she meant something to him. And she did not . It would make her feel that he meant something to her. And he could not.
She continued staring at his magnificent dark eyes, silent.
His member touched her entrance and stopped. “Sarah, my name.”
Her hips were moving to get him in, but he would not let it. “My name…” And he nipped her nipple.
Frustration got her annoyed. So be it, then. “Hugh.” She breathed inaudibly.
“I did not hear it.” He sucked her other nipple, heating her up even more.
“Hugh.” She said just a little bit louder as her fire grew to impossible intensity.
“Not clear enough.” He nipped her ear.
“Hugh.” She said louder, as she caught him unawares and finally joined their bodies.
“Oh…” He groaned, feeling her warm moist surround his impatient member. “You little rebel thing!” He moved in her, fulfilling both their desires.
In a moment she kept repeating his name as a mantra in his ears and it got him out of control. Her legs circled his hips and they moved by instinct. She got hotter and hotter.
“Hugh.” She panted. “Hugh.”
His name on her lips sounded like such a rare pleasure; he wanted her to repeat it to the end of times. He thrust deeper, faster.
Her cheeks felt warm, her middle burning. She sensed the wave coming and it exploded in a ball of fire, seizing his cock, as she avoided uttering a sound in the quiet dark night.
She undid him at last. He thrust in her mindlessly, until release caught him in endless flows that washed inside her.
He embraced her, spooning their bodies. He heard she exhale a long sigh and she fell asleep. He wanted to stay there watching her sleep. She had had clearly a tiring day.
He wished he could make her chores lighter. Not for him to decide on that. He must avoid showing her any favour as it’d expose them. He would like to have her ready for him at night, though. He longed for her all the time. He would like her all for himself, as if she were…as if she were…yes, a mistress, a woman that would exist for his pleasure only, wrapped in beauty and luxury, in his sole interest. How delightful it would be if he could be with her night and day, anytime, anyhow; because, right now, he felt like enjoying her again. Albeit not possible to push her so hard. He would have to wait another time.
Taking her as a mistress could not be a choice. She did not constitute mistress material. Not a high-class courtesan or an actress or an opera singer. Not a petit noblesse fallen woman or anything. Her condition figured as a working class woman. If he took such a woman as a mistress his peers would despise him, the Ton would blaze with gossip. Adelaide would be spiteful. His centenary family name would be thrashed. No, he did not feel capable of defying social rules, unfair as they might be. The family connections, the ton’s social network were of vital importance to keep aristocracy on the top of the social pyramid. Going against the ton’s rules meant ostracism. It meant banks would not re-roll eventual debts; there would be no loans for the land. It meant expulsion from the social events, through which marriages happened. What if he had heirs, then? Of course, he was an Earl, and this procured him privileges, but there had a limit. And the Ton stood unforgiving, un-forgetful. No. Better to keep things this way, even though his guts wrenched for more.
Funny how the Ton would not reproach married men for taking mistresses. It would reproach them for taking the wrong ones.
He kissed her behind her ear. “I have to go now, Sarah.” He murmured. She just mumbled some incomprehensible sound. So, he got up regretfully from her cot, dressed and crept down to his chambers.
Next morning, Hugh entered the library, after breakfast, to read the reports about his lands in the country. Sarah worked in there, cleaning. She turned from the shelves and their eyes met. A well of sensuality passed between them. He closed the door and locked it, never leaving her eyes.
The click of the lock produced a shrill that cut all her body.
He had woken up in so much need of her that it hurt. It threw him in a bad mood. He had been used to having what and how he wished. with her though he just met limits.
“My lord.” She curtsied and went back to work, trying to appease her reactions.
He wondered why she insisted in keeping this lord-servant thing, as he watched her doing her work. Watching her meant something that would always get him giddy.
Sarah felt his eyes on her back and her blood begun to boil. She had tried to avoid the library while Lord Hawkmore remained about, but Mrs Alcott demanded she started from there.
Her back to him, he watched her uniformed bony frame move and all the memories from the last two nights came to him. Her candidness, her sensuality, her hunger for him. He did not like his women so skinny. He always went for the curvy ones. But now, appearance did not matter, it was about her and how she made him feel. She attracted him on a level that stood beyond his understanding.
